Medication tends to be a very loaded topic, and I always find it a little daunting to discuss on the internet. I’m not even talking about the herbalists versus pharmaceutical camps, as that’s a divide I can’t even begin to approach. I’m talking about those of us who have a stocked medicine cabinet, whether that’s a stuffed drawer in the kitchen, a basket in the bathroom cupboard, or various packets scattered across the house. On that note, please go check the expiration date on all of those medications you’ve been hoarding, as they do go out of date!

The differing opinions on medication are slight but ever-present. Do you take a painkiller when the headache is brewing or wait until you can’t even look into the light? Do you take one before your Brazilian wax or for period cramps? Yes, and YES. Do you believe in taking Vitamin C for the flu, or swear by magnesium the day after a workout?

The differences in how people approach medications are endless, whether that’s for blood pressure, cholesterol, IBS, or whatever issue is ailing you. I want to talk about medication, and especially antidepressants, which are somehow even more loaded than the rest of drug-talks. Let’s swallow this bitter pill.

Everyone has an opinion on psychiatric medication

I want to immediately preface this by saying that I am not a doctor. I did not go to medical school. I studied psychology and anthropology, worked for five years in online marketing, and then became a journalist. So, I am not here to advise you on medications, talk about their efficacy, and get into some pharmaceutical debates. I cannot help you with that! My expertise, if you can even call it that, comes from struggling with depression since the age of fifteen and taking antidepressants for over a year now. That’s it. This is based on my experience, nothing more, nothing less.

I started escitalopram (also known as Lexapro) in July, 2023. It wasn’t a decision I came to lightly. I’ve spent years in and out of therapy, I’ve made a lot of changes in my life, but my depression is ongoing. It isn’t triggered by specific life events, it’s just in me. I struggle with borderline personality disorder, so escitalopram was especially appealing, given how it’s often used to help with mood instability. My mental health was the worst it had ever been, and something had to change.

To say I was nervous about starting antidepressants is as much of an understatement as saying Taylor Swift is kind of popular. This was exasperated with everyone’s opinions on antidepressants or psychiatric medication in general. Trust me, people have a lot to say on the topic.

How long will you be taking them? Is there an end date? Are you sure you need them? I’ve heard about this terrifying side effect. People tend to put on weight with those. I know someone who has been taking them for over twenty years now. How will you come off them? I don’t know how I feel about those medications.

I didn’t even tell many people in my life about my new prescription, mainly because it’s no one’s business, but the opinions just kept coming, especially once I opened up about my experiences online. Everyone has something to say about antidepressants, and almost all of these people have never taken them. They just know someone who has, or a friend of a friend of a friend. Which is funny, as a lot of people end up on antidepressants at some point in their life, and there’s a reason they keep being prescribed.

I look forward to my antidepressants

Going in with this mindset, it would’ve been easy to hate my antidepressants. I could resent needing them and the fact that I feel broken because I can’t be happy without them. I could get annoyed about the weight gain that did come, and did stay. I had to update most of my wardrobe and adjust to life in a bigger body. I could feel frustrated at the hot flashes that make me feel like a 27-year-old going through menopause (no shame to menopause; I simply didn’t expect to be sweating buckets just yet). I could hate my medication’s impact on my sex drive.

But you know what? I don’t hate my antidepressants; I actually love them.

Because for the first time in my life, I feel like I can handle things. My mood isn’t ping-ponging from the ceiling to the floor at the smallest of life’s inconveniences. I don’t wake up every day with this inherent sense of dread and desire to hurt myself. I feel like I finally have the tools to handle things, thanks to a little pill and everything my therapist has taught me.

A few weeks after my initial side effects died down and my antidepressants started taking effect, I told my therapist about this feeling. I explained how I feel things at a manageable level now, that the sadness isn’t overwhelming, the joy isn’t terrifying, the anxiety isn’t exhausting. I said how I received a message that before would’ve sent me into a tailspin, but now felt like just a message. She smiled at me and said, “I hate to use the word normal, but this is how people without BPD would feel about such things. This is how I feel about things.”

This love for my antidepressants is partly relief at the lessening of symptoms, but also a choice I’ve made. I choose to wake up every day and look forward to taking that little pill, as if it’ll immediately start taking effect. I choose to think of it fondly, like a gift I am giving myself rather than a punishment I am receiving. I look at my antidepressants with gratefulness, that I had access to the healthcare that allowed me to be prescribed them, that I live in a country where it is covered by health insurance. I am confronted by my privilege in even receiving such medication.

I have made my antidepressants part of my self-care, like taking vitamins, drinking an ice-cold glass of water, doing my million-step skincare routine, or having that first cup of coffee of the day. I look forward to this tiny pill because I recognise how much easier it has made my life, as if it chewed up my problems and spat them out into bird-sized pieces for me. I’m not thinking about how long I’ll be on them, whether I should stop, if I can manage without them. That’s a problem for the future me, while the present me simply relishes life with an extra dose of serotonin.