I recently made the decision to put my dogs on Prozac. They’ve always been high-strung, especially Zoey who has had separation anxiety since she was a puppy. Because of this I have a very set routine for when I leave and when I come home. I’ve done thunder shirts, calming phermones, blanket over the crate, blanket that I slept with in the crate. You name it, I’ve tried it and kept the things that worked to maintain our precarious balance of momma being able to leave without the puggles freaking out.
However, back in December, for no specific reason that my roommate or I can come up with, they started to howl and cry every morning when I would leave for work. For a while my roommate would come out tell them to knock it off, give them a treat and they would settle. But after a while that didn’t work, and on days when she wasn’t home they would cry for hours annoying all of our neighbors. Sorry! I took them to the vet, clean bill of health. I tried to identify something that was causing the upset, no luck. I tried all of my old tricks and read a bunch of new articles that gave advice to do all of the things that I was already doing. I tried everything that I could think of to avoid putting them on medication, but nothing worked. They were miserable and strung out and so was I.
Then one day it occurred to me. Why was I okay medicating myself so that I felt better and could function normally, but I was hesitating to do the same thing for my dogs? Before this realization if you would have asked me about the stigma of anti-depressants I would have told you that I’ve gotten over it. After all, I now openly admit and talk about the fact that I take them and that I have no shame about that. That wasn’t always the case. For a very long time I felt ashamed about taking them or admitting that I have clinical depression. Because of that I wasted years feeling horrible because I felt like I was less of a person if I succumbed to my depression and took meds to lift my mood. I had this asinine belief that I was strong enough to do it by myself. That I was fine. That somehow having clinical depression made me weak and I had to fight against that. Talk about expending your energy in the wrong direction!
It wasn’t until I looked at my depression from a different angle that I was able to get over this belief. If I was diagnosed as diabetic, I would try everything in my power to control my blood sugar through diet changes, exercise, etc. However, after trying that, if my doctor told me that it wasn’t enough and that I needed insulin, I would take the insulin. I wouldn’t need to think twice about it, and it wouldn’t make me feel like I was weak or less of a person. It would mean that I had a disease and thankfully there were drugs out there that could help me function normally. So why would I treat a diabetes diagnosis different than a depression diagnosis? They’re both diseases that have meds to help diminish the effects and symptoms so that your body can function normally, so what’s the difference?
That’s when it occurred to me, that a stigma was keeping me from feeling good. The stigma against mental illness and all that that entails was preventing me from living my life to the fullest. How stupid is that? So I got over myself, said screw what anybody else thinks, I’m going to feel good and be happy. Four tries later my doctor and I landed on the right cocktail of meds and I no longer spend my free time curled up in bed hiding from life. It has made a HUGE difference – both my happiness and my productivity. Being depressed is really time consuming! I’ve come to accept that I will probably be on meds for the rest of my life, and I’m okay with that. It’s what is best for me.
So if it’s good enough for me, why did I hesitate with my dogs? The incredulous look that I got from one of my neighbors when I told her about my choice reminded me why. She acted like I was giving up on them and committing them to a looney bin because I didn’t want to deal with them anymore. There it was, the mental illness stigma rearing it’s ugly head, and if she reacted that way about giving prozac to dogs, I can’t imagine what she would have said about me taking meds! Needless to say I ignored her and made the same choice for my dogs as I did for myself, and good lord I wish I would have made that choice a long time ago! My dogs are still their crazy, hyper lovable selves, but the nervous energy is gone. They can actually lay down and fall asleep without waking up and freaking out about every noise they hear. They can meet and say hi to other dogs without getting really anxious. I can leave the house without them acting like the world is coming to an end. It’s amazing, and the best part is that they seem to be happier. So stigma be damned, we’re all a bunch of nuts in my house and I’ve got the meds to prove it!