INSECURITIES VS THE MEDICATION

I’ve had the most terrible month so far, when I say horrible, I mean horrible, horrible.

I foolishly convinced myself that I was fine and I could go off my meds, I don’t know which was more worrying, that I was this stupid or foolish to believe that everything will be well again or that I still had hope of recovering after all this while.

 After all the meds were making me fat, I couldn’t recognize my once slim body and thin waist, I was beginning to loose my self-confidence, I was beginning to hate my body, especially the fat around my waist and tummy. So what was the point of continuing the meds? I asked myself, looking at my big tummy in the mirror in my bedroom, with the fat around my waist and face and all my insecurities concerning my weight staring at me with pleading eyes, I made the resolve (which was a mistake) not to take my meds again.

 I was okay for the first few days, walking on freaking sunshine, going about my life, writing and reading, creating magic, and planning my future, conquering the world like Thor. I was happy, too happy, I should have suspected something was wrong, but I went about my businesses with a foolish smile on my face.

Then one day everything came crashing down. The depression came like never before, everything became bleak. I couldn’t eat, my appetite just ran away from me, I couldn’t sleep, the night decided to marry me, and there was no escaping it, I cried at every little thing, any minor provocation brought tears to my eyes. I was constantly on edge, tip toeing around my own self like some stranger. My heart felt heavy with the weight of sorrow which I couldn’t put my hands on. I needed someone I could lay half my burden on, but was reminded of how alone I was with no relationship to call mine, the thought of my being alone made me weep bitter, hot tears. I wanted to console myself, wrap my arms around myself and give myself a tight hug, but I couldn’t, so there I was, all alone.

My body was hurting in places I didn’t know existed, my feet hurt, my head felt heavy and above all hurt, my stomach was hurting, I became restless. I needed to calm myself, so I turned towards the only place I knew how to calm myself: drugs and self-harming. it had been over a year since I overdosed and cut myself.

The day I picked up that blade and pills, was a very calming day for me, I felt alive, as the blade cut through my skin, I felt a cooling sensation, like someone was whispering peace into my troubled soul, the blood, red and hot sliding down my hands, the sight of it strangely comforting, made the tumult I was going through bearable. I needed stitches after that episode. But immediately after my hand was bandaged, the restlessness came back, I wanted to self-harm again, so I went in search of drugs to make me sleep, all i wanted was a long, long, deep sleep. I didn’t want to be awake you know. My life has the tendency of falling apart before my very eyes while I was awake, so I wanted to sleep.

I got the meds I was looking for, Olanzapine 10 milligram, I took six of them. Instead of making me sleep like I hoped it would, I became restless, twitching and jerking my body spasmodically, I thought I was going to die. Everyone was panicking, the hospital was called and my parents were asked to bring me to the Accident and Emergency Ward, they took me and put in the car and off we went, but somewhere close the hospital I stopped jerking and succumbed to a deep sleep, so my parents brought me back home to sleep the drug off. I woke up 24 hours later, feeling numb and sadder than ever.

That was when my parents decided it was time for me to go back on the meds, I didn’t want to at first, each time I stand naked in front of the mirror all I can see is my tummy pointing accusing fingers at me. I wish the drugs didn’t make me put on weight, but we don’t always have what we wish for sometimes do we? So here I am, taking my meds and trying to love a body that I no longer want.

I am WANYANDE and this is my story.