worse…or better?

See, the whole point of taking meds is to make my brain a more friendly place. I am not a pill popping sort of girl. Well – except for Valium, and I did not pop it, exactly. I more savored the lack of overwhelming anxiety and wished I could feel like that all the time. Which kept me from taking them any more frequently than was absolutely, completely necessary. Having a mom who’s addicted to escapes (chemical and otherwise) is the best anti-drug there is.

But I digress. I have been dutifully taking my half-dose of Zoloft every day, and instead of a slow, steady return to sanity I have achieved new depths of blah. My brain apparently rallied against the onslaught of seratonin, the result of which is that I’m more anxious and more hopeless than I was before. Which begs the question: why take the meds at all?

Lifehacker linked to an article on changing negative thinking, which seems hokey (I envision myself with wings! Ha!) but worth a try. I’ve pretty much given up on Kaiser as a depression resource. I may try some homeopathich remedies (more vitamin B – which can be beneficial to both mama and baby – and suchlike) and some diet changes. Not that I’m taking up the flag of the Ineffecual Kaiser Therapist on that one; it’s just common sense. Like the breathing thing. I intend to breathe, and I intend to eat, but I certainly don’t intend to spend my valuable time listening to advice I could find in a pamphlet.

I looked out the window today at the blue sky and the clouds and the trees, listening to my baby babbling in the other room, and I had a moment when I knew exactly how wonderful my life is. I need to remember that feeling.