This year I did something I never thought I’d do: I went off my medication for my depression and anxiety. I’ve been taking it for almost a decade, and I’ve always feared going cold-turkey because of how awful the withdrawal was any time I accidentally missed a dose. I also worried my occasional thoughts about going off my meds stemmed from the stigma attached to needing this kind of medication to function–I didn’t want to deprive myself of something I needed just because of how I’m perceived by others. This past year I gradually reduced my dosage by half; I started working to find new ways to regulate my mental health and soothe myself from anxiety episodes. When I had to get a new insurance policy and there was a month gap between the two plans–and the medication was too expensive for me to justify paying out-of-pocket–I took the plunge. Although not altogether my choice, this was an opportunity for me to really test how I wanted to proceed with my mental healthcare. Although it’s not always a smooth experience, I’m now two and a half months without medicine for the first time since I was seventeen years old. There is something that feels so liberating about that.
The winter has been difficult, even before I stopped taking my medication; a dear friend died unexpectedly in late October, I’ve been struggling to apply to graduate school, and COVID has been ravaging my home state worse than ever. As someone who suffers from seasonal affective disorder, the scarcity of sunshine and outside time amplified the nastiness of everything else. I seldom left my house except for necessity, I saw few people outside my immediate circle, and the walks I took my dogs on were short, cold, and unsatisfying. We’re now finally starting to see some warmer days return to my area and I’ve taken full advantage–even if that just means going outside to lay in the sun for an hour. My walks have gotten longer, and I find they’re one of the best ways for me to work myself out of anxiety loops. The most life-giving change the weather has brought, however, is my ability to be back in my garden, preparing for a new season of growth.
There have been studies showing that certain soil microbes have a similar effect on human mental health that Prozac does–Mycobacterium vaccae can stimulate serotonin production the way many depression medications do. The first day I went to my garden on a whim to start pulling up my horribly prominent weeds, I knew this would be something that transformed the way I take care of myself. Today, I went out again to finish cleaning up the beds of all the scraps of last fall’s dead plants. While I was sifting through the cool, damp soil, I found some surprise carrots that somehow lasted the harsh winter. There were five or six of them, small and in a range of striking colors–burgundy and deep orange and yellow and one that was a rich purple. My dog loves carrots and sneaked them out from under me when I wasn’t looking; she sat on the back porch with her treasures, chewing on them like delicate little bones.
Even while so much is still dormant, there are so many living things in the dirt: bright green clumps of weeds preserved under blankets of dead leaves, a potato with stem tubers sprouting from its lumpy body, my strawberry plants patiently waiting for the start of spring, slow-moving worms and crickets and spiders. I’ve always been a little squeamish about bugs, but seeing these resilient critters and knowing how helpful they are for the health of this soil makes me feel so tender toward them. My soil last year was dense and mulch-y and lacking in nitrogen, so my plants grew but many struggled to fruit. As I sift my fingers through this gorgeous, black soil I know these bugs have done some work on it. The mulch has broken down, it’s more aerated than last spring, and the color is so much richer. Although this phase in my mental health process comes with its own challenges, I’m feeling so optimistic about my decision. The nights are getting shorter, the days are getting warmer, and I’m learning how to walk through this world in new ways.
honey gaze 