by Ruby Jinga

Created on: April 17, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

I am currently taking medication for depression. It was prescribed by my doctor, a gentle man, perhaps in his fifties, who said kindly to me about three months ago that I was "in a bad way". He gave me a six month prescription of cipramil. I took the prescription but did not fill it.

I always had this notion that taking medication was the easy way out, especially for something like depression where I couldn't see where the pain was coming from on my body. There were no bruises, nothing was broken, unless you counted my spirit. I also feared the side effects which could range from nausea to insomnia. I also didn't want to get addicted to the little white pills.

My father, who is also doctor, said I should take them to "get through this bad time".

I filled the prescription and then returned home to be with my parents while I decided whether I should start taking them. I had four weeks of sick leave (indeed, I was in a very bad way) and was spending three of those weeks with my family so I could stop worrying about every little thing from getting a bite to eat to the war in Iraq.

The first two weeks were fabulous. I was with people who catered to my every whim and fancy. I slept as much as I wanted, I ate whatever I wanted, I sat on the couch and watched TV or read a book from our library. In this idyllic period, I rediscovered Salman Rushdie's Haroun and The Sea of Stories - a real gem of a book.

Then at the end of the second week, I started feeling really down. I burst into tears one evening in front of my parents and ran upstairs to my bedroom, to sob out my rage and grief in private. I had not experienced such uncontrollable sobs in a long time, I cried so hard that it hurt. Then I stopped.

I marched downstairs and took my first pill. I decided that it was time to try something else as being wrapped up in cotton wool was not working. I took a half pill and felt numb until I went to bed that night. I went on to full pills eventually. I did not experience any of the side effects I had so feared.

I returned to work and have been coping very well, considering that I had been on the verge of ending it all barely three months ago.

Those little white pills, along with all the help and support, and a huge reserve of inner strength, probably saved my life.

I hope to stop taking them at the end of the six month period. There is still a stigma associated with this disease. Please don't let that stop you from going to your doctor or psychologist. I made use of a counselling hotline during the worst of it, and my phone bill ran up into the hundreds.

It was worth it for I am alive and well and looking forward to what the future brings.

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