hello brain, how are you these days?

Crisis. There are only two more St John’s Wort pills left in my little container.

That means I’ve been taking St John’s Wort for about a month now. That was as long as I was going to do, hoping by the end of it I’d feel normal enough to stop.

Well I feel normal. I should stop. Only there’s a problem: my brain is afraidy.

In case you’re not familiar with this little herb, it’s considered an effective treatment for mild anxiety and low mood (though debate still rages on this). Scientifically, it is thought that some compounds in the plant help regulate serotonin and dopamine levels.

I can only go by my month-long trial and confirm that it definitely helps level the moods out, taking the edge off the lows, and even (in my case at least) the highs. One symptom I wasn’t aware of until tonight is that it can cause photosensitivity, which definitely explains my sudden increase in freckles! Another batch of boffins are currently studying its use as an effective treatment for alcoholism using alcoholic mice (aside - how do you breed an alcoholic mouse?), and I think they might be onto something. I had a definite lack of interest in anything alcoholic this month. This is coming from someone who worships Grey Goose vodka and South gin with great gusto. But I digress…

When I was on holidays a week or so ago, I was so relaxed and happy I skipped a few, and on one day didn’t take any at all. All good, except the next day driving home I suddenly felt extremely anxious and ready to burst into tears. It was a strange sensation to go through, while at the same time stepping away from myself to try and analyse what was going on.

It was set off by a voice on the radio – some overly saccharine lady cooing about the afternoon’s program. I couldn’t stand it and started to panic. How weird is that! Then I noticed the traffic around me, the noise and chaos; I didn’t want to drive and concentrate for another minute longer.

It took all I had to try and control my breathing and not cry. I kept repeating to myself “I just have to get home, just have to get home”.

When I finally stepped inside my door I cried and still had no idea why. I ‘pulled myself together’ (why do we do that? why don’t we ride out an experience? another blog methinks) and still felt very shaky, totally not right at all. It was an effort to get myself to my partner’s house, a task I really didn’t want to do, and I should have listened to my little voice because I arrived on his doorstep and burst into tears again. Waa part two.

That’s when I started to worry – what if I was no longer ‘normal’? What if I was going to need to take these pills for the rest of my life? It kind of scared me, making me question if I was permanently broken in some way.

A friend of mine tried to put it into perspective – sometimes someone just has a quirk, a point of difference, a broken part, that only science and medicine can take care of. It’s not a bad thing, it just is. I’m still trying to chew on that.

Well, I’ve decided. I’m not going to buy more tomorrow. I’m going to see what happens. I will guinea pig myself and turn the scientific eye inward.

I’m actually quite scared. I don’t want to go back to the place I was a month ago. I don’t like that place very much. But at the same time I don’t want the training wheels on for longer than they need to be. My brain’s had enough of a respite. It’s time for it to be plugged in again.

Gulp.