I’m trying to get back into writing, but it’s hard. I am stumbling over my thoughts and the words are coming through my fingers as if an engine is stuttering. Oh, well. I did get off my routine for two weeks, and it’s obviously going to take more than just a day to get back to that speed.
I am sitting next to my little jar of pills, but I’m not feeling angry or fearful like I felt just a few days ago. When I started thinking about the pills the days before, I’d just start crying because I knew I needed to take them, but I somehow felt like I couldn’t. Then, Friday’s therapy’s session with Dr. L came. And somehow, all that animosity over these meds seem to have melted away. Rather, I look at those pills now and be able to say I am taking the pills because it is a choice only between me and myself, that I’m making that choice for myself and no one else. I’m going back to taking my medication not out of fear or anger or because someone is telling to go back on the meds. I realized that I wanted me to be well–and these pills are simply a part of that path to becoming a better me. It’s odd. I thought about that slogan “My body, my choice” that you might hear about being pro-choice. But that’s sort of how I feel. This is my body, and this is my choice.
I think that’s why I posted that photo of myself in the previous post. I could look at myself again and just be okay to be who I am. In a way, the pills became more than just pills; they represented a struggle within myself.
I’m starting to feel better bit by bit. It does help that one of the meds does work immediately. But more than anything, I think I feel better because I’ve started to learn to accept myself.
I wish I could get back to writing better, because this realization was important to me. But I’ll get there soon.