March 29th...that's the very first day I ever took an anti-depressant. I remember the little blue pill very clearly.I remember throwing up in the bathroom of the walk in clinic, I remember stoppin at the grocery store on the way home and picking up junk food so I could return home to Andrea, cry, and eat myself into being happy - it didn't work.
It's been a year and a day. 367 days (cause we had a leap year). I often wonder still if its been worth it. All the medications. I've lost so much time, chunks of my memory, money, self respect, self esteem, sex drive and so many other things. Who knows what I would be like if I hadn't started taking them. I worry what it's done to my body, to my brain. Have they affected my life span? I've come along way from the person I was 367 days ago, I know I have - but its hard to believe that I've been on medication for so long.
I finished the Emotional regulation thrapy group this week. Odd that my last day there was also on the anniversary of the start of my medication - a thought that was not lost on me yesterday. I had so hoped that by the end of my 14 weeks that, idk...not that I'd be cured but that I would feel more prepared than I do. The last group of graduates had some amazingly competent people - and I know I can't compare lives to them, but I wanted to be there. To have the know how, the strength to face everything without the constant resource or reminders of the things I am supposed to be trying.
I am glad I went, I do feel like I've benefited from it - but I didn't get what I wanted. I got something good, it was a positive experience - but it wasn't what I wanted.