Refuse to defer power to those institutions that are incapable of making use or sense of that responsibility.
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Under a month ago, after several weeks contemplation, I decided to come off my meds within days. For two years now, I took venlafaxine. I am told as a second line treatment for moderate to severe depression. Last November saw the addition of quetiapine, an antipsychotic — thrown into the mix not for psychosis, which I do not have, but to manage my issues with anger.
Their combined effects appeared to work for a time. I lost those impulses of anger, and indeed the behaviours that brought on such emotions were less offensive, less enraging. Until of course they stopped. Like climbing a hill, the initial side effects endured during the up-climb, were overtaken by the blissful plateau, which lasted not long enough before I hurtled down into utter malaise and sheer indolence.
I would look at my iMac and just be content with its backlit beauty, not actually achieving anything. No guilt either, smiling an inane smile at the passage of my time. It was this very fact that I believe pushed me over the edge to such a drastic decision. Moving slowly towards death — it's ok, don't worry about it, life's too short to worry, fuck it, just eat cake.
Six years ago, after the birth of my first child, the driving factor for changing my career into journalism and photography was the fear of death. I was (technically) middle age, my daughter was hardly aware I existed because of the hours I worked. The work itself meaningless to me. I had an impulse to create art that meant something, worthy of a legacy I actually cared for; so I called in sick and didn't return to work for eight months.
Unable to cope despite taking the time off work, I accepted the deferral of my care to those who were trained in psychiatry and psychology. During those months, I started counselling and was put on an SSRI.
The fear of a meaningless life, my mortality kicking me while I was down, proved unshakable. I taught myself street photography and decided to study a masters. The privilege to do so never escapes me.
I established a bond with my daughter and grew the love between me and my wife. Shooting endlessly since, I have a portfolio I am now proud of, and I fully accept that I achieved this with the stability citalopram brought to my life. I discovered hard truths that brought comfort much later, but that challenge was absolutely necessary for my growth.
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Today, several days into dropping my SNRI and antipsychotic, I find myself at times overrun with emotion. A song, a thought, scene from a film, a look from my children, the stroke of my wife's hand enough to make me want to cry. I feel a rising tide of excitement that threatens to overwhelm me. I physically stop. To move an inch further is to be reduce to rubble. I breathe and let it pass, reassured that I what felt was genuine and a real part of me. (Several times I have felt these sensations while I write this.)
I have taken back responsibility over my life, my choices. Yes the after-effects of dropping meds after six years of dependence, and done at such a pace, is not at all advisable — many a moment where it has not been an easy ride. But for me, I throw my head first into anything that I find attractive. Fire or thoughts, the danger is irrelevant to me. (I worry my son is a carbon copy.) It's born out of impatience and a desire to have it now. Only now. It's what drove the change six years ago and I will never make apologies for this attitude.
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After each time I have hit crisis mode, the psychiatrist doctor, nurse, social worker or healthcare professional asked the same question. Do you think the treatment is working? I resolutely answered, 'yes of course'. Defensive. My faith in the system and for the clinical trials that proved the efficacy of treatment unshakable.
Yet my personal evidence argued differently, disproved my hypothesis. The crisis mental health team were involved three times since switching to second-line therapy. It was appearing more like an indefensible relationship, a toxic relationship that insisted on respect despite no such dues earned.