'It's just a relapse,' my GP told me, in that reassuring tone that I'm always so grateful for. But it didn't feel like 'just' anything. It felt catastrophic, an abject failure.
When I finally said goodbye to Prozac, I felt unstoppable. I treated myself to a Maya Angelou tattoo, 'And still I rise', symbolising the progress and closure I felt I'd achieved.
Recovery is never linear, everyone's mental health fluctuates, and there's never any shame in going on (or back on) medication if you need it.