Two months ago, I began the journey to stop taking anti-depressants. I wanted to see if I could cope without chemical intervention: would I - could I - function properly and consistently? Would the pain intervene to a degree that it was too much? I felt that after 3 1/2 years, I probably had the capacity to be able to survive without them; I felt that I ‘should’ be able to cope without them. I also wanted to know what real life actually felt like, experiencing the real emotion without the dampening down effect that the sertraline had. I’d talked the idea through with my GP a while ago, then at length with my counsellor over many sessions and finally the pharmacist. The advice was to take it slowly and just see how things went. I looked at the timing, knowing that I was heading into the period of the year packed full of anniversaries; 4 years since Evie’s first headache in October, 4 years since we left on that holiday and 4 years since we were pitched headlong into the Paediatric ICU in San Sebastian with its diagnosis of a brain tumour, and the whole pain-filled months that followed through to Evie’s death on 11th January 2018 and the funeral on 1st February. But spring has Easter and Patsy’s birthday, the summer has my birthday and the summer holidays. Basically, there is no ‘good time’ wherever you look, so I decided to start just after my birthday in July; I had to start somewhere. One month halving the dose, then another month taking that reduced dose every other day, then nothing. I would keep an eye on things as I went along. The problem with analyzing it as you go along is that it is difficult to isolate feelings due to a reduced dose from those caused by irregular problems happening in the world around you; those unpredictable events that just pop up and you don’t see coming; GCSE results were a classic example of that. And to compound it all, there’s no parallel life or ‘control’ model to compare it to. The first proper ‘test’ will come on Evie’s birthday on 24th September; kill or cure?

To reduce any risk and help things along a bit, I had started to remove myself from situations and people that caused me hassle or irritation; the emotional self-preservation that I talked about last time. In a way I have built an emotional wall around myself to give the process a chance. I had to give myself space to learn what life was like without these people and events mixing things up and causing unnecessary distractions. I had to take care of my mental health. Helping others out when you can is all part of the healing process, but I have come to realize that I have limits, in terms of both energy and mental resources. I had stretched myself too thin over the previous three years. Sometimes it felt as if I was being taken for granted and that wasn’t helpful.

I finally stopped taking the pills a few days ago and the last remnants of the sertraline are now working their way out of my system. Has it worked? I have no idea as yet. It has been an enlightening experience that’s for sure. Flash points have been more common, and my fuse is definitely shorter - either that or there are more idiots out there than I first suspected! The rawness of some emotion has increased and the dark moods flash up more suddenly without warning and they are definitely deeper. When the black dog appears, he is bigger and darker than before. But ….. those dark moments subside just as quickly as they did before while I was taking the pills. So what I want to know now is “is this my new-new normal”, or will it evolve again and change over time? Where will it go next? More importantly, is it something that I can live with in the long term? I think so. I hope so.

Pats thinks that I have become more tired, less focused, more grumpy and even less tolerant. I’m certainly tired and get grumpy quicker. But I put much of that down to external factors that would have had that effect anyway. To get a real and valid view of the effect of cutting the drugs out completely will take time. I need a new baseline, a new benchmark to compare everything against. But I am feeling things more acutely again. It all feels real and undiluted. It also feels genuine and in some weird way, that is what Evie deserves. That heart-wrenching pain proving that my love for her is still alive and strong. To ‘move on’, to be ‘happy’ living life as normal, would be a betrayal.

What I want now is for my energy to be restored along with the drive to succeed. There are pieces of work coming up for both my job and Evie’s Gift that are going to require massive amounts of time and energy. If this works, I should now be able to channel the anger and emotion into one forward-looking direction. Put it to good use. I’m already able to think more clearly and plan ahead in a way that would have been impossible just 24 months ago.

I don’t know if I will stay free of the anti-depressants, but one thing is for sure, I have a clear and genuine view of the world now. I have suspected for some time that things may have been ‘hidden’ from me because of the sertraline. No more. I have control of everything that is important and that’s what counts. Looking back at the last 3 1/2 years, I have realized that I have spent too long placing myself second or even third to the wider world and that hasn’t been healthy. I have one simple mission in life and that is for Pats and I to preserve Evie’s memory, but with a difference. For those that have walked away or turned their backs on us, taken Evie’s name in vain, or simply found it too hard to talk about her, I’m no longer bothering to try and make it work with them any more. Previously I would have tried to explain, to cajole, to persuade. Not any more. Loyalty is a powerful thing, but it is also a two-way street, and I have enough genuine friends to survive whatever else this world chooses to throw at me. We have survived the single most cataclysmic event and so the rest is just white noise that I can tune out.

The anti-depressants have served their purpose. They got me through the worst possible time of my life. They gave me time and space, and the ability to survive. They helped me to deal with the pain in a way that meant I could understand how it had affected me, to learn - and accept - a lot of lessons about myself, to learn that I am a different person now, and just as importantly to see some other people for what they truly are. To look beyond the promises, the show and the words, at to look at their deeds and actions. It is sad that people promise much and deliver little, but I guess that is just the way things are. I have become adept at recognizing those empty promises straight away; it helps to avoid disappointment later.

But being self-aware is singularly the most important lesson that I have learned. I have learned to be honest with myself always. I am honest about the bad stuff too, recognizing my own flaws or weaknesses, and the impact that they have on both me and others near me. Self-awareness brings a clarity that didn‘t exist before. If I need the anti-depressants again, I will have no hesitation to use them; it isn’t a failure, only a recognition that I tried too early. For now though, I want to see what the world really looks like in this post-child-death reality. To learn how to cope, to survive and to love Evie in a new way.

I have also learned that there is a huge stigma surrounding depression and ironically that it is far more prevalent than we might think. The vast majority of people hide from it, either from their own perspective or when seeing it in others. Grief magnifies the impact of depression. I have seen far too often that if you hide from grief, pretend that it doesn’t exist, or run from it, that like a bungy-cord stretched to its limits it WILL slam back into you and take you down. Throwing yourself into work because you can then pretend that everything is normal, avoiding the loss, is a classic symptom. “If I am busy I don’t have time to think about it.” The avoidance of grief is a powerful enemy, one that you cannot beat or escape from, no matter how hard you try. Like a relentless assassin, it hunts you in the darkness, and eventually finds you. I’ve been there, seen it, done it and bought the t-shirt. No more. Grief has redefined me, changed everything about me, but it has also made me think about my life in a way that I wouldn’t have done before. I can’t say that I have embraced it or accepted it, but I don’t hide from it either. When it hits, it hits hard. A tsunami of pain that breaks over you. But I now know that I will emerge from the other side, with a little more experience to draw on next time. I have gone through those autumnal milestones around Evie’s birthday and her diagnosis 3 times already, and am about to embark on the fourth iteration. I’m ready to stand my ground and face it down all over again.

It is a cliché to say that if your body is broken you take drugs to fix it, so if your mind is broken, why wouldn’t you need drugs to fix that too? Anti-depressants aren’t a magic bullet by any means, and they have to work as part of a package of help; trust, friends, counselling, being creative, love of family and whatever else you may need. But they can give you the capacity to start your journey towards healing or just living again. I’m not out of the proverbial woods yet at all. But I can see dawn’s light seeping between the darkness of the trees. I am starting to get clarity in a way that I wouldn’t have believed was possible three years ago, and most importantly, I am alive. That in itself is a major achievement. I am not ashamed to say that I have come close to taking my own life. The black dog is ever-present. But I am still here too, to keep Evie’s name alive, and keep it front and centre, no matter if you want to see it or not. So for those that think I should have ‘got on with my life’ or that ‘it has been nearly 4 years, why is he still harping on about it?’, I have news for you. Unless you have walked in my shoes, then you will never understand. It will remain beyond your comprehension. But then I’m not seeking your approval, I don’t want it, nor do I need it. I am not going to try and make you understand.

So, thank you Mr Sertraline. It’s most likely not ‘goodbye’, and more probably ‘adieu’, but for now we can go our separate ways. But I’ll keep you on speed-dial just in case.