I Had to Go on Pills — Or I Wasn’t Going to Survive
- Indy
- 5 days ago
- 2 min read
This isn’t up for debate.
This isn’t me looking for approval.
This is just what happened:
I didn’t go on antidepressants because I was weak.
I went on them because I wasn’t going to make it on my own.
No one talks about how scary that decision really is. Not the “Oh, I forgot my happy pills” jokes. I’m talking real darkness.
The kind where the fog is so thick you don’t even feel alive enough to ask for help.
The kind where you float through days but feel like you’re screaming inside and no one hears it.
The kind where your body is so tense, frozen, or numb, you can’t tell if you're dying or just disappearing slowly.
I was terrified.
I was breaking.
I couldn’t eat. I vomited.
I shook.
I barely slept.
I wasn’t functioning.
I was just surviving — and even that was slipping.
So yes. I went on medication.
And the first few weeks? They were hell.
I threw up.
I felt worse.
The fog thickened.
My anxiety spiked.
I kept thinking: “What if this makes me worse? What if I lose myself forever?”
And still — I took the pill.
Not because it felt good.
But because I knew that not doing anything was going to destroy me.
But let’s get one thing straight:
The pills didn’t fix me.
They didn’t heal my trauma.
They didn’t reconnect me to my body.
They didn’t give me back my sense of self.
What they did was build a bridge — a thin, shaky, sometimes terrifying bridge — out of the darkest hole I’ve ever been in.
They gave me just enough space to begin.
To read again.
To journal again.
To ask better questions.
To feel something, even if it hurts.
I still had to do the work.
Writing and reading through the numbness
Learning to breathe in a body that felt unsafe
Unlearning shame
Rebuilding trust with my nervous system
Letting myself cry when I thought I wasn’t allowed to
That was me. The pill didn’t write my journal entries. The pill didn’t hold me during my crying attacks. The pill didn’t make me get up and keep going.
I did that.
If you’ve never stood at the edge of that kind of collapse — please don’t judge those of us who have. This wasn’t convenience. This was survival.
And if you have stood there, frozen, terrified, and unsure if you could keep going:
I see you.
And if you took the pill — I’m proud of you.
And if you didn’t — I’m proud of you, too.
We all find our bridges.
We all choose our tools
And we all deserve to be here.
Thank you for reading this. If you’ve ever felt ashamed of needing help — this is your reminder:
You’re not broken. You’re surviving.
And that deserves love, not judgment.❤️🩹💊✨🫶
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