Right now I am so tired though it's only 10:20 on a Friday night. James and Brenden are both asleep. I usually get a nap in during the day when James naps but today I didn't.
Sleep is very important to me. But I don't want to sleep yet.
In high school and college, I struggled with insomnia. It was tied to my anxiety and fed my depression. Because my lack of sleep affected my mental and emotional states so much, my doctors prescribed me Ambien and told me to focus on getting eight hours of sleep. Ambien gave me insane nightmares which only further fed my anxiety, continuing to prevent me from sleeping. It was a mess. I missed or was extremely late to seminary and a lot of school my junior year of high school. In college, I abused my Ambien. The directions were to take it right before bedtime, as in on my way into bed. But I'd take it and go out or call people or write blog posts. And then one Thursday in November I took my almost full prescription bottle and emptied it into my stomach because I was so tired of dealing with things.
Shortly after my BYU graduation in 2011 I stopped taking my antidepressant against doctor's orders. At the end of August last year, after years of struggling, I finally got back on it. I wish I could say life has been easier since then but it isn't inherently easier. It's simply clearer, less muddled. And the scary, isolating thoughts have disappeared or lessened in intensity. I wish my brain worked the way it's supposed to on its own. But it doesn't and I have to accept that. I'm not depressed because I'm lacking in willpower or some other important character trait. I'm depressed because some chemicals in my brain are screwed up. I'm finally getting to the point where I can be grateful there is medication I can take to treat my illness versus hating myself for being "weak." It's only been about 15 years.
Why is depression so hard to talk about?
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