Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Put Your Faith in Yourself.

I've struggled with depression since my adolescence, but didn't have a word for it or have it dealt with professionally until I was in my early twenties. When I was first diagnosed and treated for depression, I was in a very unhealthy relationship. My emotional state had begun to effect my physical body, which lead me to needing to be hospitalized. From the hospital, I went to therapy and began taking anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication. It took some time, but I got out of the bad relationship, moved into a new place, and changed much of my daily life. It was only 6 months before I ditched the meds and felt strong and confident again. I knocked that depression straight on its ass.

Over the next 7 years, I had small bouts with sadness, but the depression, I did a great job at keeping it at bay without any medication. The details of the onset of a fresh major depressive episode, those are in my previous post and you can refer to it for reference. But what you need to understand about those who struggle with depression is that it is MOTHER FUCKING EXHAUSTING. It is next to impossible to explain to someone who doesn't experience it in a way that they will understand. You don't snap out of it. You can't just smile through it. Just because you do all of the things professionals tell you you should be doing, does not mean you will feel better.

One thing you have to deal with when having depression is, doctors asking, every time you go in for a visit, if you are thinking of self harm. Almost always there is an impersonal questionnaire, that you are required to fill out.

"Feeling down, depressed, or hopeless"
Not at all.
Several days.
More than half the days.
Nearly every day.
Circle which one best applies.

"Thoughts that you would be better off dead, or or hurting yourself in some way"
Not at all.
Several days.
More than half the days.
Nearly every day.
Choose one.

Despite suffering from clinical depression my entire life, I was only suicidal once. That happened when I was 15. I had already taken up self harm. You know, cutting myself, burning myself, I would even bite myself as hard as I could to see how much pain I could manage. There were a lot of varying factors that lead to the afternoon I almost swallowed a bottle of pills. I could explain away all of the reasons for it. By the time I was 15, I already knew a handful of people who had killed themselves. I knew how it would all play out. But I talked myself out of it. After that day, I still thought about killing myself, but I didn't want to. That desire to cease to exist, well, ceased to exist.

When I was in my early twenties and ended up in the hospital, I still did not feel compelled to kill myself. A fucked up gift from the depression demons. I could crippled by life, to the point of not going to work and not showering and not brushing my hair for months, but the idea of killing myself, it didn't appeal to me. That is until this year.

In my previous post I explained, though not in excessive detail, how I ended up 32, back in Seattle, divorced and depressed. What I left out was how medicated I had become. Before my ex and I split up, things got quite bad. I was having anxiety attacks daily, I couldn't sleep, I cried, no, I sobbed, every single day, I was blacking out daily. My body began responding to the emotional pain I was experiencing. Multiple doctors did CT scans, EKGs and all kinds of blood tests because my physical symptoms had become so severe, that they were concerned there was something neurological happening. There wasn't. It was a physical manifestation of the stress I was experiencing.

How do you deal with that? Normally, lifestyle changes can go a long way. Especially for myself. There wasn't much room for life changes at the time, aside from leaving my husband, which I WAS NOT considering (joke was on me, big time. but hindsight is always so clear), so I went the direction of medication and teams of doctors.

The doctors: Primary Care Physician, psychiatrist, therapist, psychologist, physical therapist and a muscle manipulation therapist.

The medication: Paxil (anti-depressant), taken once daily. Xanax (anti-anxiety), taken as needed, prescribed 60 at a time. Ambien (sleep aide), taken as needed, prescribed 2 per night. 

In addition to seeing a doctor nearly every day, and taking meds constantly, I was in yoga, going multiple times a week, I was in school full-time and I had a part-time job. I was doing everything in my power to succeed. It was only two months after this cycle of wake up, take meds, go to the doctor, take meds, go to sleep, that my husband left me. I was able to physically leave when that happened, but that didn't change the nature of my pain, rather, it only added to it. I began getting vertigo, in addition to blacking out. More meds were added to my daily rotation of pharmaceutical numbing. 

Fast forward to two months ago. I carried around a gallon sized ziploc bag full of a variety of pharmaceuticals in bottles of different sizes, each with my name printed on them. A year had passed and I had moved, traveled the entire country, adopted a dog and two cats, and took care of all of the small, mundane and annoying things you have to do when you move back home and have to explain to every person who knows you just why you've returned. Stress was mounting again, and winter was dark. I was sick of being medicated. I told my doctor. She recommended things within her realm of ability. They weren't realistic solutions for me, but I smiled and left. 

A day or two later, I woke up, I looked at the prospect of getting out of bed and for the first time in almost two decades, I thought about killing myself. No, not a "ugh, I'm gonna kill myself!" That isn't how true suicidal thoughts present themselves. The thought took over my entire body. It was hours of laying in bed, looking at the plastic bag full of orange prescription bottles, and figuring out all of the details of who would find me, how difficult it would be for people to get rid of my stuff, who would be the person to take my animals, should I leave a note and so on. 

Obviously, I did not follow through on that thought. In all raw honesty, I can say the only reason I didn't follow through that morning was because of my dog. Yes, you are reading that right, my DOG. It wasn't a person, a friend, a family member, it wasn't medication, it wasn't a helpline. It was my dog. In the midst of all of the chaos that has been my life and my heart and my mind, my damn dog has been right there. She laid next to me in the bed, completely unaware of her power, and she just loved me. She's a great dog, so I knew if I was out of the picture, she would be fine. She would be well taken care of. But I didn't want to leave her. There wasn't one thought of a single person that could have dissuaded me that morning. A couple of weeks later, I decided to quit all of my meds, cold turkey. Not what the doctor recommended, but it is a decision I feel good about. It's been almost 8 weeks and I can feel things changing. Things continue to change, and hopefully will continue to for some time to come.

I am here, two months later, alive. I'm not writing that to impress you or to make you sad or to suggest this is a cry for help. It is not. I'm writing it because it is my story this year, it would seem. I am treading water and I am doing ok. This is not a PSA about how you should reach out to someone or how you should consider your actions carefully. Is suicide a bad idea? Would it be easier? Do you just have to give things time and you will heal? I have no idea. I don't believe there is much black and white there, I think it is mostly grey. Some people can kill themselves and not cause many ripples or break too many hearts in the process. Others devastate friends and families. One thing I have confirmed, over and over again, is that humans will fail you. They will look past you, they will listen selectively, they will seek out what benefits themselves and weigh the pros and cons of what helping others will cost them. People are not selfless and they do not love unconditionally naturally. That is a trait that is developed and worked hard to achieve. Few people can claim to be the person we all believe ourselves to be. Put your faith in yourself. Believe in yourself. Help yourself. Encourage yourself. And get yourself a dog. It could save your life.