Well Sh*t

Hello darkness, my old friend

Content Note: This post contains honest reflections on chronic pain... It’s not a cry for help: just a clear-eyed look at what survival sometimes asks of us.

“Well… I’m already naked emotionally. Might as well build a throne out of this rubble.”

I didn’t plan on writing this one. But darkness, like pain, has never waited for my consent.

This is the chapter where medication entered the story. Not because I was depressed, or needed to be “fixed” emotionally. But because the pain had become unbearable.

The kind of pain that doesn’t just live in the body — it seeps into your thoughts, hijacks your nervous system, and quietly rewrites your entire inner landscape.

So we tried medication. Not the “let’s stabilize your mood” kind — the “we give this to nerve endings so they stop screaming” kind. Basically antidepressants wearing a different hat.

The goal wasn’t to change my mood. It was to survive.

I didn’t take antidepressants for depression.

I took them to survive nerve pain that was slowly unmaking me.

The Cruel Irony

Here’s the part no one puts in bold letters:

While the medication took a slight edge off the pain, it darkened my thoughts in a way that felt alien. Heavy. Muted. Not-me.

The pain was still there — loud, relentless — but now my inner world felt dimmer too.

And in the worst moments, when the pain swallowed everything, I noticed a terrifying shift: “Not a wish to die. Just an absence of resistance to the idea of not existing.”

That’s not despair. That’s your body writing a resignation letter and your brain CC-ing the universe.

And it’s a terrifying place to recognize yourself.

Why “Old Friend”

I’ve been here before. Different chapter, same darkness. I know how it strips you down to nothing and then asks: “What’s left when everything you leaned on is gone?”

Last time I came through it with a fire in my chest to prove something. To rebuild fast. To justify my survival with productivity, purpose and performance.

This time, something’s different. That urge is gone.

Rock Bottom Is Honest

When pain takes everything — your plans, your sharpness, your sense of self — there is no performance left. No mask. No proving. No future version of yourself to chase.

And strangely, that’s where I found something unexpected: Joy.

Not happiness. Not excitement. But a quiet, stubborn joie de vivre.

If I am here — truly here — then I might as well enjoy whenever I can. A laugh that slips out. A moment of lightness. A reminder that even now, life still flickers.

"Rock bottom gave me a choice — and I choose joy”

That’s not toxic positivity. This is simply what remains when illusion burns away.

Somewhere in that raw space between pain and side effects, I hit rock bottom — and found something I didn’t expect: incredible power.

The Power Hiding in Rock Bottom

When you’re stripped of every single thing you leaned on — identity, plans, intellect, energy — you realize something wild: You’re free. Truly, terrifyingly free.

With nothing left to uphold, nothing left to perform, nothing left to prove — you can build again from anywhere. No legacy to maintain. No mask to keep adjusting.

Just truth. And the next thing that feels real.

At rock bottom, the pressure to be impressive disappears. And what's left is pure, untamed potential.

Not “starting over.” Starting true.

The Practical Reality

Eventually, the side effects became too heavy. The darkness the medication introduced outweighed the relief it offered. And the effectiveness wasn’t enough.

So, exercising that new freedom, we stopped.

Because healing isn’t linear. It’s more like tripping up a spiral staircase in the dark, wearing Crocs.

Sometimes the thing that gets you through one phase isn’t meant to stay for the whole journey. And that’s okay.

Hello Darkness — And Goodbye (For Now)

I don’t romanticize this chapter. But I don’t reject it either. It reminded me of something essential:

“When everything falls away, you realize: you were never meant to carry all that anyway.”

And so I am still here. Still learning. Still choosing life — not out of obligation, not because I figured it all out, but because I’ve already been to hell. Might as well enjoy the scenery on the way back up.

Now, I finally get to build my life on my terms. Honestly? That’s the most powerful place I’ve ever stood.

Rock bottom gave me a choice — and I choose joy.

In sweatpants. Holding snacks. From my cave of blankets.

xo,

Sanne

If this hit somewhere deep:

share it, save it, scream into a pillow.

I don’t need applause.

But I’m always here for real connection.