Let's Talk About The Little Orange Bottle

I take medication for my depression, anxiety, and mild ADHD.

Whew. That… takes a lot to admit.

I.
Take.
Meds.

There. Damnit. I said it.

The fact that I’m even concerned about the stigma around that says a lot, mainly about the environment I’ve lived in. And honestly, about the culture I’m embedded in, and the mental health crisis Black people deal with as a whole. The stigmas around being medicated are stacked and suffocating. They usually come with judgment.

You know what else I think? I think the judgment surrounding taking medication for said symptoms stems from that tightening Bible Belt—religion. It’s unfortunate. Religion has strict rules about non-binary practices of coping with your struggles, with the thought that it conflicts with your faith.

…But because y’all like to tussle, I’m not gonna get too deep into that (yet).

I will, however, dive into my reality. The undisputed facts about medication: it made me much calmer. Those anxious feelings settled a bit. It’s like I’m aware—but not so alarmed. I can now face an issue, and worry doesn’t begin scattering across my body like creepy crawlies, swallowing me whole with thoughts that I will sink. After all, anxiety likes to make its grand debut at the best (read: sarcasm) time, just to bulldoze.

But medication gave me fair clarity. Like a hand settling on the shoulder after tapping it—an embrace that says: It’s going to be okay. Zoom out. Actually, look at the issue at hand.

…But it doesn’t get rid of the confusion and pain in its entirety—be clear. There’s no leaving out my depression. It has since softened into a quiet, monitoring murmur. It used to be a loud shout. No longer begging for attention, but still reminding me with confidence, I’m still here, girlie.

That’s some bullshit.

I’m just gonna be honest and say it flat out.

But, strangely, Miss Thing Depression? She’s as real as it comes. Very determined. Very experienced. Very consistent. She comes in many forms. Sneaks up on you. Transcends through anything. Shows up without a real “look.” Without an ounce of shame, too.

That’s so fascinating.

As frustrating, debilitating, and crushing as depression feels, I still see it for what it is. The lull I fall under with medication isn’t the complete answer. But coupled with my routine, it has made a difference.

For now, I can live with that. It’s not that I really have a choice. I’m just fighting my battles with help, choosing what deserves the actual fight and what I can concede to live with. I’ve been surviving for quite some time, so I’m now allowing myself to live.

Baby steps, though.

Until next time,
Jenn.