Perhaps the most controversial part of mental illness treatment is medication. Some claim that it does wonders for them. Others claim it does little. Some are adamantly against them. For me, I believe that each person’s journey through healing is different. Some people need the help of a therapist and that is sufficient. They build skills to better cope with their mental health issues and are able to lead full lives. Others rely on medications to get to a place where therapy can help. For me, I have been on both sides.
In May 2019, I stepped up my treatment from just seeing my therapist every other week, to weekly sessions. I truly struggled between sessions to keep myself above water. I had massive mood dips that would leave me barely capable to getting out of bed to feed myself. In the end, I went to see a psychiatrist at a large hospital. Here, in Korea, mental healthcare is very sparse and is limited to medications. Finding my therapist in Korea required a lot of research and, during non-pandemic times, a lot of travel.
I was shocked at how many pills the psychiatrist had put me on. Nonetheless, I took them diligently. I followed up every few weeks and accepted changes made to my prescription without question. Eventually, by April 2020, I was taking 11 pills a day. The cocktail ranged from SSRIs to medication that aided my sleep. Did they help? I will hesitantly say that they did. They kept me functioning. I got up and got to my job every single day. There were, however, noticeable changes in me that were not necessarily helpful.
I started to not feel extreme emotions. It was good that I wasn’t dipping into those extreme lows. I was getting out of bed. I wasn’t staying up all night overthinking every interaction. I was resting. However, I didn’t feel happy either. Even when good things happened, I would struggle to muster energy to properly react. I struggled with keeping up with other people in social energy, and often didn’t feel up to “faking it” all day. Nothing was exciting to me.
I also experienced weight gain. I noticed that I would “treat myself” to a lot of food or unhealthy food in order to feel positive feelings. Eating was one of the only concrete ways that I could access to feel something close to happy. Exercising was difficult, as I didn’t have much energy.
I slept a lot, but my exhaustion levels were high. I currently sleep barely 5 hours a night and I still feel more rested than the days when I was on Ambien and sleeping 9 or 10 hours. I would wake up feeling dreadfully tired. I was sluggish and I could never get enough sleep. Sleep was my escape, and there was definitely quite a heavy dependence on using my sleep medication to get me to sleep.
After leaving my previous city, my psychiatrist and I devised a plan to get off of the medications. When I tell you that even reducing the doses gradually was horrible. I am not exaggerating. I am so lucky to have had 3 months of rest. I needed all of that time to recover from the side effects of reducing my dosage. The pangs in my head were enough to knock me off my feet. I spent days in bed doing the bare minimum. Finally, when I was coming out of my last dose and going into not taking pills at all, I began to feel like a person.
I realized that I was feeling the highs and lows. The highs and lows were tough, but I now had practiced coping skills so much that I could deal with them without being mellowed out. I wasn’t sleeping well, but I was no longer sleeping like a corpse. I was finally adopting a healthy diet and eating what I needed.
Would I have changed going on medication? Not at all. It truly saved my life. However, I hope that I can take care of myself and be well enough to not need them for a long time. Medicating was a lifesaver, but without medication, I’m finally living.

