The first time I asked for help for my depression and anxiety I already tried to kill myself, in other words: I was already suicidal when I first went to Psychiatric therapy. And one of the first things I was told was: “Don’t worry, feeling like that is not normal, we can make you feel so much better”. At that instant I realized that there was something wrong with me, not with the rest of the world, but… was it entirely my fault feeling like that?
The first thing my Psychiatrist did was to hear my problems and then prescribe me some antidepressants. The antidepressants were pretty strong and they started to work almost immediately, I was fueled with life and nothing seemed to bother me, but it didn’t felt right. I was used to things bothering me, things like injustice in the world and corruption of the political system. I didn’t think that my views on those issues or my feelings towards those issues were entirely wrong.
I addressed my concerns to my psychiatrist, I was really scared of becoming a pharmacologically-fueled-sociopath. I remember I used to cry entire nights just of the thought that somewhere people were dying out of hunger, but at that time, when I was taking those antidepressants, it didn’t seem to bother me, or even spend one thought on them, was like my mind was blocking any sort of sad thoughts.
I wasn’t having it, I looked for help because I wanted to have the energy and ability to help people, but now, I didn’t even think of the needs of the people, helping others didn’t made me happy anymore, I just needed the medicines. I remember even afraid of becoming addicted to them.
After some time, my psychiatrist told me that my feelings weren’t entirely wrong, neither were my sense of anarchism or humanism, those were the things that made me who I was, and he didn’t want to destroy my personality. I was glad with what I heard. I didn’t want to change who I was, I was just afraid of suicide.
So, the psychiatrist lower the doses of antidepressants and changed one of them, I was happy with the outcome, the problem is…. I still don’t feel it completely right.
An article came out in the New York Times (1) explaining how the real unknown to climate change is our behavior. And that took me back to when I spent so many hours crying none stop about climate change, and the fact that we are not making enough about it.
Back then I couldn’t understand how people went on with their lives knowing about climate change, for me just hearing “climate change” meant hours of crying. I couldn’t get it, and I still don’t get it, because without my medicine I would go back to the same, and that makes me think that maybe, just maybe, some of my feelings towards some of the issues that bothered me, weren’t an overreaction.
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