I woke up this morning feeling, if not bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, then practically productive in every way, two weeks into my first of two titration dose increases on my antidepressant. What a relief to feel better– to be able to get out of bed, get going out the door, start returning calls and dictation in the car, and to get to work as soon as I get in to the office. What a further relief to not be constantly carb-hungry, to not be irritable, to be less mentally exhausted, to not feel sorry for myself and misunderstood because I have to WORK! and can’t stay home and READ! and DRINK WINE! all day. And what a relief to have recognized it at an early enough point to prevent fallout, this time.
As I was thinking this, I had the revelation that managing my moods is in large part a function of simply watching my moods, so that I can talk to my shrink about adjusting my meds. That there’s such a direct response in either direction simplifies things immensely… not that there still aren’t things that I can do to work on my mood predispositions, but still, the meds seem to be key.
But that it’s so simple, in the end, makes me really sad. I spent so much of my late teens and twenties feeling miserable, misunderstood, crazy, bad, undeserving, you name the negative ideation. If I had been less stubborn about seeking some medical help, if someone who thought there was more to my moods than just being “sensitive” or “intellectually eccentric” had insisted I needed help, who knows? I could have been diagnosed properly at a much earlier point, and saved myself a lot of misery, not to mention the misery and confusion I inflicted on my friends, family, and colleagues. There’s nothing I can do to change what was, except hope that I can be helpful enough to someone else in need of help so that they suffer fewer regrets than I’m feeling right now.