I posted back in September that I was officially going off my antidepressants, after a little more than four years of taking Sertraline for depression and anxiety.
My decision was pretty rash, to be honest. I had zero plans to stop taking them, and suddenly it was like a lightbulb went off and I was DONE WITH THEM. I wanted to see “what like would be like” without them. I wanted to see how I’d feel, how I’d cope. Part of it was plain curiosity, I think.
Once I got it in my head that I was done, I talked to my doctor and he agreed that I could try it. I was on a VERY low dose (50mg/day, and 25mg is the “starter” dose that you begin with, so really I was on the lowest actual dose).
I have been procrastinating this post. A lot. People have reached out to me privately and asked how it going, and I’ve been honest with them. But writing a public post about it? Totally freaked me out.
It’s one thing to write blog posts like “I take antidepressants and I’m proud of it! You should be, too! No shame! Woohoo!”
It’s another thing to write about coming OFF antidepressants. That’s why you don’t see as much of it on the internet. No one wants to be the blogger who accidentally influenced someone negatively.
But it’s been four full months, and I felt like I owed you an update. An honest update with lots of disclaimers …Read More
Let’s back up, though. I decided back in the fall that I wanted to sew a Harry Potter quilt for our nine-year-old son. He loves Harry Potter and he’s been using the same red-white-and-blue plaid bedding set since he was a year old, so it was certainly time for an upgrade.
I spent ages browsing online for different Harry Potter fabrics and ended up deciding on 12 different ones. Actually, 10 were official Harry Potter fabrics and two were just fabrics that coordinated: red bricks for Platform 9 3/4, and swirly dark clouds to represent Dementors.
Since a half-yard of fabric is 18” long and 44” wide, this would easily give me 24 quilt squares — two squares cut from each fabric.
Then it was just a matter of deciding how to arrange all 24 squares.
Balancing the pizza box across his arms, he slipped through the door after I opened it, tinkling the little bells overhead.
He didn’t ask why the nice older man had thought he was a girl. He knew why. He’s nine and a half now and he hasn’t cut his hair since just before his eighth birthday.
He tells me this isn’t the first time it’s happened — being called a girl. A substitute teacher accidentally called him a girl a few weeks earlier but he’d never mentioned it to us at home.
I was impressed. The teacher apologized and everybody got on with their day. It wasn’t a big deal.