Let me clarify, before this gets confusing, that I am not an addict. At least, not in the sense that you might assume. I don’t use recreational drugs, but I am using substances to numb something inside of me. I would stop if I could but I can’t. Listen carefully – I can’t, is not the same as “I don’t want to.” You see, my body would riot if I quit right now.

I will rewind for you. In tenth grade, I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety and minor depression stemming from my anorexia. The doctor I was seeing at the time prescribed me antidepressants to help with the feeling of not being able to go five minutes without emotionally breaking down. Great! I have been taking them ever since and despite requiring a little bit of experimenting to settle on the right dosage for me, they have been nothing short of a miracle for my mental health.

Getting back to today: I have been off my meds for 120+ hours as of this morning. This was through no fault of my own – I am a very responsible medicine-taker. Due to a mix-up with a new doctor, I have been unable to access my prescription for five days now. It takes about three days for this particular medication to leave the system, which means I am two days into a full blown sertraline withdrawal.

I am sitting in my kitchen trying to think of anything else to write about, something more light-hearted, about going back to school or summer ending, but my mind is not having it. Instead, here I am, unwillingly typing this article, hoping I can at the very least make you understand why it is impossible for me to write something less morbid.

Not having my medicine didn’t seem like such a big deal yesterday when the most intense side effect I experienced was uncontrollable shaking from pure, unadulterated ecstasy. And really, when has being happy ever been cause for concern? I mean, that’s what these pills are for, right? To make sure I’m happy?

I seemed to forget that with high highs come low lows and the job of these pills is not so straightforward. It is easy to mistake unrestrained for free when you are finally feeling something besides numbness, besides muted joy and repressed sadness.

When I woke up this morning, I was not prepared for the inevitable crash, the feeling of desperation that filled the room and suffocated me, and I don’t mean to be dramatic, but how else can I explain the weight of every insecurity, every passing worry, suddenly dropped onto my chest.

I woke up, exhausted from the most vivid dream I have dreamt in years and I remembered why I had opted to live in a black and white world as opposed to Technicolor. Bright hues are something my mind only processes in extremes, every image saturated to the point of animation. So I laid in bed until I absolutely had to get up. I did not look into the mirror to get ready because I would not be able to handle whatever distorted version of myself I saw today when I already felt every mistake and disappointment I have ever experienced sitting in the back of my throat.

Today I drove to work – or at least my body did. My mind floated somewhere in the relative distance, letting muscle memory kick in and navigate for me. Today I poured coffee and counted money with rocks in my stomach. Today I took ibuprofen for a headache that was not really a headache, but they do not sell over the counter medicine for a mind hurricane. I don’t mean to make this sound poetic but it is an ugly thing and I do not want to scare you and I do not want to look my demons in the eye so I call them by a different name.

And maybe this is the anxiety talking, but I must be overreacting, because everyone sweats in summer, right? I mean, I know the AC is on but they’re called cold sweats for a reason; who has ever called out of work for being too warm? And everyone gets headaches, it’s probably just my music playing too loud, and my dry mouth just means I need a drink.

It’s normal to feel like this, right? To not be a person but more like a substance, a ball of emotion, to feel everything to the 1000^th degree? I tell myself that I don’t feel any noticeable effects when I am on meds so they must not be doing anything anyway, so what’s the big deal if I miss a day or two or five?

The big deal is this: I am on meds because I do not know how to feel things like you do and no, I’m not crazy but I am also not functional without them. I do not notice my meds when I am on them because their job is to ensure precisely that: that I do not notice. They do not let me notice the intrusive thoughts, the depression that makes me feel like crawling into bed for three days straight, the way I see my body shift in the mirror every five seconds. Of course I still feel these things - I don’t have magic pills. However, I do not notice them in the way that makes me stop experiencing everything else around me.

I know this isn’t particularly fun or easy to read – but believe me, it is not particularly fun or easy to live through either.