The Reason I Stopped Blogging

I haven't done any craft blogging for nine months. There are a few reasons, but the main one is an event that took place last June.

The summer of 2014 was a challenge for me. I hadn't been getting along with my antidepressant very well; there was a side effect that became overwhelming. Sometimes as a person gets older their body changes in how it interacts with medication and things will need to be adjusted. It is part and parcel of having depression.

My doctor and I decided that since I had been dealing with this side effect for so long it was time to tweak my medication regimen and change to a new antidepressant. For anyone not familiar with this process, let me tell you how it goes. You have to gradually step down the dose of your current medication and then gradually increase the dose of the new medication. Sounds simple, but sometimes you may become symptomatic as your system adjusts.

I became irritable. I tried to not let it spill over onto anyone else but it was a herculean effort, and I failed several times. Things seemed to get better once I was on the full dose, however something else was happening that I was unaware of. To give some context, I have always focused mainly on treating my depression because it was diagnosed first. After my aspergers was diagnosed, it was a whole new can of worms.

Last summer, I was having anxiety episodes every day; they kept getting increasingly worse. None of my learned coping skills were working. I would go for walks, but I was walking three times a day and once or twice a night. I remember pacing the neighborhood in the dark, thinking if I could find the source of my anxiety I could fix it. This went on for five or six weeks. I was agitated, and became short with my roommates. I wasn't sleeping or eating. I avoided my friends altogether.

I kept thinking that I needed to stick it out with the new medication because that horrible side effect that had plagued me was gone. I didn't realize my anxiety was not being handled. In ignorance I didn't call my doctor, thinking the anxiety came from an external source.

Sometimes trying to soldier on in silence is not the best course of action. I stopped caring about anything, I was well beyond depressed. I couldn't find a moment's peace and I thought that that would be how I lived for the rest of my life. I wish I had called my doctor at this time.

I ended up having a meltdown and my roommate drove me to the ER. The doctors and nurses were very compassionate and professional. I felt like I had failed in some way, but I quickly learned that it wasn't true. I know this is not everyone's experience with hospitals, but I went in scared, and everything turned out ok.

They made some changes to my medication regimen and things got a lot better. I'm being treated for my anxiety, and have learned specific coping skills designed to alleviate those symptoms. It's been a long road, but I feel like I'm finally in a good place.

Until next time.

Don't forget to give yourself a break.