All antidepressants’ names sound like something out of Animorphs.

Deciding to take medication for depression and anxiety is the start of a long, yet hopefully rewarding, journey. A lot of my close friends are fellow mentally-ill-people – we apparently exert an exotic gravitational pull, it seems – and between them they have a wide variety of experiences with taking medication, and seeking the right medicine and dosage. I’ve always been afraid of taking medication for anything – I was sure I’d written about it in an annotation before, and bingo, a quick google search turned it up. I even made that joke about gravitation the last time too, geez.

Anyway, I finally reached a point in my life where I felt that I was in a place to finally try taking something for my depression/anxiety. I can actually pin that point down, too: it was during drawing the last few pages of The Residual, when I couldn’t even draw any more out of sheer mental paralysis. I just couldn’t do anything. I didn’t even have the energy to move from my bed to my desk. Lore and I had just gotten married and this shit wasn’t fair on her any more; not when I could be taking steps to potentially ameliorate it. Plus, these days I am privileged enough to have a close safety net of friends and loved ones around me. As anyone dealing with depression without that will tell you, it makes a big friggin’ difference.

My doctor and I are still getting the minutiae correct, but it’s been a generally positive movement since then. The first week was honestly incredible: I had literally forgotten what it was like to not be depressed and anxious all the time. It was like, is this how normal people feel all the time? You people are as unto gods! I use the past tense, because some of my symptoms are back, but it’s still a significant step up from normal, or at least what I’ve taken as “normal” for all these years. We need to figure out the right treatment for me.

But hey, it’s the start of a journey.

My biggest fear was, apparently, unfounded; in fact, stronger than that, I want to say it was anti-founded, if such a term was real. My art and writing has only gotten sharply better since my depression/anxiety has been reduced: I thought I was slipping backwards creatively once they began to return, but as a friend pointed out, that’s probably just the depression taking. Maybe it’s too soon for me to tell, yet.

Normally we don’t tend to do comics about depression, but that’s because Clay absolutely nails that niche with Depression Comix, which I recommend everybody read.

If you suspect you might suffer from a mental illness, please seek help if you can.