For most of my life, I’ve thought of myself as a wolf.

Not in a dramatic way. Just someone who is naturally independent, analytical, and willing to fight for a bigger, more deliberate life. I like building things that compound: knowledge, investments, strength.

Then depression arrived.

At some point, the fight turned into survival. My brain was no longer a place I could trust. That’s when Sertraline entered my life. It did what it was supposed to do: it pulled me back from the edge, gave me clarity, and quietened the chaos.

But over time, I noticed something else.

The wolf was still there, but the pill had turned it into a kitten.

The sharp edges of fear and despair softened – but so did my desire to push for bigger things. I could function, I could think, but I didn’t care enough to fight. Life felt peaceful, but flat. Safe, but small.

This is the story of how I decided to step away from that state – and the one thing I chose to keep from it.

What Sertraline Actually Gave Me

It’s easy to talk about medication in extremes: either it’s a miracle or a villain. Reality is more technical than that.

Sertraline gave me three very important things:

  1. A halt to free fall It stopped my brain from spiralling. The constant background pain, the sense that everything was pointless, the inability to cope with basic life – that eased.

  2. Functional clarity I could think again. I could do maths, work, and make rational decisions. The fog lifted enough for me to start rebuilding my life.

  3. A reference point for peace This is the most valuable part. My nervous system learnt what calm, ordered mental space feels like. That state is now stored in my brain as a reference, like a baseline.

For that, I am grateful. I don’t regret taking it. At that moment in my life, it was necessary.

The Hidden Cost: Numbness and the Loss of Ambition

The problem wasn’t that Sertraline failed. It succeeded, but a little too well.

While it removed the extremes, it also blunted my appetite for more:

  • I was no longer desperate – but I was no longer hungry.
  • I was no longer drowning – but I wasn’t swimming toward anything either.
  • I had peace – but I had very little desire to fight for a larger life.

I could see my capabilities. I knew what I could build – in finance, in mathematics, in my own life. But the emotional engine that normally drives me towards those goals felt muted.

That’s when I realised: staying on Sertraline long term might keep me safe, but it might also keep me small. And for me, that trade-off was no longer acceptable.

So I made a decision:

I will not throw away the peace it taught my brain. But I will reclaim the full range of my own ambition, even if that means tolerating more discomfort.

Keeping the Peace – Without the Pill

Coming off medication is not a heroic act. It’s a change in risk profile.

The smartest thing Sertraline did for me was to teach my brain what calm feels like. I decided to keep that lesson and build a system around it.

Today, I think in terms of early signals and counter-moves.

1. Detecting mental chaos early

Because I’ve experienced both states – chaos and chemically-stabilised peace – I can now recognise when my mind starts shifting back into dangerous territory.

For me, early signs look like:

  • Thought loops that don’t resolve
  • Losing interest in everything, not just “boring” things
  • That specific flavour of inner noise that feels like a mental storm rather than normal stress

When I see those patterns, I no longer tell myself, “This is just who I am.” I treat them as signals, not identity.

2. My first line of defence: body and pace

My initial response is now physical and structural, not philosophical.

When those signals appear, I:

  • Swim more. Long, repetitive movement in water stabilises me. It’s almost algorithmic: breath, stroke, repeat.

  • Train more. Heavy lifts – bench, deadlift, squats – are anchors. They don’t solve existential questions, but they stabilise the system that has to hold those questions.

  • Slow down for a few days. I temporarily compress my life: fewer interactions, fewer commitments, slower pace. Not as an escape, but as a way to reduce noise while I regain control.

None of this is about doing everything in one day. It’s about knowing exactly what to do next, and then executing small, reliable steps.

Redefining “Fight”: Beyond Willpower and Muscle

When I was younger, I thought “fighting” meant pure willpower and physical toughness. Just push harder. Just endure more.

I don’t believe that anymore.

Real fight, at least for me, is a combination of:

  1. Intellectual clarity Understanding what is actually happening in my mind and life, instead of reacting blindly. Being able to model my own state the way I’d model a financial system: inputs, outputs, feedback loops, failure modes.

  2. Physical strength Not as vanity, but as infrastructure. A stronger body tolerates stress better. Training gives me routine, discipline, and a non-negotiable structure to hang the rest of my life on.

  3. Emotional intelligence This is the part I used to reject. I saw it as soft and unquantifiable. Now I see it differently:

    • It’s the ability to read my own emotional signals with high resolution
    • To respect them without being ruled by them
    • And to position myself – in work, relationships, time – so I don’t burn out my nervous system

In other words:

Fight is not just willpower and muscle. It’s knowing how to direct your own mind, body, and emotions instead of being dragged around by them.

A Note for Anyone Who Is Struggling

If you’re reading this while you’re in deep distress, I want to be very clear:

  • Medication can save lives. It saved mine from going somewhere very dark.
  • There is no shame in using it. There is also no shame in staying on it if that’s what keeps you stable.
  • My decision to step away from Sertraline is not a general prescription. It’s a specific choice, at a specific point in my life, with a specific set of tools and support around me.

If you recognise yourself in any part of this story, my only real suggestion is:

  • Don’t make these decisions alone in silence. Talk to a doctor.
  • Build your own version of what I described: early warning signals, physical anchors, structural changes in your life.
  • And if you ever lose the will to live, treat that as an emergency, not a personality trait.

For me, the journey looks like this:

  • I used Sertraline to survive.
  • I kept the peace it taught my brain.
  • I’m now rebuilding my life as a wolf again – not by destroying myself, but by combining clarity, strength, and emotional intelligence.

If this helps even one person feel a little less alone while they design their own path out of chaos, then it’s worth publishing.