listener1987
Moderator
- Joined
- Aug 16, 2016
- Messages
- 141
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Hey folks! I want to share my story in hopes that it will inspire someone. But first, I want to say - you are awesome for being on this forum. Isolation feeds depression and anxiety. It gets you stuck in your own head. And here you're interacting and reading about others' experiences. I'm proud of you.
So, like many of you, depression and anxiety hit me at puberty when my hormones started going crazy. I had a significant, sudden move from a third-world country to the US, and my parents weren't emotionally in a position to support me. Like many of you, I figured my anxiety and depression were my own fault, that I needed to try harder to be positive, and that I was crazy for feeling that way.
My aunt first discussed depression with me when I was 21 and I visited my general practitioner. She thought I might have depression and prescribed Celexa, while I promised I would find a therapist to talk to. I didn't. And Celexa made me feel numbed. I stopped taking it and started getting used to feeling depressed and anxious.
A year later, I had moved to an apartment and was living by myself. I lapsed into a deep depression in which I stopped going to church, didn't show up for work, didn't practice hygiene (e.g. not brushing my teeth or showering or changing clothes for days.) Food tasted like nothing to me, so I survived on Ensure for the calories. I didn't scoop my cats' litter box, which became a solid clump. My floor was littered with garbage and used Kleenex. I let my phone die and didn't check emails.
After a few weeks of this critical point, one day someone came to the door. I poked my head out, and to my utter humiliation, it was two friends who were concerned that I had disappeared. Basically, it was an intervention. They didn't ask - they came into my house and they cleaned it, never commenting on its state. I kept apologizing while I just sat on the couch, weeping in shame.
They were kind, but firm. They helped me realize that I had a problem, but that it wasn't my fault. And I needed help, and they would help me get it. One friend drove me to a third friend's house, just to get me out of the apartment. That friend made an emergency counseling appointment for me and drove me there. I was such a mess.
I saw the therapist for a while, and she was great, but eventually she concluded that my depression wasn't going to be cured by just talking about it, and recommended I talk to my doctor about medication. I took her advice and my doctor put me on Prozac. And it worked! For a while. When it stopped working, I didn't go back to the doctor. I just stopped taking it.
The depression didn't come back fully until a few years later, after I got married (to a pharmacist!) I started letting the house go. I felt like such a failure as a wife and a person. And it was my husband this time who said, "You need to go to the doctor."
The doctor put me on Prozac again. It worked again, for a time - and when it stopped, I went back. He upped my dose; it worked again for a while; then stopped. And he referred me to a psychiatrist.
She diagnosed me with GAD and bipolar disorder and put me on Lamictal, as well as keeping me on the Prozac. She also gave me Xanax with the understanding I would only use it if absolutely necessary to avoid addiction.
Lamictal was awesome. Sure, it took a few months to get the dose up to the right level, but once it hit, it was great. Life changing. Normal, for the most part. She said I would probably always have some mild fluctuations, which I started to become aware of and learn to cope.
I wanted to go off Prozac so she lowered my dose to taper me off, but I started having depression symptoms once we hit 20 mg, so I went back up to 40 and have been there ever since.
My success:
I am confident. I discovered that I am actually an extrovert - who knew?! Yes, I still have mild ups and downs, and every once in a while I reach a point of paralyzing anxiety and take a Xanax. I see my psychiatrist regularly. I'm open about my story and I'm a listener on the amateur therapy site, 7 Cups of Tea. I have my close confidantes who know my struggles, and at the same time I've helped dozens of people.
It can happen to you. You take the risk of reaching out, and sometimes you have to persevere and wait and it's hard. But you can heal. Reach out. To friends, family, a therapist, or a doctor. Anything. You can do it; we're all here for you!
So, like many of you, depression and anxiety hit me at puberty when my hormones started going crazy. I had a significant, sudden move from a third-world country to the US, and my parents weren't emotionally in a position to support me. Like many of you, I figured my anxiety and depression were my own fault, that I needed to try harder to be positive, and that I was crazy for feeling that way.
My aunt first discussed depression with me when I was 21 and I visited my general practitioner. She thought I might have depression and prescribed Celexa, while I promised I would find a therapist to talk to. I didn't. And Celexa made me feel numbed. I stopped taking it and started getting used to feeling depressed and anxious.
A year later, I had moved to an apartment and was living by myself. I lapsed into a deep depression in which I stopped going to church, didn't show up for work, didn't practice hygiene (e.g. not brushing my teeth or showering or changing clothes for days.) Food tasted like nothing to me, so I survived on Ensure for the calories. I didn't scoop my cats' litter box, which became a solid clump. My floor was littered with garbage and used Kleenex. I let my phone die and didn't check emails.
After a few weeks of this critical point, one day someone came to the door. I poked my head out, and to my utter humiliation, it was two friends who were concerned that I had disappeared. Basically, it was an intervention. They didn't ask - they came into my house and they cleaned it, never commenting on its state. I kept apologizing while I just sat on the couch, weeping in shame.
They were kind, but firm. They helped me realize that I had a problem, but that it wasn't my fault. And I needed help, and they would help me get it. One friend drove me to a third friend's house, just to get me out of the apartment. That friend made an emergency counseling appointment for me and drove me there. I was such a mess.
I saw the therapist for a while, and she was great, but eventually she concluded that my depression wasn't going to be cured by just talking about it, and recommended I talk to my doctor about medication. I took her advice and my doctor put me on Prozac. And it worked! For a while. When it stopped working, I didn't go back to the doctor. I just stopped taking it.
The depression didn't come back fully until a few years later, after I got married (to a pharmacist!) I started letting the house go. I felt like such a failure as a wife and a person. And it was my husband this time who said, "You need to go to the doctor."
The doctor put me on Prozac again. It worked again, for a time - and when it stopped, I went back. He upped my dose; it worked again for a while; then stopped. And he referred me to a psychiatrist.
She diagnosed me with GAD and bipolar disorder and put me on Lamictal, as well as keeping me on the Prozac. She also gave me Xanax with the understanding I would only use it if absolutely necessary to avoid addiction.
Lamictal was awesome. Sure, it took a few months to get the dose up to the right level, but once it hit, it was great. Life changing. Normal, for the most part. She said I would probably always have some mild fluctuations, which I started to become aware of and learn to cope.
I wanted to go off Prozac so she lowered my dose to taper me off, but I started having depression symptoms once we hit 20 mg, so I went back up to 40 and have been there ever since.
My success:
I am confident. I discovered that I am actually an extrovert - who knew?! Yes, I still have mild ups and downs, and every once in a while I reach a point of paralyzing anxiety and take a Xanax. I see my psychiatrist regularly. I'm open about my story and I'm a listener on the amateur therapy site, 7 Cups of Tea. I have my close confidantes who know my struggles, and at the same time I've helped dozens of people.
It can happen to you. You take the risk of reaching out, and sometimes you have to persevere and wait and it's hard. But you can heal. Reach out. To friends, family, a therapist, or a doctor. Anything. You can do it; we're all here for you!
