I restarted taking antidepressants about 2 weeks ago. Very reluctantly I might add. Not that I think there’s anything wrong with taking meds for depression.
Evidently that statement applies to how I feel about other people taking meds. Not for me. huh
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like they don’t work, to a certain degree at least, but meds are not a cure. They just give you enough relief from the dark cloud crushing your very soul so you can help yourself.
And that’s the part I wasn’t accepting…that I cannot beat this clinical depression that sucks every ounce of my physical energy until I am little more than a legume.
I wonder sometimes why needing help, asking for it and accepting it is so incredibly repugnant to me?
Anyone have any idea why that is?