This post may or may not come out coherently... but I've had a rough night. About 3 years ago, I was diagnosed with dysthymia (low-grade form of depression). That was after involving a school counselor, an attempted overdose, and an emergency trip to the ER/psych ward. I was put on a generic form of Zoloft (Sertraline), which worked instantaneously. That, coupled with moving out of my mom's house into a new, healthier environment, set me on a course toward finally living a "normal." Normal in my world meant not being paranoid that people were talking about me behind my back, no physical burdens of bleakness or excessive fatigue, no sobbing for inexplicable reasons, finally feeling motivation and purpose, going to sleep at night because I was tired and desired rest, not because I just wanted the day to be over. I was aware. I was hearing my sister sing to herself, and her voice sounded as fresh as cold water. People in general turned out to be, for the most part, engaging and wonderful beings who had been completely grayed out in the midst of my depression. Fast forward 3 years--the beginning of this spring. My medication started making me slightly ill. Nauseous, headache-y. I wondered if it was the dosage, so I did my own tinkering. Ultimately, after a month or so, and after talking with my psychiatrist, I wondered if it was time to wean myself off. At the outset I had had no intentions of being off medication--that just never seemed like an option. But it had come to a point where I thought: "I have been participating in life. I know my tolerance levels, I know how to cope. I can do this without meds." Well, I can't. Tonight proves that, about 8 months later. I downed every last pill in a remaining bottle of Sertraline I had. I'm fine now--had toast and lots of water, vomited a couple times. But I am angry and ashamed. I'm appalled because I know better. I can feel what has to be different even when I can't snap out of a spiral. It's as if two sides of me are impressing two very real realities into my psyche. Both are true, but one is so much heavier and I am just so weak. I know the obvious decision here is to get back on meds. I'm terrified. I feel deficient, less-than, unable... as if I am missing a part of the brain everyone else has. (Technically, yeah, depleted levels of serotonin.) My insurance has also since been adjusted so psychiatry is not part of the plan. I will have to figure out something, though, now that I don't have any medication left. But, here, I guess I'm just looking for a place to find support in dealing with the fact that depression exists. That I'm not alone. A place to vent when I need to--when I actually balk at taking meds because I don't want that little blue pill in my palm reminding me that I "need help." So, thanks to all who read this. Responses or not, I look forward to maybe getting to know some of you or at least sharing the load and the victories. :rose: Tonight will be a long one.