The Balancing Act

Everything was going so well, but now...

It is almost exactly two months since the day I started medication, and it seemed like things were really beginning to even out.  My thinking is clear, my mood is generally good, and I have the motivation to do all of the things that...well, just all of the things. But recently it has started to dip. I didn't notice it at first. Or, if I did, I just wrote it off as a symptom of other things. Maybe I'm cranky because I'm about to start my period. Maybe I lack energy because I'm still getting over the flu. But it's time I admit to myself that the moodiness and lethargy are not just circumstantial, and that they may be an indication that my depression is coming back.

It's disappointing to think that my "miracle drug" may have stopped working or may not be the right drug for me. I can't bear the thought of going back to the way I was before, and yet I'm also afraid that trying new medications will have side effects I don't want. Side effects I've dreaded since the idea of becoming medicated first entered my mind. Okay, I admit it. I'm worried that switching to a different drug might fuck with my sex drive. I was relieved when my doctor told me that the medication that seemed to fit my symptoms was also the one that was unlikely to cause sexual problems. There are few things more troubling to someone whose sexuality is such a huge part of their identity than to have to choose between happiness and sex. It's hard to imagine one without the other, and yet there are so many things in life that try to tear them apart: The sex with this person is so good, it's a shame we make each other miserable outside of the bedroom. Sex with that partner is boring or nonexistent, but we are so happy together otherwise. It feels so good to feel our bare skin together, but watch out for pregnancy and STIs. I can't become aroused anymore, but at least I don't want to kill myself.

Sometimes it feels like a circus act to keep happiness and sex balanced. Tip one just a little too much either way and I fall down off my tightrope. Sure, I can climb back up and try again, but when something consistently tips my balancing pole before I can even take my first step, it's difficult to find the motivation to keep trying. I picture myself just laying there, in my net of "happiness", staring up at the wire with the memories of how alive it made me feel growing more and more distant. Is that the life I want to live? Is it even living?

Of course, if it came down to it, I'd choose the medication over sex. It's what society tells me I should do. If I value sex over being happy and healthy there must be something wrong. My priorities are out of whack. I'm obsessed. I'm damaged. Well, maybe all of those things are true, but I know the "right" thing to do is to take my medicine so that the people around me can stop worrying about me. And maybe I won't be that same, sexually charged girl they used to know, but at least I'll be alive. Technically.

I have an appointment to see my doctor on Tuesday.