Well, the anniversary was on 24/4/2024, I think, but I’ve had a few hectic/difficult days since, so only finding the time and energy to write this now. It will be very short though, as I’m not sure there’s much to add to what, I believe, has been written elsewhere. Anyway, according to some notes (I started to take notes of pills-taking when I thought I was able to space it more. End of June 2022 it seems. Apparently that evening I only took one to help me sleep through as I wanted to be on form for a wedding do. Actually I think I might have taken notes before, and that was a re-load. Proved by the fact that the next entry was on ‘failing’ six months later. Some circumstances are actually a little odd, it really felt like a bookend then), last Wednesday was a full year without any pill for my mental health. For the first time in nearly ten years.
Anyway, if it hasn’t been mentioned, there was a first six months attempt, starting in about February 2021 (so that was BEFORE my Dad’s death), when I was feeling more mentally independent again. That failed in August 2021 with the unravelling of that NPD enmeshment as extensively related in various places I think. So yeah, then I really didn’t feel I could cope without chemical help. And I’d say that’s fair enough, given circumstances, etc. And so while I spaced things out progressively again (sometimes a little less, sometimes a little more, from my nominal ‘5mg every three days’ prescription), it took nearly another year for the second attempt. But by that stage anyway, I was in mind that taking a pill would just be to be sure I slept well enough when feeling slightly uncertain before big events. So perhaps sleeping pills would have been better, as I didn’t want to disturb the way my mind worked. Anyway, yeah, so it was for the same reason I took another one after six months just on NYE 2023, as something important could happen the next day, and while I’d been fighting with myself to not panic in the days before, with a late-ish night out to celebrate the new year with friends, I felt I needed it, the same way I did six months earlier. And it worked well, I slept better, and the next day, nice things nearly happened. But not quite. I reacted well, but with all the difficulties of the situation, the next four months I was working on some kind of ad hoc basis, but never truly giving up on treatment again. Until I felt I saw a ‘light’, a strong sense of ‘now would be a good time’ in April when everything could have truly fallen apart (do remember though that I was depressed in February so there was no way I’d have stopped then). It hasn’t been all plain sailing since, I’ve really had ups and downs and moments when in the past I’d have taken a pill for safety or just to make sure, but I was quite determined to hang on, and despite a few mental wobbles, so I did. After the first six months, it became even more of a case of ‘I shall not fail, now I’ve come that far, there’s no point in giving up’. As I’m sure I’ve mentioned elsewhere (on a blog page about MH presumably), I may not make my life more comfortable this way. I could simply accept I need the pills to make my life easier. But there’s no easy answer or solution. A pill might help sometimes but (oh, it’s funny it’s kind of like those lyrics I wrote in 2002, I still feel the same, even if it was just valium at the time), I feel I have enough willpower. Is that presumptuous? Am I wrong (I remember on reading the book about bipolar disorder, the line about people afflicted thinking they can do without pills but they truly can’t)? Not sure. The thing is, I have not been diagnosed with anything. So apart from my slow development, certainly some genetic predispositions to ‘some’ mental imbalance, I can’t hide behind the excuse of a disease I don’t have (hence my use of excuse, if I had a disease it would be a reality not an excuse). I’m still of the idea that perhaps I’m vaguely cyclothymic.
Anyway, yeah, so, interestingly that ‘anniversary’ week was anything but easy, with the semi-stressful work situation, but mostly the impromptu air controller strikes, the cancelled plane, the having to rebook things on my own, the incredible non-helpfulness of the boss and a few others, me once more sacrificing my comfort for others (ending up being the only one on an early plane I’d never have chosen for myself but pointedly and in concertation with another person chose to make a third person’s life easier), catching a disease, and losing my keys while attending the initially not-part-of-the-plan olympic handover ceremony in Athens (photos and videos in a page on this site in a few days), and so having to fork out a grand on arrival. Arsenal saved the week by trashing Chelsea at home (when I was still feeling great) and winning at Spu*s (when I was just about starting to recover my health), but really there were a lot of negative events, tension, bad health, enough to make me reach for a pill if I hadn’t had the past year’s experience. And so I didn’t. Mind you, even if I wanted to, I didn’t have any with me, and even the ones I still have at home are out of date now. Meaning I might still try to see my psychiatrist to get a ‘just in case ‘prescription. In fact, my appointments stopped a few months ago after she had to cancel and with no obvious reschedule, so even if I do, no need to waste her time really.
So yeah, one year on, am I feeling better for it? Well it’s been nearly ten years in and out of pill-taking (one of the first prescriptions had 1mg of valium morning and evening, 75mg of Effexor morning, and 20mg of Zyprexa evening, so I’d already come down a long long way), it’s not that easy and it may never be, but despite maybe still not getting anywhere, I hope I am a better and stronger person. Whatever that means.