So…something has changed. And for once, it seems to be a change for the better.
After a rather rough weekend, I woke up Monday morning feeling surprisingly different. My head was clearer, and it felt as though some of the weight I had been carrying around had finally lifted off my shoulders. Not all of it, mind you, but enough that I noticed. By Tuesday, I was feeling even lighter, and today, Wednesday, I can actually say that I feel pretty good.
Pretty good! Imagine that.
If you've been following along with my journey over the past several months, you know that those are not words I've been using very often. Anxiety, depression, and the ever-present thoughts and urges to harm myself have made life incredibly difficult. Some days, just getting through the day has taken everything I have. I've been working hard to manage those feelings, but lately, it has seemed like an uphill battle with no end in sight.
And then, seemingly out of nowhere, a little relief.
I am certainly not suggesting that everything is suddenly sunshine and rainbows. The thoughts and urges haven't magically disappeared. But I feel as though I am in a much better place to manage them. They don't seem quite as overwhelming, and I have a little more room in my head to think before reacting. After months of struggling, that feels like a pretty significant accomplishment.
So, what's changed?
Well, for starters, my psychiatrist and I have been making some adjustments to my medications. I've started taking a new medication while gradually discontinuing two others. Apparently, in this case, less really might be more.
Earlier this year, I underwent genetic testing to see how my body processes certain medications. As it turns out, one of the medications I've been taking for approximately fifteen years may not be particularly well suited to my genetic makeup. Fifteen years! That's a long time to be taking something that may not be working as well as it could.
The new medication appears to be a better match, at least according to the testing. Of course, genetic testing doesn't guarantee that a medication will work, but it can provide some useful guidance. So, out with the old and in with the new.
The transition hasn't been particularly easy. Medication changes can be difficult, especially when you're already struggling with anxiety and depression. I've been nervous about making these changes because I know how quickly things can go sideways. But so far, I'm beginning to feel hopeful that we're moving in the right direction.
The other medication I'm discontinuing was prescribed to help me sleep, although it also has antidepressant properties. Unfortunately, it can also contribute to changes in metabolism, increased appetite, and weight gain. And let me tell you, I've had more than enough experience with that particular side effect.
Since entering residential treatment back in March, I've gained approximately thirty pounds.
Thirty pounds!
Now, I realize that my weight is not the most important thing in the world. My mental health and recovery are far more important than the number on the scale. I know that. But it is still frustrating. I've been walking, exercising, and trying to take care of myself, and yet the scale has stubbornly refused to cooperate.
I suppose I should also acknowledge that I'm approaching sixty, and my metabolism isn't exactly behaving like it did when I was thirty. Apparently, my body didn't get the memo that I would like to remain young forever.
So, I'm making some changes.
I've been getting up early and walking for an hour to an hour and a half before heading to school. There is something about being outside, moving, and having a little quiet time before the demands of teaching begin that helps settle my mind. Walking has always been one of the ways I manage my anxiety, and I think it is helping me feel better both physically and emotionally.
I'm also trying to make some changes to my eating habits. The M&M's have been banished for the time being. A moment of silence, please, for those delicious little chocolate-covered friends.
I'm cutting back on sweets and trying to eliminate the unnecessary snacking between meals. My hope is that, between discontinuing the medication, continuing to walk, and being more mindful of what I'm eating, I'll eventually start seeing some progress.
I'm not expecting miracles. I'd just like to feel a little more comfortable in my own skin.
Of course, there is a downside to all of these medication changes.
I'm not sleeping.
And I mean REALLY not sleeping.
This week, I've been averaging about four hours of sleep a night. Four hours! This morning, I was awake at 3:40, and that was pretty much the end of my night. By the time I get home from school, I'm exhausted. My body is tired, my brain is tired, and I'm more than ready to crawl into bed.
Unfortunately, being tired and actually sleeping are two very different things.
I'm hoping that as my body adjusts to the medication changes, my sleep will improve. I know how important sleep is to my mental health, and I certainly don't want exhaustion to undo the progress I've been making. It's something I'll need to keep an eye on and continue discussing with my psychiatrist.
Still, despite the lack of sleep, I feel better than I have in quite some time.
And that is worth celebrating.
One of the things I've been learning throughout this long and complicated journey is that recovery isn't a straight line. There are good days, bad days, and days when I wonder whether I'm making any progress at all. I've spent a lot of time over the past several months feeling frightened, overwhelmed, and uncertain about the future. There have been moments when I couldn't imagine feeling better again.
But here I am.
I'm still working through the trauma. I'm still learning how to manage my emotions. I'm still practicing the skills I've learned in treatment, even when I'd rather not have to use them. And I'm still trying to figure out how to balance being a teacher, a husband, an artist, and a person who needs to take care of himself.
That's a lot of hats to wear, especially when some days I can barely find my shoes.
But this week has reminded me that things can change. The way I feel today is not necessarily the way I will feel tomorrow. And just as the difficult days don't last forever, the better days deserve to be noticed and appreciated.
I'm trying not to get too far ahead of myself. I've learned that lesson the hard way. I know there will be more difficult days, and I know that feeling better for a few days doesn't mean that all of my struggles are behind me.
But feeling better is still feeling better.
And right now, I'm grateful for that.
I'm hopeful that the medication changes will continue to help. I'm hopeful that I'll start sleeping again. I'm hopeful that the walking and healthier eating will eventually make a difference. Most importantly, I'm hopeful that I'll continue to find my way toward a life that feels a little less overwhelming and a little more manageable.
For the first time in a while, that hope feels a little easier to hold on to.
Now, if you'll excuse me, it's getting late, and I've been awake since 3:40 this morning.
I'm going to bed.
Here's hoping that tonight, my brain gets the message and decides to join me.
Until next time…