Monday, October 25, 2010


I can't really stress how important it is for me, as a woman, to feel that it's important that I exist, to feel that my place in the world is necessary. I used to rise up constantly and beat back against a world that so vehemently seemed against me. (Dramatic much? Well, I was a teenager.)

Then I got sick. I feel like I say this a lot as an explanation for my behavior, but it really isn't my sickness that put a stop to my strength. My strength had suffered blows before. My sickness was the final straw.

I built my strength up again; finally, four years after near death, I began taking zoloft and going to therapy regularly. I was working and I finally could afford it. I realize that my own power to earn a living wage, in addition to my power to admit that I needed help, led me to facilitate this. (My parents don't believe in therapy or SSRIs, though my Dad does regularly crush up SSRIs in my mom's drinks...or he did when I was a kid, but that's a story for a whole 'nother time, though I suppose it did teach me that women weren't to be trusted to make decisions about their own bodies or feelings.)

Then I lost my strength again. I thought I was strong. I felt strong. I was strong. I was meditating every day and I found joy in my job and my place in the world. I was smiling! I stopped taking zoloft. Slowly I began to fade, began to have nightmares again, began to be fearful of living, while simultaneously fearful of dying. It was confusing to say the least, and all I had done was stop taking this tiny pill.

I have been back on the pill for 8 months now, and I am starting to feel like I did when I decided to go off of it. I feel strong, capable and aware of my own strength, my own abilities, no matter how big or small they may be. I have goals and dreams. It's a beautiful thing.

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