My first time trying psychiatric medication came after eight years of waiting. I had to stop taking the pills after a month because they made me too anxious. I worried that I never got to say goodbye to my depression. I watched my hands shake and the room spin as I opened my eyes. I forgot how it felt to sink into depression, how it felt to tremble as it washed over me, as it enveloped me. After a really bad dissociative episode over winter break, I had had enough. I felt such shame that my body failed to react as it “should”. I remembered the other failures of my machinery that I’d pushed to the back of my mind. Haven’t you seen how the movies model their androids after me? My eighth grade biology teacher said the purpose of life is to reproduce, so I must be broken.
