The early part of this week was especially rough because I did not refill my Prozac prescription. An insurance issue prohibited my pharmacy from filling it last Friday. Though I could have paid for it out of pocket, I did not consider doing so. Instead, I resolved to solve the issue, which turned into a short slide into depression.

Listen to any commercial for an antidepressant and you’ll hear something similar to: “This medication may lead to thoughts of suicide or increased thoughts of depression.” Many will rightly wonder why I, or anyone, would willingly take a medication that might boost their already depressed mind. We’re dealing with the most complex organ in the human body. There will be kinks in any course of treatment. The one I ran into is that to come off an antidepressant you’re supposed to slowly wean your brain off the drugs over a period of several weeks. I inadvertently missed four days of my 80mg prescription of Prozac.

My doctor placed me on a higher dose of Prozac for while I’m in treatment because it’s a good idea to bring out the heavy artillery when the enemy (depression) has fortified its position and is mercilessly shelling you. Over the past two months my brain had become accustomed to the maximum dose of Prozac, and not having the “happy juice” flowing across my synapses for a few days led me into an excruciating mental state where I:

• Isolated myself

• Didn’t answer calls or texts

• Stayed in my bed

• Didn’t eat

• Didn’t drink

This was a marked departure from my usual behavior over the past several weeks. For any person reading who cares for someone with depression or a different mental illness, be aware of sharp changes in behavior. That is a reliable sign that the person you care for is highly stressed, and unable to effectively use their tools to combat their negative thoughts.

The first red arrow on my mood chart shows when I stopped taking my meds.

My worst day was on Monday, the second red arrow. My Dad came by to check in on me because I had not responded to calls. At first, I was frustrated that he came into my apartment. Then I remembered he was there because he loves me and was concerned about my wellbeing. This is also why I moved a few minutes away from my parents.

For someone with a severe mental illness, it is tremendously valuable to have reinforcements nearby.

On Tuesday, my Mom came by after work. She took me out to dinner and prodded me until I disclosed that I had not been following my complete medication regimen. That weight off my chest, her clear thinking that I could just pay for the meds out of pocket, and the simple act of human interaction slowly pulled me out of my depressed mind. Allowing me to think more clearly and plan ahead.

The green arrow shows today - I’m super happy, and not just because of coffee! Last night I took my first yoga class in months, slept deeply, and woke up with my cat, Holiday, perched on my chest demanding breakfast. I messed around with her for a few minutes, put some easy classical music on the speakers, rolled some kinks out of my body, and did a set of pushups. A much improved morning from Monday and Tuesday, when I was thinking that the night was never long enough for the rest I need.

I originally titled this post “Medication Fail”. Then I realized that I was beating myself up when I am actively trying to work against that particular inclination. I find it terribly easy to berate myself for mistakes, both real and perceived. Yes, I did make an error in not pursuing other means of filling my medication, and I felt the pain of not being properly medicated shortly thereafter. The pain was the mandatory consequence of my mistake. Beating myself up is suffering, and suffering is optional. Consider the following from Buddhist philosophy:

The Buddha once asked a student. “If a person is struck by an arrow, is it painful?” The student replied, “It is.” The Buddha then asked, “If the person is struck by a second arrow, is that even more painful?” The student replied again, “It is.” The Buddha then explained “In life, we cannot always control the first arrow. However, the second arrow is our reaction to the first. And with this second arrow comes the possibility of choice.”

I have spent years shooting myself with that second arrow. That practice must stop, and to do that effectively I must feel the puncture from many first arrows. The early part of this week wounded me, and I choose to be grateful for the pain because it can teach me to not react. By practicing non-reaction and non-judgment, I can reduce my suffering and turn perceived failure into a learning opportunity.