The elevator

I sat in the doctor’s office waiting for my prescription to be adjusted.

“Alright Christopher, I’m going to lower your dosage and see if that makes a difference. Take an appointment with my receptionist and we’ll meet again in a week.”

“That’s it?” I answered. “Nothing else?”

“This is the process, Christopher. It’s all about finding the right dosage. It could take a couple of weeks before you start feeling better.”

I wasn’t putting in the work necessary to get better.

Let’s backtrack a bit here. The reason I was seeing this psychiatrist was because I wanted a quick fix to my depression. It had been just over three years since I tried to take my own life, and the ups and downs were starting to get to me. I was seeing a psychologist on a regular basis, but it wasn’t working. I was still feeling like crap.

To be honest, I wasn’t putting in the work necessary to get better. I wasn’t opening up to my psychologist or my friends about how I was feeling every day. I was hush about it. Most of the time, I didn’t have the energy to put in the work. It was a never ending cycle that was leading me back to a dark place I knew far too well.

People had talked to me about medication, and at this point, I was convinced that it would help me.

Seven days into taking anti-depressants, I felt worse than ever. The doctor told me that this would be normal. He told me that it’s a trial and error process. Here I was trying to to cheat my way out of being depressed, but my depression was smarter than that. I was scared that my depression would take my life before I had a chance to get better.

Now I was sitting in an office, feeling worse than ever, with a piece of paper in my hand that wasn’t going to make me feel better. I realized that this wasn’t going to work for me.

I wasn’t dedicated to myself.

I walked out of the office and past the receptionist. I didn’t make another appointment. I walked to the elevator and looked out the window. It was another grey February morning. I looked out the window and asked myself: “What are you doing Christopher?”

I was getting the results I deserved. I wasn’t putting the work in, and I was too busy trying to find a way to “cheat” my way back to feeling like myself. I wasn’t dedicated to myself. I spent more time trying to find a quick fix to my problems, rather than opening up to a paid professional who had my best interest at hand. I was scared.

I wasn’t afraid of the people talking about me, but rather the idea of going back to the dark hole I had been in for so long. I was slipping back into it and I was losing grip. I just wanted to get out of bed like a normal person, or eat a meal without feeling nauseated. I wanted to be able to go out with my friends and not have to leave early because I was exhausted from not getting enough sleep.

The elevator started to descend.

I took control of my depression.

“That’s it,” I told myself.

“I’m sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. This stops today.”

I got off the elevator and threw the prescription in the trash. I decided that morning that I was going to take control of my life and put in the necessary work needed to feel better. I was in control of my life. That morning, I changed the way I lived my life. That morning, I took control of my depression.