Content warning: mentions of suicidal ideations

In the middle of January, I had my Wayne Brady moment.

In November 2014, the actor/comedian/host revealed he’d struggled with depression for years. His breaking point, he told his interviewer, was his 42nd birthday, where he broke down crying in his underwear that morning.

Similar to Brady, I woke up one Friday morning and physically couldn’t get out of bed. Laying there, my mind went to horrifying places, and once the thought of my younger brother finding me after doing something irreversible crossed my mind, I gave my dad a phone call that definitely gave him a few more gray hairs. He rushed home, and after a conversation with him and my mom where I let the darkness in my head come pouring out, I concluded by saying, “I think I need to be on antidepressants.”

Three weeks later, I was. 150 milligrams of Wellbutrin, to be specific.

Wednesday, January 31, day 1: during my driving lesson, my mouth went dry. It could be because parallel parking is that nerve-wracking, but when I’d googled “side effects of Wellbutrin” on Monday evening, I saw dry mouth as a possible side effect, sandwiched between “difficulty falling asleep or staying asleep” and “dizziness.”

Thursday, February 1, day 2: I worked a closing shift. Sometimes I’m not done closing until 6:30, but on that day, I was out the door by 6:10. I still didn’t feel anything, but my doctor told me to expect about a week of wait time for the Wellbutrin to start working, and I believed him.

Friday, February 2, day 3: somewhat tangential, but people, if you are lactose intolerant and you go to a coffee shop, please inform your barista of your lactose intolerance before they add dairy to your drink. We had dinner with family friends on Friday evening.

Saturday, February 3, day 4: I went to my neighbor’s funeral on Saturday afternoon. I knew my neighbor’s dogs, two furry cruise missiles that would go crazy from behind his privacy fence whenever we were in our driveway, than I knew him, but it’s not like the guy keeping to himself meant I wanted him to die.

A few hours after I got home from the funeral, I got irritated. As bedtime got closer, irritation became anger. I lay back in bed, grabbed the journal I’ve been keeping since the New Year started, and wrote out a stream of vitriol. I refuse to look at that particular entry. It’s nothing but cursing and verbal shadowboxing, all written like I was having a seizure in the midst of recapping my day.

Sunday, February 4, day 5: Waking up Sunday morning was like waking up after getting blackout drunk. I took a look back at my journal and cringed at what I saw. The same website that told me I might have Wellbutrin-induced dry mouth also mentioned “irritation” as a possible side effect.

The ensuing day was the first day that it felt like the Wellbutrin kicked in. It wasn’t a good day at work (none are, really), but things that previously would have made me slump my way home were irritants, not downers.

Monday, February 5, day 6: For the first time this year, I called one of my best friends who lives out-of-state. I mentioned that I’d started taking antidepressants, and when she asked what kind, she was flabbergasted when I mentioned Wellbutrin. She mentioned she was also taking Wellbutrin but not for too much longer, because the side effects were too much. She said she’d been having hot flashes, irritation like the kind I’d experienced Saturday night, and a couple other things. While I felt bad that the medicine’s drawbacks outweighed the benefits for her, I took it as a good sign on my part. Next to all the side effects my friend mentioned, dry mouth and one night of raaaaaage seemed minor.

Tuesday, February 6, day 7: I met with my doctor and told him a condensed version of this post. He was happy with what I heard and told me to check back in at the end of the month to see if I continued to improve on the Wellbutrin.

This post isn’t sponsored by Wellbutrin, nor is this meant to convey that Wellbutrin or any antidepressant is a magical cure. I wrote this to say: don’t be afraid to seek help. I’d been entertaining the idea of trying antidepressants for years, but a mixture of denial and internalizing stigmas about depression kept me away until a breakdown made the topic impossible to avoid. I know that medication isn’t for everyone, and there are a lot of people who can’t even afford antidepressants. (Thanks, for-profit healthcare!)

But I will say: dry mouth and punching the air is a major improvement over suicidal thoughts and lying in bed until 2 in the afternoon.

Noah Keene

Noah Keene graduated from Calvin University in December 2021 with a major in creative writing and a minor in Spanish. He currently resides in his hometown of Detroit, Michigan. He spends his free time reading and putting his major to good use by working on his first novel. See what he’s reading by following him on Instagram @peachykeenebooks and read his other personal writing by going to thekeenechronicles.com.