Shipping off to the wellness farm

Marking two years on Lexapro

On February 13, 2023, I overcame fear, pride, and internalized stigma to try a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (Lexapro) as a remedy for worsening anxiety and suicidal ideation. Last February, I wrote about my mental health journey to mark one year of surprising (at least I was surprised) success with this medication. Now it’s been two years. Time sure does fly when you’re not slowly drowning in a black sea of doom.

For the past year, I’ve more seriously considered tapering off the medication to test the current status of my mental health. But as of yet, I’ve been too frightened to try. I retain terrifying memories of my mental state in early 2023, and I can’t bear to go back to that place. I’d be more willing to give up my asthma inhaler or thyroid medication because I’m confident I can survive hypothyroidism and asthma attacks. I’m less confident I would survive if I were suddenly pulled back to the depths of February 2023 without a lifeline.

Still, I wasn’t surprised when I opened my laptop the day after my Feb. 13 “wellness anniversary” — consequently also the day RFK Jr. was sworn in as the Secretary of the U.S. Department of Health — to see RFK Jr.’s first order of business aiming at relatively harmless and cheap medications that ease the pain of a reported 13% of the U.S. population.

What’s RFK Jr.’s plan for removing psychiatric drugs? “I’m going to create these wellness farms where they can go to get off of illegal drugs, off of opiates, but also illegal drugs, other psychiatric drugs, if they want to, to get off of SSRIs, to get off of benzos, to get off of Adderall, and to spend time as much time as they need — three or four years if they need it — to learn to get reparented, to reconnect with communities.”

Sure, Jan.

It’s wild that the U.S. government has been usurped by cartoon supervillains whose entire plan is to break the systems that hold us together until we’re so broken and sick and poor that we’ll have no choice but to bend over and lick the boot. I mean, that has to be the plan. What else could be expected when the strategy is “HULK SMASH”? The U.S. apparently can’t even afford to pay wildland firefighters and national park rangers. Who is going to pay for “wellness farms” where 45 million people sit around and sing campfire songs for four years? Labor camps where people are forced to pick produce — that I can see. Somebody’s going to need to do that job — why not indenture the depressed panic-stricken addicts?

I’m getting away from myself. There’s no reason to rant about this issue. It’s as pointless as yelling at the television. This timeline is so absurd that it’s comical. Honestly, I’m reaching for anger, but all I feel is bemused. Maybe it’s because I’m confident in the higher meaning of the universe, in my values, and in the one thing “they” can’t take away from me: How I choose to respond to even the worst situations. So what if ”they” want to send me off to a labor camp .. erm, wellness farm? Great! I am good at tedious tasks and I have a strong endurance base. But if I’m off my meds, all bets are off.

This post is not going where I intended it to. I wanted to express how grateful I am for Lexapro, and how much my outlook has improved in the past two years, but also to consider whether my mental health might be turning in a different direction. My mood has been genuinely bizarre for the past two weeks. It’s complex, but for lack of a better term, I’d call my mood “stress-free.” Even on medication, I’m accustomed to the constant presence of anxiety. It greets me first thing in the morning with a vague sense of doom, reminds me why the news items I’m reading are the worst thing ever, and makes me feel uneasy about social interactions and small dangers in my day-to-day life. As recently as three weeks ago, my mind was full of doom about the 50-mile race I was preparing to run in California. Now, when I think about my next race — a 100-miler in Alaska that is orders of magnitude harder and less than five weeks away — I can’t get worked up.

Of course, it helps that I took some time off work and am currently on vacation in a beautiful place. But feeling relaxed while traveling is *not* my MO. Especially international travel — as much as I love the experiences I have while traveling, being so far away from my familiar routines is exhausting.

The strangest thing about this past week in Switzerland is that I do not feel afraid of the mountains. I mean, I should feel afraid. I’m afraid of mountains in the summer when I might roll my ankle on an exposed ledge or get caught in a thunderstorm. Winter adds another level of danger with snow, ice, avalanche risk, and the prospect of slipping anywhere and sliding into a ravine. While snowshoeing at higher altitudes this week, Beat would point to a steep slope and ask me what I thought about it. My mind would say, “No, it’s too steep, we would need a better assessment of local avalanche conditions and we’ll need crampons and an ice ax.” But my feelings said, “Eh, looks fun.” Of course, I listened to my mind. But usually, my feelings are the ones to say, “NOOO, YOU’RE ALREADY ABOUT TO FALL OFF THE MOUNTAIN WHERE YOU ARE STANDING!!”

This is probably a temporary dip in my usual level of anxiety, but still, I’m curious — why now? I’ve spent time Googling “COVID-19 infection brain damage” and “COVID effects on cortisol” because I wonder if this oddly calm state of mind is the nervous system-dysregulating work of the coronavirus. I haven’t found much, but I’m curious to explore this issue further.

In the meantime, I’m having a great time in Switzerland and I don’t care about RFK Jr. taking away my meds even though my intellectual mind says “Yes, you do,” which is why I started writing this post. It’s a bit all over the place. I’m sorry. Here are some photos from the past two days:

On Sunday, Beat and I traveled to Valais in southern Switzerland, which feels like a world away from where we started but is a mere 234 kilometers by car from Beat’s mom’s place in “northern” Switzerland. (Switzerland is so small. It’s only one-seventh the size of Colorado. But there’s a joke that if one were to iron all of the Swiss mountains, the flat landmass would cover most of Europe.) Anyway, here we are hiking the groomers away from the village of Zinal toward some jaw-dropping mountains.

We followed a popular trail toward Zinal Glacier. The temperature was warm (+5 Celcius) but trail conditions were superb.

Navizence River cuts through the Anniviers Valley, possibly my favorite valley in Valais. It’s so hard to choose!

The volatile terminus of the Zinal Glacier, with some not-smart people crawling underneath the always-moving river of ice. (Honestly, though, the ice spelunking looked fun. I was tempted.)

Beat and I settled for a glacier selfie from an appropriate distance. We’re at 2,100 meters in February wearing sun hoodies and lathered in sunscreen.

We had some extra time after our quicker-than-expected glacier stroll, so we headed up the Arpitettaz Valley. As a ski tour, the route is rated Moderate+ — i.e. “mostly open slopes with short steep sections and gentle runout. Bottlenecks are not very steep. Kick-turns necessary. Steepness 30° - 35.°”

This valley hasn’t seen new snow in a while, and avalanche conditions were also rated moderate (2/5). With the spring-like melt, though, there was probably more volatility than the general rating indicated. We resolved to turn around before we hit anything steep, but we were drawn higher by the sheer number of confidence-inspiring tracks, the crusty and solid-feeling snow, and the beautiful vistas above.

Rotton ice falls and big smiles.

We climbed nearly 2,000 feet up the valley before the lateness of the afternoon convinced us to turn around. About 20 minutes before we did so, we met a group of four skiers picking their way through one of the more rugged sections over the creek — bigger drops and uneven terrain, as well as hollows near the creek. I was glad to have snowshoes to feel out each step, even if my float wasn’t as good as a pair of skis. The skiers were struggling. Two looked fairly skilled, but the other two looked more like I would if somebody strapped death sticks to my feet: Terrified of the yawning abyss and scooting into it as slowly as possible. One woman spent more time on her butt or booting around obstacles than on her skiers. I did not envy them when they returned to the larch forest and its maze of hazards. Give me the traction and reduced speed of “slow shoes” any day. Gravity sports are not for me.

Even though we continued for 20 minutes after we passed the group of skiers while we were climbing and they were descending, we still caught back up and passed them a few hundred meters above the Navizence. They passed us again at the bridge. One of the more skilled skiers complimented us on our robust effort and encouraged us to return to hike to the hut — a closed refuge where they had spent the night. We had lunch there during a summer hike in 2019; it’s about 400 meters higher than where we turned around. Someday!

On Monday, we started in the village of Saint Luc, a short distance down the valley from Zinal. This is the view from the famous Hotel Weisshorn, which was a 2,500-foot climb on slush, dirt, ice, and crusty snow. It was a quiet day on the rough trail, but we passed a couple of groups of ski-tourers. One man expressed amazement that we were walking on the snow in our (regular trail) shoes. The snow was so solid that our feet left no imprints, but another person at the hotel expressed fascination that we climbed up there with our snowshoes in our packs. I get the sense that winter trail running isn’t as common here as it is in Boulder.

Dozens and dozens of black birds swirling over Hotel Weisshorn.

We did strap on the snowshoes for the tour above the hotel. It was an incredible day — warm, bluebird, low-angle slopes, and crusty snow that held our weight well.

We climbed to Bella Vouarda and a little beyond. Here is where Beat was pointing to summits and slopes that were all far beyond my equipment and skill. Yet I wanted to visit them all.

We settled for lunch at 2,700 meters overlooking the Weisshorn and Bishorn.

I was so caught up in the moment. If I had been alone, I might have tried something dumb, but luckily I had Beat to point the way downhill and lead us back to safety. I did wonder, briefly, how it would be to actually live anxiety-free, to feel no fear and effortlessly go wherever my heart — or love — guided me.

My heart only wants to be here and never leave. Perhaps this is why I feel so good, and it won’t be the same when I return to my comfortable routine and the encroaching circus at home. But if “they” ever come to ship me off to a wellness farm, I know where to run.