As before, with every chapter comes the warning: if you do not wish to know my personal drama, leave this chapter, this story, immediately. If you have any curiosity about these things, feel free to read on.

I never thought it would happen. Honest to god, I never, ever, thought I would reach this point in my life.

Three days back on my medication, and I've already mellowed out. I feel steadier. I feel a sliver of happiness creeping into my life again. Despite the fact that I have slept in my car more days than I can count in the last month or so, today I woke with the thought that it's actually quite cozy.

Cozy. Sleeping in my car is somehow cozy.

Yesterday, I was ready to pull a harsh turn at 60 mph and flip my car in the hopes of killing myself.

Today, I'm getting steadier. Most would think I should be happy.

Some will realize how bittersweet it actually is.

While I'm happy for the fact that I can finally feel sturdy after feeling like my world was falling to pieces . . . I'm slowly coming to, resentfully, accept the fact that I will likely never be a properly functioning member of society without my medicine.

Without the medicine, I suffer god awful mood swings.

Honestly, I never even realized how bad they were until my first round of drugs. Zoloft has given me a fighting chance, at least, but it's devastating when I realize how unstable I was without it.

I will scream at the top of my lungs over petty things. I screamed because a driver cut me off. I screamed because I got stuck in the driveway.

Annoyances, yes, but I screamed like a spoiled child being denied their favorite toy. I will go from happy to cussing out someone who's done nothing but cause a minor setback or irritation.

I called my sister a bitch for splashing me with water in a pool. It was an accident.

If I ever want to be a mother, for the sake of my children, I will have to be medicated. If I'm not, they will likely come to fear me.

My niece feared me for a while. I got angry at her for babbling.

For babbling. She adored me and wanted to talk to me. But I was always stuck in a rut, I had headaches. I didn't want to listen to her babble.

I started getting short with her. I would yell at her to leave me alone.

She began to misbehave when I was there. And it was my fault.

I don't see her as often now. We're closer again and I'm immensely grateful for it. She's an angel and I adore her.

I have to stay on my medicine.

Some days, I resent it. I resent myself for my brain's chemical balance being so out of the ordinary. I resent my genetics for making me predisposed.

I've had depression since I was young. I cannot remember a time when I did not isolate myself from everyone but a select few. I cannot remember a time where I wasn't sad or, at the very least, somber. When I was six or seven, I recall my principal coming up to me at lunch, where I was sitting by myself, and asking me why I was sad.

I told her I didn't know. I genuinely didn't.

I fought for years. I insisted to myself that I didn't need to be medicated. That I would fight through things and I would be all right.

I thought that until my anxiety got out of control.

Literally, completely, out of control. Back in June, my anxiety became so bad that I felt like I was having heart palpitations.

I wasn't. My anxiety and stress had risen to a point that it felt like my heart was skipping when it wasn't.

I had three panic attacks.

After determining my heart problems weren't physical, my doctor wanted to put me on Zoloft, a combination anti-anxiety and anti-depressant.

After fighting it since I first went there a month earlier, I relented. I couldn't take the panic attacks and tightness in my chest anymore.

The medicine worked. I noticed it slowly, but slowly, I mellowed out. My emotions became more stable and reliable. I still felt alive. My dose was so low that I could feel things, but the extremes were whittled down. The pain didn't hurt as much.

After developing side effects, I was put on a different anti-anxiety.

It didn't work. My mood swings came back with a vengeance.

I resumed taking Zoloft, and with care, I can minimize the side effects. I have to be careful with it, but I have never been so grateful and resentful for medicine.

Anyone who has to rely on medication to live their lives as a 'normal' human understands what I mean.

It's devastating to know you cannot partake in being a 'human' without a crutch.

I feel crippled, but I know the longer I take my medication, the more that feeling will fade away. Some days that thought will creep in, some days it may even cause me to stop taking the pills for a while.

The mood swings are devastating, though. The dark thoughts are terrifying.

Those things will chase me back to the comfort of my little green pills.

I'm grateful to be as 'thin' as I am. It means I can survive on their lowest dosage. It allows me to feel, but still have the effects of the medication.

I have talked to so many people who took this sort of medication, saying it made them feel like a zombie. That is why I feel blessed to survive on their lowest dose.

I am so grateful for it, but knowing I need it as much as I do . . . It makes me feel like an inadequate human being. If I have children, I will need to never falter on my medicine for their sake. I'll need to never miss it more than a day at a time.

It makes me feel like I will not be a good mother. A good wife. A good anything.

Depression and anxiety impact me in more ways than I ever realized before I started taking this medicine.

It is devastating to know that I will likely spend the rest of my life medicated.

But for the love of Primus, if you need medication you should not stop yourself from getting it. It is a bittersweet thing to do, but getting rid of those pitfall-level lows is worth it.