The Long Nap That Changed Everything

Mental Health Check-In: Smiling Again

Let’s do a check-in.

Right now, I’m on Mirtazapine and Hydroxyzine (my sleep buddies), plus Aripiprazole and Oxcarbazepine (the real game-changer) for mood stabilization. If you knew me between January and May… first of all, bless you. Second, thank you for still being here.

Because those months? They were rough.

The Before

I don’t remember much structure in those months — just the constant blur of exhaustion. When you’re running on four hours of sleep across five days, time stops making sense. You forget if you fed yourself. You replay conversations in your head until they lose all meaning. Even coffee stops helping.

But there were small anchors: Clyde, sitting steady by my side like my four-legged therapist. Piper, barking at nothing, reminding me the world was still moving. Ollie, stealing socks and creating chaos when I felt like shutting down. Those tiny things — the ones that usually drive me crazy — were the reasons I kept moving.

The Ward

Then came May. One comment about “taking a long nap,” and suddenly I was in a psych ward for 24 hours. I didn’t plan on hurting myself. I didn’t want to die. But I also didn’t care what happened. And that indifference? That’s what scared everyone the most.

I’ll never forget the moment I realized: I’m really here. The white walls, the locked doors, the way time slowed down. It wasn’t terrifying the way you might think — it was sobering. The hardest part wasn’t being inside, though. It was knowing my mom, dad, grandparents, and best friend were outside, scared, waiting, wondering if I’d ever be okay.

The Shift

Then came Oxcarbazepine. The game-changer. It’s like someone turned the volume down in my head — the constant static, the racing thoughts, the emotional spikes. For the first time in months, sleep didn’t feel like a stranger. And when you sleep, you heal.

Slowly, I started noticing differences:

• I wasn’t snapping as quickly.

• I could laugh again, genuinely, at dumb jokes.

• I felt my sense of humor creeping back, like it was waiting for me the whole time.

It wasn’t instant, but it was real.

The Gratitude

This part is important: my family and best friend.

Mom — thank you for being strong even when I scared the hell out of you. Dad — thank you for showing up without needing me to explain. Grandparents — thank you for your phone calls, your steady faith. Best friend — thank you for not walking away, even when it would’ve been easier.

I know that’s “what family does,” but still. You didn’t have to. And I’ll never forget that you did.

The Now

Here’s the best part: I’m smiling again. And not the forced, fake, “I’m fine” kind of smile. I mean the real thing — the kind that sneaks up on you when you’re not paying attention. Like when Clyde tilts his head just right. Or Piper rolls over dramatically like she’s auditioning for Broadway. Or Ollie comes barreling down the hall with a shoe twice his size.

The other day, I caught myself laughing — full belly laugh, tears in my eyes — and I thought: God, I missed this.

So this is my check-in. I’m not all better. I’m not magically “fixed.” But I’m here. I’m smiling. And if you’re in that place where you don’t care what happens anymore, hold on. Because the right meds, the right people, and even the right dogs — they can help bring you back.

Sometimes, just sometimes, you wake up and realize you’re smiling again. And this time, you actually mean it.