Doctors Office Discoveries

At the doctor's yesterday, he'd looked at me with inquisitive eyes when I floated a pretty big thought into the space between us.

Managing my mental health has involved medication on and off now for over a decade. Though this was a routine doctor's visit, I'd taken the opportunity to ask him a question that's been gnawing at me for a long time: what would it be like to taper off?

Sitting in that beige room, on my blue plastic chair, I'd wobbled my head left and right while considering what he'd asked me in return.

"I don't really know" I'd told him.

His face broke into a wry, yet subtle, smile before continuing.

"Well, you told me what the people in your life think about your levels of joy... but I want to know what you think."

It was a good question.

He'd still been looking at me; patiently but expectantly. So I'd thought back. For most of my life, I've ridden the waves of depression up and down with some regularity, but certainly not much rhythm. There've been a lot of lows—crashes, tumbles, close calls, slips, and  slides. And at the same time, in the past when I've felt joy, it's been the unmitigated, euphoric kind.

During the last few years, I've noticed that's changed. These days, it feels like maybe I don't experience joy as much—or as potently—as I used to.

Refocusing my eyes, I pulled them away from the framed photo of trees on the wall and looked back at my doctor. I started to speak, but then quickly coughed to clear my throat before I was actually able to say anything.

"I've been stable for so long now, that sometimes...

...I worry it's the meds and not me."

His eyes widened. Then he sat back, gathering himself a bit before leaning forward again and saying "that's not really how they work—at least, not the type you've been on."

I felt myself perk up at that. But I caught it quickly and clarified, "I'm confident in my ability to self-regulate—you know, manage the moving parts of my life... What I guess I was wondering about was whether the meds keep me in the middle too much? Like, from feeling too much of either end of the spectrum, between joy and despair?"

He seemed more at ease now, unclasping his hands and leaning his elbow on that weird kitchen counter thing that the exam rooms in doctor's offices have. That actually felt pretty reassuring.

"Nope, not with your medication" he said again, smiling.

Wow, ok.

I felt myself nodding; more to myself than to him now. As I considered what he'd just said, I also know that I struggle more during the winter than throughout the rest of the year. I know myself well enough to know that by now, at least. Lack of sunlight and cold temps mean many, long months spent inside. During that time, I know my activity levels drop, which doesn't help.

After taking a deep breath, I looked up just as he started to speak. "Maybe we keep an eye on things and come back to it in the spring?"

Then it was my turn to smile.