RELEASE

MEDICATIONS

– Name?
– Dani Selyebi.

– Complaint?
– Anxiety.

– Frontin, next.

That’s more or less how I imagined my first conversation with the psychiatrist, whose number I got from a close acquaintance.

A lot ran through my mind on the way to his office, but mostly the thought of turning around and going home.

Another part of me, however, was already ready to give up all its attachments to its own particular protocol – which, let’s face it, had long since failed.

It no longer mattered what means I used – I just wanted to get better.

It was in those moments that the duality within me became most pronounced.

I had actually been torn about this question for weeks, until one final panic attack pushed me across the threshold where the medication I had once despised with every fiber of my being now seemed like the only possible lifeline.

After a bit of hesitation and a big sigh, I finally pressed the buzzer, and shortly after, the door was opened by a short, deeply wrinkled elderly man with a smile that stretched from ear to ear.

Somehow, that wasn’t what I expected.

As he invited me in, I suddenly found myself in a cozy apartment that bore little resemblance to what I had pictured in my mind.

After a quick introduction, he gestured for me to sit in the nearest armchair and simply asked me to tell my story.

And so I did.

From the very beginning, everything just poured out of me, and he – occasionally nodding to signal his understanding – listened patiently to the end.

When I finally finished my word avalanche, for a moment I thought he had frozen from the overflow of information, but after a brief pause, he finally spoke.

– If you truly feel there’s no other solution right now, I can give you something.
But are you sure this is what you want?
I usually only recommend medication when every other rope has already snapped.

For a moment, the trials of the past six months flashed through my mind.

– It’s hard for me to function day to day like this.
I just need a crutch for a little while.

I thought that once my body got used to it, maybe after two or three months I could stop taking it.

I hoped that if it calmed me down even a little, and I adjusted to the new emotional baseline over a few weeks, then maybe I’d be able to maintain that state without medication.

After all, I only needed to break the vicious circle at one point.

The doctor agreed, but based on past experience, suggested a year instead.

He stood up and took a small box from a shelf in the wardrobe behind him.

– This is an antidepressant – it’s been quite effective for anxiety and depersonalization.
Take one a day, morning or evening, and we’ll see how it goes...

After a short hesitation, I finally took it and buried it deep in my bag – hoping maybe I wouldn’t even find it later.

– How much do I owe you?
– Well... whatever you think is right – he said with a smile and a shrug.

A bit embarrassed, I handed him a few thousand forints.
He thanked me, then said: Run away.

While I was tying my shoes, he asked me to check in as soon as there was any change, and warned that during the first few days I might experience nausea or dizziness.

Great… – I thought.

I thanked him and set off.

Strange feelings swirled within me that afternoon.
As I walked home, I felt both disappointed and full of hope.

I had wanted to overcome this on my own, with my own tools, and I saw it as a defeat that I hadn’t held out.
But on the other hand – when I thought about the possibility that within a few weeks my symptoms might finally fade away...

By then, I would’ve given anything for that.

The next thing I remember is not knowing which way was up or down, while spinning and falling from somewhere to somewhere.

That feeling jolted me awake with terrible nausea, as I was already halfway out of bed, ready to run to the bathroom.

The rest of the night went on like that, so I decided to move my evening dose to the morning instead.

I had a really bad feeling about it.

If my body was rejecting something this strongly, maybe I shouldn’t force it – I thought.

But I had already started, and I wanted to see what would happen next.
If the doctor was right, I might start to feel some relief in two or three weeks.

Luckily, those symptoms really did fade quickly, so I kept taking it, hoping that slowly but surely my general state would shift, and I’d eventually find myself no longer anxious.

That’s how I imagined it

.

Meanwhile, I started to feel my knee was stable enough to give it a try — to put my roller skates back on after nearly a year’s break.

But there was still one more thing left before that.

Starting in September, I wanted to go back to school, and for that, I needed to pass the entrance exam

Eventually — though with strong criticism — I was accepted into the graphic design program, for which I had spent so much time perfecting my portfolio.

A huge weight fell off my shoulders in that moment.
One of my main problems was suddenly solved.

Two more to go — I thought.

It had been a long time since I’d felt such a positive impulse, and with a bit of courage drawn from it, I went straight home and grabbed the roller boots that had been collecting dust in the corner for months.

I called up an old friend, and we headed out to one of the many rundown skateparks — somewhere deep in the City Park.

It’s an incredible feeling when, after such a long forced break, you suddenly find yourself continuing exactly as before — as if you had only stopped yesterday.

As if the moment of injury, the torn ligament, the knee surgery, and the rehab had never even happened.

Everything flowed just like it used to.

Of course, the months of daily physiotherapy played a huge part in that — all those efforts finally paid off in that very moment.

I found myself in a state of pure carefreeness that required no achievement.

It had been a very long time since I’d felt anything like that.

I simply rejoiced in the moment — in the fact that what had seemed impossible just a few months ago had suddenly become reality.

I know it might be hard to truly grasp, but at that time I felt as if I had gotten a part of myself back.

Everything’s going to be fine now — I though.

.