So I’ve spent the last several weeks convinced I was going insane. Not just a little nuts, like anyone with a new job, and on campus classes, who happens to also be in the middle of a potentially contentious divorce, would be, but honestly insane. Last week I met with my mental health doctor who prescribes my sleeping pills and anxiety medications,and she agreed that I was majorly depressed. Again, not a shock as I was sobbing over literally nothing as I sat in her office. We ran through all the potential drugs, drugs I’ve tried, drugs I’ve liked, drugs I couldn’t take because of the Behcet’s and my history of seizures. The most effective drug being the one most likely to cause seizures, and therefore thoroughly on my “never EVER take this” list.
I sat there, and I felt more broken than I’ve felt in a while. There is something about becoming emotionally broken that takes a harder toll on you than the physical breaking does. When someone sees you’re covered in bruises, or ulcers, or your eyes are super red, they see that you’re sick. When you’re mentally shattered, and good at pretending to be fine, it takes longer for those around you to realize you’re not okay. We settled on a drug, but she wanted my neurologist’s okay before starting. When he hadn’t gotten back to us in 24 hours, she said to go ahead and start it because she was concerned waiting longer was going to be detrimental. I needed this drug in my system, my depression was severe.
Then my neurologist called…
Did you know that Keppra can cause major depression? I didn’t.
I have this rule, I don’t read all the side effects because I take too many pills to really spend my time worrying about the various things that could happen to me. I know what to look out for with the major side effects, and that suits me just fine. No need to worry about tornadoes in Texas if you’re standing on a shaking fault line in California. Point is, I didn’t know. They’d been steadily increasing my Keppra dosage, as my depression got worse, and then had the audacity to suggest psychogenic seizures even though my mood issues seemed to only become a problem after the dose had been increased.
The answer right now is halving my Keppra, and adding in Lamictal, something I was allergic to before, but the doctor is hoping I’m not allergic to this time around. I still have to start the antidepressant along with the sleeping pills, but I will say this: weed works wonders.
There was a time when I swore, even though it was legal for medical reasons, I wouldn’t do it. Now, I’m grateful that I have the option. In terms of my depression, anxiety, and sleep issues, it’s perfection. The same goes for my issues with nausea and appetite. I’ve given up on the idea of, “just in case of emergency,” because I’m sick of living in a body on the brink of giving out. Why should I wait till I’m in the flare of the century to use my vape pen or vaporizer? Why should I juggle a dozen pills that make it all worse, when I can alleviate the need for several with just one plant?
Look, I’m not saying marijuana is the answer to every ailment out there, but it’s definitely got some major pharmaceutical potential in it’s raw state. Why would I forgo the obviously beneficial plant, for the synthetic Marinol pills (that are federally legal) when they’ve been proven not to be as effective?
A friend told me to make a list of things I want out of life, and that I want out of a partner. (This stemmed from a talk regarding my woe over turning 30, mid-divorce, and feeling like I’d never have a husband and family.) I realized that a lot of what I wanted, were things I needed to be healthier to obtain. My exes scathing words, “nobody is going to love someone who is sick like you,” rung in my ears, but I heard them differently this time.
I need to love myself, illnesses and all, before I expect anyone to commit and love me.
I am a good person, I do good things, and I care about people, but I don’t have much in the way of self-esteem. My issue is that I feel defective and disposable, and having an illness doesn’t help with any of that. When you pull out your medication back, and stare at the bottles and bottles of pills, it’s hard to separate yourself from the illness It’s hard to figure out what parts of me are lovable.
So yes, I smoke medical marijuana, and I think it’s het only thing keeping me from having a physical and emotional breakdown at this point. My nausea is easing, my depression is lightened, and even my anxiety is more manageable. I’m still taking all my regular medications, but I was able to hang out with the guy (who is naturally just soothing to begin with) without being to overtly awkward. When you live most of your life in pain, alone, and uncomfortable, you start reaching for whatever makes it better. For me the only gateway Marijuana opens up, is the gateway to a better future.