A hard pill to swallow – or – Don’t you just love a good cliche?

There’s something about writing a post about contraception – my own contraceptive choices – that fills me with dread. My father will read this; perhaps so will my mother. My friends might stumble upon it, and strangers might read it and judge me, from afar, or from not so far. But I know that there is nothing shameful in making responsible choices; there is nothing, any more, to be ashamed of in wanting to take care of your body, your future – my body and my future. 

I began writing this post in the third person; I was going to write it about a person “whose name had been changed”. I had written half of it before I realised that, if I was going to be brave (yeah, yeah), if I was going to stand up for what I believe in, not just in this post, but in life – then I am going to have to come clean, more with myself than anyone else.

I have been taking some form of oral contraception for approximately six years, for reasons that, if you’ll excuse me, I would rather not explain in too much detail. Suffice it to say that, for me, oral contraception is not enough – nor is it a substitute for safety in all encounters. It is, however, an extra safeguard – it’s sleeping easy at night, it’s feeling satisfied that the future is no more unpredictable than everyone else’s. But there is nothing predictable about using hormones to determine your destiny; there is nothing safe in using relatively new technology on your body. Because – another cliche – you only get one, and by the time you recognise the importance of that, it could be too late.

While I was taking oral contraception, I went through quite a long period of what can only be called mild depression. No, that was not clinically determined by a GP, but I have read enough – seen enough – to know what I was feeling and where my mind was headed. I changed pills; I went to counsellors; I went to my GP on countless occasions. I consulted my parents, I consulted a college lecturer. I looked to my friends and my loved ones for support – but nobody can help when your problem is inside your head. This is a truth that is more accute to me now than it ever has been.

And since I “came clean” with my friends, their friends, about how I was feeling – the mirror images are shocking. The pill is not a quick fix; it does work for some, and of them I feel nothing but envy. But it doesn’t work for everyone. It didn’t work for me. Nor do I think it ever will. I have tried low- and high-dosage; I have tried exercise, massage therapy, acupuncture… I have sought to fix this “problem” with different drugs. Not once did my GP suggest to me I cut out the drugs; never once did he suggest to me that I quit taking hormones, and listen to my own body, despite the fact that it was to him I went to change pills, to discuss my mental state – with the express condition that I didn’t want to go on anti-depressants.

I feel that a great majority of GPs are all too willing to prescribe, full stop, without discussing the effects of that prescription – not just side effects but the overall effects on your body, your spirit and your sanity. Why is that? If taking oral contraception was the man’s job, and perhaps 50% of men between the ages of 20 and 30 were taking some form of it, and 50% of that number were suffering from a type of depression, or a change in personality… would we be ignoring it? Would it be a topic that is “not up for discussion”, that is behind closed doors?

And, furthermore, are men keen on taking oral contraception? Because they’re close to developing it; apparently it will reduce sperm motility, or sperm count – temporarily? How do you like the sound of that, guys?

I have been sane, and pill-free, for a month now. I’m sure I’ll have moments at which this sanity wavers; I’m sure that I’ll have moments in which I’ll cry, and shout, and scream, and fight with my friends and family – but I’m equally sure that, at those moments, I won’t be inside myself wondering who I’ve become. I’m sure that I won’t be experiencing my own life as if I weren’t there. I’m sure I won’t be wishing I could stop myself, knowing how irrational I am, desperate to calm down and cheer up, without knowing how. In abandoning my efforts to control my fertility, I think I have gained control over my life, or, at least, over my mind. And I might just consider staying this way.