My world is expanding thanks to antidepressant medication

Each day that I continue to take my antidepressant, I see more and more of the world I used to enjoy before chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) caused the walls to cave in on me. Though I fought to stay positive, it seemed that the doors and windows had all closed and the shades were drawn. I was in a dark room, huddled in the corner, facing the wall.

I pulled myself together to write my weekly column, but then I missed a few weeks. Despite my efforts, I made no progress.

Now, something is shifting — not dramatically, and not all at once, but gently, daily. My medication is making space for the space I did not realize I’d lost.

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Inner renovations

I’ll walk into a room and smell the air wafting through the window after a rain shower and think, “I didn’t remember that it smelled this fresh.” Or I’ll look outside as the trees begin to change color and am amazed by their beauty. I may look out my window in the evening and marvel at the beauty of a sunset.

As I begin my fall preparations, I am aware of the rustling of the leaves and recall watching them fall in years past, how the wind made them flutter.

These are not miracles, but renovations of myself. As with a house that has been abandoned for years, I am dusting off the furniture of my life. I am dusting off memories that were once choked out.

Everyday things reignite memories of my childhood. The light at the end of my driveway reminds me of the window in the milking parlor on the farm. I remember searching for the glow that meant my daddy was in the barn. That light was more than illumination; it was presence, safety.

I hadn’t realized that I was unsettled until the driveway light brought back that feeling of safety. And now, I feel safe again. Not in the same way — through the certainty of boots on barn floors or the rhythm of milking — but in the quiet way that space is opening inside me. In the way light is returning to the corners of my mind.

Antidepressant medication didn’t give me back my life; it gave me back the space to live it. And at the end of each day, I imagine a porch light left on — steady, soft, and waiting. Not demanding, just welcoming. A signal that I can come home to myself, again and again.

Note: COPD News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of COPD News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to chronic obstructive pulmonary disease.