I was first prescribed anti-depressants in my twenties after a big crash which was nearly the end of me. Medication was part of an emergency plan put in place for me, to help me get back on my feet, and I did what I was told to do. A couple of months later the heavy clouds started to lift and I zipped on with my life.
As the years have ticked by, the cycle’s repeated itself several times. That wretched black dog is no friend of mine, but he seeks out my company even though I try to tell him to leave me alone. I dread him being at my door.
Listen: In Mia Freedman’s No Filter chat with Osher Günsberg, the Bachelor host discusses dealing with his anxiety.
When I gave up drinking alcohol nearly two years ago, it absorbed my entire positive focus. I changed my whole way of life to make being sober sustainable. I wanted it to fix me. I wanted it to take away all of my brokenness and piece me back together.
But it didn’t, of course. I’m left with the same minefield of a mind that drove me into darkness as a teenager. It’s not pretty in there. The longer I go without alcohol, the more I understand why I turned to it in the first place to self-medicate and escape.
Trying to keep my head above water in the harsh light of day with no emotional crutch finally became too much a couple of months ago.
As I walked to my doctor’s with tears streaming behind sunglasses, and heaviness pounding in my heart, I was inconsolable. I sat in the waiting room picking at my fingers, sunglasses on, desperately trying not to let out an audible whimper or screech. I was in emotional agony.