Port City Java break

I'm camped out at Port City Java for a few more minutes, enjoying free wifi and an Americano between meetings. My ex-girlfriend's roommate works here - seeing friendly and familiar faces is one of my favorite parts of having lived in Greensboro my entire life but, of course, the downside is seeing the unfriendly yet familiar faces, the people I would just as soon avoid. None of them so far today, fortunately.

I've realized that I have a funny dynamic between my blog and my column in which I tend to write intensely personal stuff in my column, like my piece in March about the communications coaching (yeah, okay - marriage counseling) my husband and I are enjoying (truly - that's not a euphemism) and yet I'm oddly uncomfortable writing too much about myself on my blog, a space that is inherently personal. I will sometimes write about myself only to delete it immediately, or leave it to fester as a draft forevermore in my Blogger dashboard. I think part of it is a fear of sounding like I'm bragging or something equally contrary to the modesty that is so deeply ingrained in my family culture. Even as I write this, I am tempted to delete this post...

Interestingly (to me, at least), not writing about myself defies another closely-held belief of mine, which is that we must all be willing to share our experiences and beliefs in order to break down the weird and often destructive taboos that sometimes keep us from real communication. For example, as I've written about in my column, the taboo that bars domestic violence from polite conversation and the many resulting adverse effects.

So, as my coffee break wraps up and my next meeting beckons, I'd like to share something that is both personal and taboo. I have been on anti-depressants since I was attacked in 1996. The first few years were on and off but the last five have been solidly on Remeron, a prescription that helped me regulate my emotions without limiting my range of emotions (i.e., I still feel happy, sad, angry, etc - I just don't feel out of control) while adding the lovely bonus of aiding my sleep. It has been a blessing, getting my through the post-attack suicidal thoughts and overwhelming depression. It's also made getting health insurance difficult and expensive, and added to the feeling that I'm somehow outside of the norm.

For those reasons, but more so because I needed to know for myself, I've spent a couple of years thinking about making a go without meds, but was nervous that my personal chemistry required a little pharmaceutical help. Finally, I steeled myself a couple of months ago and, under the guidance of my primary care nurse practitioner and my psychologist, I reduced my dose to half. This month, I reduced to a half-dose every other day.

In the last couple of weeks, I stopped medicating entirely and am pleased to say that it's been smooth sailing - I've had some normal, frustrating moments and plenty of lovely happy moments but haven't felt as though my emotions were disproportionate to the situation or any warning signs like that. Of course, if any of that stuff starts popping up, I will gladly return to my medical aid - I appreciate the tool that anti-depressants can be, but don't want to medicate if it's unnecessary. So far, so good.

My break is over - gotta run. That's it; that's me. Welcome further into my world.