The Sticky Bit

So...I haven’t had much time lately to keep everyone updated on what’s been going on. Life has been moving at a ridiculous pace, and this past week added another complication: a medication mishap.

About a week and a half ago, my psychiatrist sent in a prescription for one of my medications. It is a very strong medication, but it is also a very necessary one for me. Apparently, there was some kind of problem with insurance. The pharmacy told me they would look into it, so I waited.

And waited.

Then I ran out.

After three days without the medication, I finally called my insurance company myself. I spent about forty-five minutes on the phone with a very kind woman who eventually figured out that the pharmacy simply needed to call the pharmacy help line.

So, I called the pharmacy and passed along the information. They told me they would take care of it.

Meanwhile, my brain and body were not particularly interested in patiently waiting for the insurance company and pharmacy to sort things out.

I started having brain zaps. My anxiety began climbing. My depression followed right behind it. And, as my anxiety increased, so did my urges to engage in self-injurious behavior. Suicidal thoughts started increasing, too.

That was frightening because I have some history with this particular medication.

Back in January, my psychiatrist at the time was trying to lower my dosage. She had noted that I was taking more than the FDA-recommended maximum, so we began reducing it. When I dropped to 30 mg, everything fell apart.

And I mean everything.

I was self-harming. My depression became overwhelming. I reached a point where I knew that if I went home that day, I was going to do something to make the pain stop.

Instead, I was directed to EmPATH.

That became the beginning of a journey I never imagined I would take: EmPATH, PHP, residential treatment, another PHP, IOP, and now an evening DBT program.

Needless to say, I have a different psychiatrist now.

What amazes me is realizing just how much this medication is helping me. Once I finally got the prescription filled and started taking it again, things began to settle. It wasn’t some magical transformation where everything suddenly became wonderful, but the intensity came down. I am still dealing with self-injury urges, but the suicidal thoughts have decreased significantly.

That matters.

It also reminded me that I need to stay on top of my medications. I find the process frustrating because I don’t receive refills automatically. When I’m getting close to running out, I have to contact my provider and request another prescription, and it can take a couple of days for everything to go through. Clearly, I need to build more of a buffer into that process. Waiting until I’m almost out is not something I can afford to do with a medication this important.

Of course, all of this happened while the rest of my life continued barreling forward.

Last week I had DBT three nights, my second graders had their music concert, and I had an appointment with my therapist. This week isn’t exactly shaping up to be a spa retreat either. I have DBT and parent-teacher conferences.

And, because apparently my calendar looked a little too empty, I also became the second-grade team lead.

The teacher who had planned to take the role came to me and asked if I would step in. She is new to second grade and felt that I would be a better fit because I have taught the grade for a long time. I thought about it and decided to say yes.

Was taking on another responsibility while adjusting to being back at work and attending DBT three nights a week the most obvious choice?

Probably not.

But I also know second grade. I know my team. And it felt good to be asked.

School itself has actually gone pretty well. My students are working incredibly hard, and I really couldn’t have asked for a better class for my return to teaching. After being away for seven months, I was worried about what coming back would look like. There are certainly difficult days, but I am doing it.

I keep telling myself that I am still adjusting.

Although, at some point, I would really like to know when this alleged “adjustment period” officially ends.

Right now, almost everything takes effort. Getting up. Going to school. Teaching. Going to DBT. Keeping up with planning, meetings, paperwork, appointments, medications, relationships, and all the ordinary pieces of life that apparently did not receive the memo that I am still recovering.

There is also a practical reality underneath all of this. I need to work. I need health insurance. I need to pay for my house and my life. I don’t have the luxury of waiting until my anxiety and depression completely disappear before I return to living.

And maybe that is the sticky bit.

For a long time, I think some part of me imagined recovery as reaching a point where the depression and anxiety would finally step aside and allow me to resume my life.

Instead, I am learning how to live my life while they are still here.

I teach while anxious.

I go to DBT while exhausted.

I sit with urges I desperately wish I didn’t have.

I take my medication.

I use the skills I have spent months learning.

I ask for help.

Sometimes I struggle.

Sometimes I have a genuinely good day.

And then I get up and do it again.

I don’t know how long this adjustment period lasts. Maybe there isn’t a finish line where someone hands me a certificate announcing that I am officially adjusted and everything is easy again.

What I do know is that the only direction available to me is forward.

That doesn’t mean charging ahead without fear, depression, anxiety, or exhaustion. It means carrying those things differently than I used to.

For now, I will keep taking my medication. I will keep going to DBT. I will keep teaching my second graders. I will keep working on managing the anxiety and depression instead of waiting for them to disappear.

And I will keep trying.

Some days, that is more than enough.