by Heather Loeb

So I start packing for a vacation to my family’s lake house last week and I begin with my kids. I’m in charge of packing for four, you know. Not so much for my husband but I do have to find his bag and remind him where we’re going and what he’ll need. Wife problems. Anyway, so I get everyone packed. Except me.

I forget my medicine. All of it. Unbelievable because I never forget anything important and I need my meds to be emotionally stable and I’m now 8 hours away from my stability. I also forget my wallet so this trip is starting off amazingly well.

I’m able to get an emergency three-day stash but because of the pharmacy’s rules, my refill situation and whatnot I can only get a few medications. How many meds are you on, you ask? However much it takes me to feel normal. I’ll let you know when that happens.

So I have some meds but not at the right strength/dosage. I am now in the unique position to know that a storm is coming. I only have a couple of psych meds. I couldn’t get my birth control, so my hormones will be thrown off. I have three days to get to my meds or disaster could strike and my depression could come back in full force. All the progress I’ve made lately, gone. I’m very dramatic tonight.

But this time I know it’s coming. Before, the waves of depression would just crash down on me with no warning. Is it any different now that I know I have a recipe for disaster? Probably not. I’ve warned my support base and I’ve even been trying to be my own hype man but I can feel the fatigue in my bones, the brain zaps from withdrawal, the heaviness that sits on your chest.

Or am I just imagining it all? I only have the recipe, I’m not cooked yet.

You’d think three days (Lawd, let it be just three days) wouldn’t do any harm but I’ve gone through withdrawal in just hours before with zero medication. It sucks how one mistake can derail you so much.

Here’s hoping it doesn’t. I was starting to feel pretty good.

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