When grocery store shelves began emptying sporadically in 2021, I started to worry in earnest about food security. I had enough land for a large garden, and I figured that 2022 was the perfect time to start producing some of my own food.
So last March, I pulled up hundreds of rocks, put down hundreds of square feet of cardboard to suppress weeds, and spread 7 cubic yards of compost. Over-ambitious and eager to produce a lot of food, I prepared more than 1,000 square feet of growing space.
When I resolved to start growing food, I didn’t know that taking on gardening would take me off my antidepressant. I had been on it since I was 18 years old. It saved me much suffering when I was younger, and maybe even my life (Lord knows how bad my depression could have gotten without intervention).
Last winter, however, I felt stable despite some more recently developed anxiety. I began to suspect maybe my antidepressant was no longer necessary. After all, the psychiatrist who initially prescribed it hadn’t said it was a lifelong sentence. Some people come off Bupropion and do well even five or 10 years later.
Since starting the garden, I had something to look forward to, a grand project to design and tinker with, and a whole new realm of knowledge to dig into. I was excited. Doubtless, I would get into all sorts of mischief, like when I was a kid building unstable forts in the backyard
