As much as Zoloft helps with my depressive symptoms and anxiety, I hate going back on it because of the side effects I experience and the knowledge that it will get worse before it gets better.
There is also something else I’ve experienced twice now after starting on Zoloft, which is having suicidal thoughts. Suicidal ideation is a risk that has been documented among children, teenagers and young adults while taking Zoloft and remains a topic of controversy regarding antidepressant use.
The good thing is I’m aware these thoughts are unusual for me to have and I can put some distance from them as if they’re alien to my mind. Something related to medication, not my current condition. I’m aware I’ve been through worse and have come out from the other side. These thoughts do pass and I don’t act on them but the fact that they exist is perturbing.
(Disclaimer: This post is not meant by any means to deter anyone from taking prescribed antidepressants like Zoloft. If you need medication, you need medication and there isn’t any shame in that. The intention I had for this post was to also acknowledge the experience of these side effects that you have to ride through in the road to recovery. Often people think medication makes everything better and I can say for certain they are not as simple as being ‘happy pills’. Also, this is just my experience, others’ may vary.)
Grief sits in my chest,
lounging on a chair.
She has made herself
staring at old photographs
and locking the door at
the end of the day,
night after night.
Not a worry in the world,
after all, she doesn’t need to
pay rent. She OWNS this house.
In appreciation of Kid Flash’s debut on The Flash Season 3 🙂 Can’t wait for October 4th!
So as it turns out I really love drawing diagrams of the brain…started with monochrome in class to watercolours on a day at home 🙂
The day felt like peppermint tea and poetry written by a recluse poet as the sky purpled with hints of grey at the edges of frayed clouds.
The days of playing pretend were supposedly over twelve years ago but playing tourist in a city you’ve been living in for the past three years can be an invigorating adventure, rediscovering the old haunts and some new places you’d been postponing to visit for ever so long.
In some majestic buildings justice is served and we can only hope that the deliverers are as upright-morally- as those tall structures.
p.s Photographs of tree from down below, with the sun glinting through the branches, are some of favourites. Here’s one.
p.p.s It’s fun to explore and just wander. Do it on a Sunday.
I had a lovely summer, finally with some free time and I graduated from college, so I’d chalk that up to a good time.
Church Street milling with people mid day is where I found myself, disappearing into the throng, walking with no place to go until I met a friend and we sat ourselves down to catch up on everything we’d been missing, long been kept from enjoying time off, no pressing deadlines or harried hellos and goodbyes. We’d been through some hell of a ringer and came out clean on the other side. And in that late afternoon, we sat outside a cafe, smelling of cinammon in the air. The smell of nicotine intermingled as we sucked on pale white cigarettes, vestiges of lipstick with names like wine festival and bold crimson caressing the tips. And I remember thinking, summer smells so sweet.
Light filtered through kaleidoscope tinted sky lights, and the light buzz of beer was coloured with reds, blues and bright yellows. Behind me were little wooden houses, brightly painted and in rows perched on shelves lined till the ceiling where the colours of the stained glass danced upon them as if for tiny little people. And on many occasions, we all feel tinier than we are but with a couple of beers in hand and bowling drunkenly afterwards, the brightly coloured bowling balls sloping ever always to the right, we could not have felt any bigger than at that very moment.
Trees blooming with pink flowers are such a sight to see and one of my favourites, even when a tram is zipping me by so fast I couldn’t hold on to take a picture fast enough. Thankfully I did. And with a lake spread out before my eyes and fishermen waiting for the long haul not too far away, I felt like a tiny dot among the crowd, in a way that made me realize we’re all trying and we’re all okay.
We swallowed the pangs of that knotted feeling,
the aubergine of doubt tainting our dreams.
It tasted sickly, like a cherry-flavoured expectorant
yet bitter like cold and flu pills
when they rested upon your tongue for much too long a time.
We were ill with discontent, ridden with the symptoms of
an unfortunate case of inadequacy.
A chronic condition of constantly qualifying, quantifying …
until we realized we were calculating infinite,
which, of course, is a crushing epiphany.
But once it passed, we felt it.
We are enough.