I have a psychiatrist. I don’t say that out loud very often but there it is. I have friends and family that had depression, all of whom proudly remind me frequently that they’re “over it” and only needed medication for about six months from their family doctor. Good for them. I don’t know what their depression felt like but I’ll probably be on my meds forever. A few weeks ago my psychiatrist increased both my anti-depressant (Cipralex) and my anti-psychotic (Seroquel). Now my brain has slowed down enough that I can read and write again. I would love to meet the person or people that made Seroquel because it takes me from insomniac miserable suicidal monster to functioning adult. I wish I could tolerate taking it during the day but I tried that one morning and then walked around the mall with blank stares and crashed on the couch for three hours when we got home. It got rid of my anxiety but it took me down with it. I know it’s there and I can use it during the day if I start hallucinating or panicking which is awesome. I am so thankful that it exists; I just don’t want to imagine life without it.

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