Six Days: A Guest Blog Post by Kerri Blessing

In almost a year of figuring out I was depressed (again), seeking counseling, and taking an antidepressant (again), it seemed to only take 6 days to slide backwards, almost to where I began.

In my previous experience with depression, I saw my doctor and was prescribed an antidepressant.  Once I felt “better”, with my doctor’s permission, I quit taking the medication.  This time around, it took me a long time to figure out I was depressed…again.  At least it felt like a long time to me. I always thought I would recognize my symptoms right away, but those symptoms were sneaky.  They were masked as a change in routine, PMS, or legitimate sad moments in my life.  I could finally no longer handle my symptoms on my own and sought help.

I began with counseling, which I had never tried before.  I was referred to a very caring therapist who has listened to me and challenged me in ways I never imagined.  I have found that much of the “work” I put in happens between sessions when I have time to think.  I look forward to sharing my new thoughts at my next session and especially knowing that time is just for me.

Fast forward 11 months.  It is summer again.  I feel good.  I see my doctor for a check-up about my prescription.  Things have been going so well that I ask if I can cut back on my medication.  My doctor quizzes me about how I have been feeling and is very excited that I am doing so well.  She agrees that cutting my dose in half is a fine idea and to check back in with her in a month.  That night, after breaking a pill in half, I take my new half a dose.

In the few days after that, I begin to notice slight changes.  On a family boating day at the lake, the sun is shining, the temperature is comfortable, and I am with my husband and daughter.  Out of the blue and for no reason at all, I feel like crying.  Thankful for the sunglasses I was wearing, I allowed myself a few tears and moved on with the wonderful day.  Some days I just didn’t feel “right” in a way I can’t describe even to myself.  On the 7^th day, I blew up at my daughter while I was supposed to be helping her clean her room and she got frustrated.  So, I got frustrated at her.  She cried.  I left the house and rode my bike down our lane, and I cried, too.

If I have learned nothing else in therapy, it is to reach out in my times of need.  After texting two people, my husband was the first one to call me back.  I didn’t hold back.  Through my tears, I told him everything that had happened.  I even admitted that maybe I need to go back to my regular dose of medicine.  I believe he was surprised to hear me say this, but he reassured me that our daughter would forgive me if I just returned home and apologized.  So, I did just that.

I knew in that moment I would be taking the full dose of my medication that night.

In texting with a few friends after apologizing to my daughter, some assured me that I am a normal Mom and to not be so hard on myself.  Another friend reminded me that my depression can be biological, and it’s not a sign of weakness to need more meds.  Still one more friend suggested I tried taking 75% of my original dose instead of 50%.

It only took me 6 days to figure out what I already knew.  Taking less medicine doesn’t change who I am, and why mess with my happiness just to take less medicine.  I have worked very hard to be happy again, and I don’t intend to let 10 mg change that.

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Thank you Kerri, for sharing your experience and letting others know they are not alone, taking antidepressants is not shameful, and those with depression can still be wonderful parents.