Take care of your brain
I didn’t start taking antidepressants until I was 29. I wish I’d done it much earlier.
It probably took so long because my depression isn’t that bad. It’s what doctors call ‘mild depression’. I’ve only occasionally had thoughts about not being around any longer, although I never took steps to make that happen.
In reality, my depression meant that I got sadder and more anxious about things than other people would, and would contribute to me not being as nice a person as I’d like to be. That wasn’t so bad.
But when it was worse, my depression would mean I had no energy, no drive to get out of bed and go to work, no inclination to do anything, no sense of possibility or hope or the future being at all good. Which was all pretty confusing, because I’m generally a super positive, active person.
Back in 2017, my despondent, weepy days started to happen more than I’d like them to. I also married Annabel that year, so someone else had to put up with my mood swings and general misery, which isn’t particularly fun. Then one day my friend Dave mentioned that someone he knew had started taking antidepressants and it had totally turned their life around. So I took the punt.
I’m not sure what took me so long to try antidepressants. I think I sometimes felt that I wasn’t depressed enough. That I had to be sadder, utterly miserable, to earn the right. I also didn’t want my brain to change, to become a different person, to lose my drive.
Around that time, I remember reading a blog that talked about this fear of your personality changing. It made the point that maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. After all, are those depressing days in The Pit really something that you want as part of your personality? If you could claw some of that time back and feel more alive, wouldn’t that be worth it?
It was. My doctor was lovely and totally open to me trying medication. I started on 10mg of citalopram, which they then increased to 20mg. The feeling I got wasn’t the presence of something – joy, happiness, contentment. Instead, it was the absence of some things – the really bad days, the occasional bout of total and utter despair.
Because nothing major changed, it took me a while to realise it was working. Then, a couple of months into taking medication, I realised I hadn’t had a bad day for a while. I didn’t feel amazing, or different, or super perky. But I never felt really bad.
Poor mental health is a total bugger. It’s affected most of the men in my family, sometimes really badly. It held me back for a long time. And it’s particularly annoying because it can take so long to figure out what’s going on in your brain and find ways to remedy it.
I tried therapy and talking to friends and reading various books, but none of that worked – for me. You might be different. But I know that medication’s helped me, and I’d encourage you to try it (or something else) if you think it might help.
You only get one brain. Look after it.
👋 If you want to talk about your brain with someone, feel free to email me. I’m not a therapist or professional, but I’m always happy to talk.
📚 I’ve found Matt Haig’s books Reasons to Stay Alive and Notes on a Nervous Planet to be super helpful for my brain health.
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