It took a threat from my boyfriend that got me to see a psychiatrist; he said if I didn't change,  I'd have to move out of his house. Cancer filled my body with chemicals and my mind with terror; I haven't been myself. I walked into Kathy's office with my tail between my legs, ashamed that I was seeking medication; I saw it as a sign of weakness that I was asking for help. Was my mind was failing me? Had I lost control? Instead, when I told the Psychiatric Nurse what I've endured these few months - returning from studying abroad, moving in with my boyfriend, his kids and the un-housebroken dog, my dad's death, breast cancer, chemotherapy, hair loss, and temporary unemployment - she thought it extremely justified that I be sedated, prescribing me a mood stabilizer, an antidepressant and an anti-anxiety pill, as needed. I felt so relieved that Kathy could prescribe something to me that would allow me to navigate through my circumstances in a less anxious and depressing manner, enabling me to sleep through the night. The medications are helping; I no longer see them as a sign of weakness, but of strength: I needed help and I asked for it.