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The topic of drugs for mental illness is quite controversial. Some people think that drugs aren’t needed, and that mental illness can be cured through therapy alone, or prayer, or just trying hard to make it go away. I used to be one of those people. But after beginning a drug regimen for my depression, I became a complete convert.
Imagine being in graduate school with new people, new places and new types of work. I was there in 2001 when I began business school. As someone with a degree in English literature, I entered my MBA program with no small amount of fear. I worried that the quantitative coursework in finance, accounting and statistics would be too hard for me. I wondered if I belonged at the top 5 school where I’d matriculated. My fears were realized when I struggled through my first term with lackluster grades. The overachiever in me was devastated.
I knew the cause of my mediocre GPA: I didn’t have a full grasp of the material I was learning. I could barely comprehend the information in my textbooks. The more I tried to read, the less I could focus. And my attention flagged during class time, where I felt groggy and out of sorts. I tried to cover my confusion with my classmates, showing false understanding and sarcasm. Inside, however, I was crying. To be honest, I did a fair amount of actual crying in my apartment at night. I slept a lot, when I thought I should have been studying, to escape what I thought was sadness.
After weeks of suffering, I told my therapist about how I felt and what I thought were the causes. He asked me if I’d had similar feelings at other times. I confessed that yes, there were times in which I was tearful and prone to sleeping. He suggested that I might be clinically depressed and referred me to a psychiatrist for evaluation and drug therapy. I bristled at first, believing that I didn’t need drugs. But once I thought about how miserable I’d been, I realized that I needed some solution beyond what I’d had at the time.
My first visit to a psychiatrist was full of questions and answers. At that first meeting, I was diagnosed with depression and prescribed Zoloft. On my way to fill the prescription, my feelings about drugs for mental illness resurfaced. I thought they were a crutch that people used when they couldn’t do the hard work of getting better. I believed that I was strong enough to overcome my malady on my own, even though when I was honest with myself I could admit I had been struggling with the same symptoms for years — lethargy, lack of concentration, crying spells, general disinterest in my activities. Against my beliefs, I got the Zoloft and began taking it.
Within a few weeks something wonderful happened. I started feeling better. In truth, I felt more like myself than I had in a long time. It was as though a switch in my brain had been flipped and I’d been restored to my previous level of intelligence and good humor. My grades improved, as did my social life. I became the person I’d always been before depression had taken hold. Suddenly, I became a convert in favor of drugs for mental illness.
Here’s what I want people to understand: mental illness is actually a physiological disorder and as such requires a physiological change in your brain — that means medication of some sort. And when medication is something that can set you to rights and remove your suffering, there’s no good reason not to take it if necessary. Choosing to do so doesn’t make you weak, it makes you smart.
Tracey Lloyd lives in Harlem, where she fights her cat for access to the keyboard. You can find more of her experiences living with bipolar disorder on her personal blog, My Polar Opposite.
