Medicated

Photo Credit: @steffeneirich

I have the right to have anxiety and depression, and everyone else who struggles the same does too. Now, before you’re up in arms accusing me of being some sort of masochistic and sadistic person, let me explain. 

I was born into an incredible situation. Adopted at birth and raised in a middle-class family in Montana, I had what you could rightfully describe as a perfect upbringing. My parents loved me more than words could ever describe and they gave me everything I could have ever possibly wanted. I never had to work a job because, from an early age, they allowed me to commit myself to my basketball dream and provided me with every resource and opportunity I needed to make it come true. There was never a day without 3 meals on the table and a warm bed to sleep in. We had multiple vehicles, more pets than a normal family should, and every night I could go to sleep knowing it would all still be there when I awoke. Even with all these incredible blessings, there’s been a hole in me for as long as I can remember. For years, a fight was constantly going on within me and, despite having a psychotherapist mother and studying psychology in college, I was completely ignorant to what the problem was because it couldn't be anxiety or depression, no way. How could I have something like that? I’ve always been the type to look in the mirror and hold myself accountable first and foremost, so this was no different. “I’m being soft.” “My life is amazing, how dare I feel this way.” “There’s people out there who have real reasons to be anxious and depressed, I haven’t earned that right.” These were all the thoughts that crossed my mind countless numbers of times for more than 10 years. So, for a long time, I buried my struggle within, forcing myself to deny the undeniable. 

Finally, I reached my breaking point 5 years ago and I couldn’t deny it any longer. Forced to confront everything inside me, I finally did something that I never anticipated I'd do. I started taking medication. Now, for a lot of people, it’s understandably difficult to disclose that they’re on any sort of medication, especially for something as stigmatized as mental health, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that our shame loses its power over us as soon as we share. Because that’s proving to ourselves there’s nothing to be ashamed of. 

So for 5 years, I took my medication consistently. Making sure to refill my prescriptions (admittedly late sometimes) and follow my dosage, and I saw a lot of improvement. As anyone else who is on these types of medications will tell you, it’s not a cure-all. I still have my days of struggle and pain, but my medication helps there at least be more days between the struggles and lessens the severity of them. I even had days when I wondered why I was still even on them. Surely I was better and besides, I have an amazing life. I’m married to my soul mate, I’m getting paid to play basketball, and I have family and friends who love me. I don’t deserve my anxiety and depression. There’s a lot more people out there who couldn’t be blamed for feeling how I feel. Then, in August, we moved to Germany and I was now a few thousand miles away from the nearest CVS pharmacy. Between moving my wife and dogs to Germany, acclimating to a new culture, and suffering a knee injury, my refill fell between the cracks and I lapsed by over a month. 

For the first few weeks, I really didn’t notice any issues honestly. Things seemed to be flowing fairly well and I felt I was hopeful and in a good place. Then once that time passed I was forced to face what I’d forgotten about but definitely hadn’t disappeared. Every day was a struggle and every night I went to bed exhausted from the battle in my head that had taken place all day. My mind raced constantly and doubted everything that I said and did. The voice in my head had never been this loud before and I really struggled with dealing with the noise. I remember a specific moment after finishing a workout and talking with some teammates and coaches, I walked off the court and the noise was so loud in my head that I stopped in the hall and started to smack myself in the head. Anything to quiet the negativity going on upstairs. Integrating myself back with the team after being away with my injury proved to be the hardest part. During rehab, I missed a large portion of the beginning of the season, and with that, I missed out on a lot of bonding. Once I started to be back with the team, I found myself completely overwhelmed by the pressure to find my place. With each word I spoke and interaction I had, I was bombarded with doubt and fear. “What if they don’t like me?” “Damn it, I just said something stupid didn’t I?” “I ruined it.” It got to the point where I figured the only safe bet was to be quiet. I couldn't embarrass myself if I was quiet. 

Eventually, this all became too much for me and I finally made it a point to find a way to get back on my medication and fight back against my own mind. When I eventually started my dose again I quickly noticed a slight improvement every few days until I started to feel a little bit more like myself. That whole struggle taught me something. I have the right to my anxiety and depression. Just because I’ve lived a great life and on paper, there’s no reason for me to feel this way, this is just how I feel. Plain and simple. It is what it is. No matter who you are there will always be someone who has it better, and someone who has it worse. Comparing our struggles to one another doesn’t solve them, it only alienates us further. Each of us is doing the best we can with what we’re given...and I think that’s enough.