When I was an undergraduate I had a social psychology professor ask us a series of questions about “the self.” One of the questions was, “What if a person is on antidepressants? Is he or she the same person?”

The idea that someone is fundamentally changed, or no longer the same intrinsic “self” to which we so often refer when discussing our thoughts on life, love, and the people around us, is only one of a limitless supply of philosophical questions pertaining to psychoactive pharmaceuticals. Others that fall into this category can, and have been, the stuff of science fiction novels and films—and tend to exploit this human fear of being out of control of one’s authenticity. Another, more frustrating, question about the use of psychoactive drugs relates to the user’s laziness, or desire for a “quick fix.”

The New York Times Magazine published an article back in the spring titled “Tell It About Your Mother,” by Casey Schwartz. The piece examines the use of neuroscience and neuropsychology for the study of Freudian psychoanalysis (Schwartz, 2015). In the interest of brevity, I will describe the relationship between Freudian psychoanalysis and neuropsychology as—at odds. In any case, Schwartz’s (2015) article highlights the way in which psychoanalysts are collaborating with social and cognitive psychologists to examine the Freudian idea of transference as it applies to structures in the brain visible through functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI). She includes in her introduction this excerpt:

“The very project of psychoanalysis – to cure through self-awareness, through an exhaustive exploration of the patient’s unconscious mind – is increasingly at odds with that most people seem to want: to fix their problems as quickly and as painlessly as possible. With millions of Americans now taking pills for depression, expecting to feel better in a manner of weeks, the concept of signing up for a psychological treatment that can stretch on for years no longer seems to make the kind of sense it used to” (Schwartz, 2015, p40).

Within this excerpt, Schwartz manages to make a quite obviously pejorative statement about “pills for depression,” while also implying their fault in the downfall of long-term psychological treatment. As I read on, I found that this deprecatory reference to Americans’ usage of antidepressants had absolutely nothing to do with the content of the rest of the article. Indeed, it is frustrating to read an article that uses such an overworked and stigmatized philosophical question to bring readers in to an article about neuroscience.

It seems that people feel uncomfortable with the idea of antidepressant medication. Some of the discomfort often comes from this notion that swallowing a pill for a disease that makes people sad, is an easy way out; and furthermore that it is an effortless alternative to other treatments. I see the logic in this understanding of antidepressants, and I wish to explain why it is incorrect.

Despite pop-cultural archetypes of the unstable pill-popper, psychoactive pharmaceutical treatment is actually not so easy to attain. Of course one may spout the horrors of the prescription pill market and its accompanying addiction epidemic; and it’s true, class C drugs are easy to get and get high off of. But I am talking about prescribed drug regimens for the treatment of mental disorders like depression. First, one has to acknowledge the fact that that he or she is suffering from a mental disorder. This part of the treatment process may take years and even decades. The stigma surrounding mental illness needs little description—it is massive. An individual may or may not begin some sort of conventional therapy like cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), and make a decision with his or her clinician to try out a pharmaceutical treatment. The problem with this hypothetical is that the overwhelming majority of those with mental illness simply do not have access to conventional talk therapy. It is rarely covered by insurance, the copays can be astronomical, and therapy sessions take up time. In order to actually go to therapy, a mother may have to find childcare, someone in a rural area may have to drive a long distance, an employed individual may have to rearrange her work schedule. So maybe Schwartz is right here—brief and monthly visits to a psychiatrist are much more feasible modalities of treatment than long-term therapy. Plus as medical doctors, psychiatrists are more than likely to be covered by most insurance companies.

This is not at all to say, however, that medication is a better alternative to other treatment options. What I am saying, though, is that it is a realistic and effective option.

For me, antidepressants were not at all an easy way out. I cowered in fear at the list of doctors’ names and phone numbers I was to call for a psychiatry appointment. Nearly every single call went to voicemail, with the doctor explaining that he or she was no longer taking new patients. As a college student suffering from depression and anxiety, making these phone calls was truly terrifying. It is difficult to describe and even think about the fear I experienced dialing a phone number, both terrified that someone would answer and terrified that no one would. I knew that I could not continue to exist the way I had been, and if there was a medication that could help me, I was ready to try it out.

Now I am in graduate school for public health and social work, and I am very happy. I have friends and I can get out of bed and put on clothes and wash my hair and listen to voicemail and respond to emails and feed myself and make to-do lists and complete those to-do lists and deposit checks and I can see color. Except yesterday I had to leave class to go sob my face off in my car. For no other reason than a sudden wave of existential fear having to do with feeling like a useless waste of space in careless cosmos of emptiness. Sometimes that happens, and it is usually because I have messed up my dosage of citalopram, the SSRI my doctor prescribes me.

I don’t think I have to feel like that, nor do I think it is purposive or character building. Feeling like I take up too much space prevents me from doing the work I am actually capable of doing—which actually does in fact have a purpose. If 60mg of citalopram per day staves off my feelings of self-hated and loneliness, hell yeah I am going to take it. I want to be a social worker, I want to work on mental health care policy, I want to make the world a better place, and I want to want to be alive to do those things.

So what I am saying is that we have to stop acting like taking a pill for depression is the easy way out because it is not. In order to get the medication, individuals have to own up to having a disease that can feel like a character flaw. We have to stop stigmatizing depression, which means we have to stop stigmatizing antidepressants. They are not a crutch, they are not a cure-all, and they are not “happy pills.” But antidepressants are life-saving medical advancements that help a lot of people.