This morning I am completely humbled. I've let several close friends know about what is going on with me and the support is amazing, but so too, are the stories they are sharing about their own struggles. Turns out a lot of people deal with depression and anxiety. While statistically I know that to be true, to actually have your friends spell it out makes it real. To all my like-minded friends, thank you for sharing your stories with me. It's helps more than I can express.
This brings up an interesting question for me: why don't more people share? Why are we living in a world where everything is supposed to be permissible (according to celebrities in CA anyway) but we are ashamed to open up about metal illness because of fear of being ridiculed. To use another celebrity correlation, Britney Spears has obviously had a bout with mental illness, but because of the negative speculation around it, she likely won't bring it up again...unless offered megabucks for book rights. (maybe I should write a book) When people are openly dealing with these issues it is usually because they have reached the point they can't hide it anymore. They've gone off the proverbial deep end. We all shake our heads, bless their hearts, and count them as crazy. Especially in the church where you can feel like your faith isn't strong enough if you don't constantly behave like your on spiritual Zoloft. Jesus wasn't always cheerful: "And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground" Luke 22:44
And yet, I can walk around church telling everyone "I'm blessed today, how are you?" When inside I might be a royal mess. Being sad doesn't mean you're not saved, we have to "work out our salvation" Phil 2:12 , meaning it a continual process.
I think to varying degrees everyone deals with depression. Doesn't mean we all need medication, but what I think it does mean is that we need to be a generation that can be open about these issues. Especially for women, talking helps, sharing helps. Our men, no matter how much they love us, can never fully understand because their brains don't work the same way (not to say they don't deal with this stuff too). So, if you've read this and have ever felt down, useless or just blah, don't be ashamed of it, share it, especially if you are standing on the other side. The world could use a few more stories of survivors. You don't know who you might help.
I found this verse the other night and it has become my mantra. Maybe it can help some else too.
"When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze." Isaiah 43:2
Friday, May 29, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Day 6
It has been 6 days since my diagnosis and subsequent medication. Things were going pretty well for the first few days. I was feeling great and calm. Everything I figured the meds were supposed to help with. All around I felt pretty positive about the experience, perhaps this thing wasn't going to get me down after all. You get help early and life can continue as normal...
Monday night, after a great Memorial Day with the boys and family I went to sleep thanking God for blessings in my life. I woke up around 12:50 confused and disoriented. I made my way to the bathroom thinking maybe I just needed to shake off the reminents of a bad dream..I couldn't remember dreaming, but that seemed the logical conclusion. I got back in bed and tried to take some deep breaths to quell the uneasiness in my stomach. Bad move. I immediately got dizzy and had to hold onto the bed for support. I starting breathing irratically and my heart began pounding. I tried for several minutes to calm down and get my breathing under control. I told myself I was just worked up and to calm down, but the side of my brain that control my impulses and negative thinking was in hyperdrive and I couldn't shut it down. I couldn't concentrate to pray over the roar in my ears and the pounding of my heart.
After about 10 minutes I woke John up. I told him I didn't feel right and the look on my face must have read "PANIC PANIC" because he immediately gripped my shoulders and tried to tell me everything was alright. I was not okay. I couldn't breath right and I couldn't calm down. I asked for a glass of water and a paper bag (remedy for anxiety attacks from when I was a kid). While he was gone I lost feeling in my hands and my legs started to tingle. I was doing everything I could not to pass out. Freaking out does not begin to describe how I felt. I'd never felt so out of control and paniced. I thought for sure I was about to die. I told him to call 911. He resisted...bad idea..don't say no to a crazy person or we'll need two ambulances. I firmly made the request again (add in screams, rants and swear words) and he complied. I spent the next 4 minutes (way to go Murfreesboro response units!) rocking, trying to breath and not pass out. By the time the paramedics arrived, my lips had gone numb and my speech was slurred. They loaded me onto the stretcher and off I went to the hospital while John called my mom to come stay with the boys. By the time I got to the hospital I had the shakes from the adreniline high I had been riding (why the hell people choose to drug themselves to that state is beyond me) but I was breathing normally and could feel my hands.
The doctor explained that I had had a full blown panic attack, which shouldn't be caused my the meds. He said it was probably another stress trigger. Um, like what, a dead sleep? I took the seditive he gave and they let me go with a prescription for Zanex.
So let's recap. I go to therapy on my on free will to make sure I'm being responsible and dealing with my depression. I finally agree to drugs and end up going balls out bonkers. The panic attacks have continued over the last few days I have never felt less sane. I went for help and I only feel worse. I am told by all those logical and reasonable that I just need to give it some time. Does anyone have any idea how long even a minute is when you are in abject fear? I am trying to pray through it and it's helping some, but my brain feels like it's been taken over by all the negativity I've been "dealing with" for years. I'm trying to remain positive, but this negative turn is a tough pill to take. So now I'm on anti-depressants and sedatives (anyone seeing the paradox?)
Please pray for me.
Monday night, after a great Memorial Day with the boys and family I went to sleep thanking God for blessings in my life. I woke up around 12:50 confused and disoriented. I made my way to the bathroom thinking maybe I just needed to shake off the reminents of a bad dream..I couldn't remember dreaming, but that seemed the logical conclusion. I got back in bed and tried to take some deep breaths to quell the uneasiness in my stomach. Bad move. I immediately got dizzy and had to hold onto the bed for support. I starting breathing irratically and my heart began pounding. I tried for several minutes to calm down and get my breathing under control. I told myself I was just worked up and to calm down, but the side of my brain that control my impulses and negative thinking was in hyperdrive and I couldn't shut it down. I couldn't concentrate to pray over the roar in my ears and the pounding of my heart.
After about 10 minutes I woke John up. I told him I didn't feel right and the look on my face must have read "PANIC PANIC" because he immediately gripped my shoulders and tried to tell me everything was alright. I was not okay. I couldn't breath right and I couldn't calm down. I asked for a glass of water and a paper bag (remedy for anxiety attacks from when I was a kid). While he was gone I lost feeling in my hands and my legs started to tingle. I was doing everything I could not to pass out. Freaking out does not begin to describe how I felt. I'd never felt so out of control and paniced. I thought for sure I was about to die. I told him to call 911. He resisted...bad idea..don't say no to a crazy person or we'll need two ambulances. I firmly made the request again (add in screams, rants and swear words) and he complied. I spent the next 4 minutes (way to go Murfreesboro response units!) rocking, trying to breath and not pass out. By the time the paramedics arrived, my lips had gone numb and my speech was slurred. They loaded me onto the stretcher and off I went to the hospital while John called my mom to come stay with the boys. By the time I got to the hospital I had the shakes from the adreniline high I had been riding (why the hell people choose to drug themselves to that state is beyond me) but I was breathing normally and could feel my hands.
The doctor explained that I had had a full blown panic attack, which shouldn't be caused my the meds. He said it was probably another stress trigger. Um, like what, a dead sleep? I took the seditive he gave and they let me go with a prescription for Zanex.
So let's recap. I go to therapy on my on free will to make sure I'm being responsible and dealing with my depression. I finally agree to drugs and end up going balls out bonkers. The panic attacks have continued over the last few days I have never felt less sane. I went for help and I only feel worse. I am told by all those logical and reasonable that I just need to give it some time. Does anyone have any idea how long even a minute is when you are in abject fear? I am trying to pray through it and it's helping some, but my brain feels like it's been taken over by all the negativity I've been "dealing with" for years. I'm trying to remain positive, but this negative turn is a tough pill to take. So now I'm on anti-depressants and sedatives (anyone seeing the paradox?)
Please pray for me.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Background Check
A little background info. Anyone who knows me would probably be shocked to hear what is going on in my little 'ol world right now. Anyone who knows me well would probably wonder what took me so long to get help.
I am a 26-year-old, wife, mother of 2 little boys, full-time professional, active member of my church, athlete and sometimes writer. Most of the time I would consider myself a pretty happy person, but contentment has always managed to escape me.
I had self image issues in high school that came complete with eating disorder. When my parents found out I was immediately sent to therapy. At 17 therapy was excruciating. The therapists didn't seem to want to know anything about me, just who was to blame. The first time I was diagnosed with depression and subsequently prescribed meds, I, in the fashion of a typical teenager, adamantly refused. I met Jesus my Senior Year and decided if He could heal the sick and raise the dead, He could certainly fix whatever was malfunctioning in my head. (I still believe this by the way, but I also believe God uses lots of different people and methods to heal us and I think that inlcudes medicine)
I began to pray and exercise and I tried to surround myself with more positive people. This worked for nearly 10 years, but recently my house of cards has started to topple card by card. The depression for me is like a cloud. I could see it rolling in. My vision would darken for a few days and then it would roll out again. I would feel tired, uninterested and way too intraspective, so by the time the cloud would lift I be on a mission as if Lucifer himself was on my heels. I would make drastic changes to my life or my looks (whichever was handier at the time) and within a week start to come back to "normal" and wonder what the heck just happened.
(The most recent major change after depression bought was my enlisting in the Navy...thankfully I needed my husband's permission to join, and he ain't giving it)
I can't deal with this on my own anymore and I'm too busy to be bummed all the time. I've got a husband and two small kids and I refuse to see depression ruin my family. It can. I've seen it first-hand. I come from a long-line of depression, bipolar disorder, OCD, alcoholism, drug addiction, sex addictions. You name it, someone in one side of my family has probably been diagnosed with it. They are all brilliant people, but the same brain that makes them geniuses at whatever they do, also makes them do terrible things to themselves and those they love. I may be genetically disposed to this illness, but that doesn't mean I have to be a victim to my DNA. I'm going to take the medication, but I'm going to decide what I want from it first.
Goals for medication:
Less noise- my head is filled with voices, it's my voice, but the thoughts are all so different. So many of them don't come from a place I like to visit. I'm hoping this medication shuts them up or at least teaches them to behave.
More good days than bad
The bad days are just days, not days that turn into weeks then months
No more revelations- no more enlisting in the armed forces on a whim, no more haircuts, tatoos, new careers, etc. that I just jump into without being in my right mind.
Spend more time in my right mind. Only visit the left on occasion for purposes of creating characters for stories. The left mind is like L.A., it's an interesting place but sane people don't live there.
Some things I don't want to do on meds
I don't want to rely on them completely
I don't want to feel like I have to be happy all the time for them to be working
I don't want to use this illness as a crutch or an excuse.
Man, can you tell I'm nervous about taking these stupid pills? Enough talk, here goes. Cheers, let's make a toast to the return of sanity. Salut, see you on day 2.
I am a 26-year-old, wife, mother of 2 little boys, full-time professional, active member of my church, athlete and sometimes writer. Most of the time I would consider myself a pretty happy person, but contentment has always managed to escape me.
I had self image issues in high school that came complete with eating disorder. When my parents found out I was immediately sent to therapy. At 17 therapy was excruciating. The therapists didn't seem to want to know anything about me, just who was to blame. The first time I was diagnosed with depression and subsequently prescribed meds, I, in the fashion of a typical teenager, adamantly refused. I met Jesus my Senior Year and decided if He could heal the sick and raise the dead, He could certainly fix whatever was malfunctioning in my head. (I still believe this by the way, but I also believe God uses lots of different people and methods to heal us and I think that inlcudes medicine)
I began to pray and exercise and I tried to surround myself with more positive people. This worked for nearly 10 years, but recently my house of cards has started to topple card by card. The depression for me is like a cloud. I could see it rolling in. My vision would darken for a few days and then it would roll out again. I would feel tired, uninterested and way too intraspective, so by the time the cloud would lift I be on a mission as if Lucifer himself was on my heels. I would make drastic changes to my life or my looks (whichever was handier at the time) and within a week start to come back to "normal" and wonder what the heck just happened.
(The most recent major change after depression bought was my enlisting in the Navy...thankfully I needed my husband's permission to join, and he ain't giving it)
I can't deal with this on my own anymore and I'm too busy to be bummed all the time. I've got a husband and two small kids and I refuse to see depression ruin my family. It can. I've seen it first-hand. I come from a long-line of depression, bipolar disorder, OCD, alcoholism, drug addiction, sex addictions. You name it, someone in one side of my family has probably been diagnosed with it. They are all brilliant people, but the same brain that makes them geniuses at whatever they do, also makes them do terrible things to themselves and those they love. I may be genetically disposed to this illness, but that doesn't mean I have to be a victim to my DNA. I'm going to take the medication, but I'm going to decide what I want from it first.
Goals for medication:
Less noise- my head is filled with voices, it's my voice, but the thoughts are all so different. So many of them don't come from a place I like to visit. I'm hoping this medication shuts them up or at least teaches them to behave.
More good days than bad
The bad days are just days, not days that turn into weeks then months
No more revelations- no more enlisting in the armed forces on a whim, no more haircuts, tatoos, new careers, etc. that I just jump into without being in my right mind.
Spend more time in my right mind. Only visit the left on occasion for purposes of creating characters for stories. The left mind is like L.A., it's an interesting place but sane people don't live there.
Some things I don't want to do on meds
I don't want to rely on them completely
I don't want to feel like I have to be happy all the time for them to be working
I don't want to use this illness as a crutch or an excuse.
Man, can you tell I'm nervous about taking these stupid pills? Enough talk, here goes. Cheers, let's make a toast to the return of sanity. Salut, see you on day 2.
Diagnosis
It's official, I'm depressed. Not today actually, but overall it would seem. Today I got the official diagnosis from a trained medically professional that I have servere depression and anxiety. It was somewhat surreal to sit in her sunny office with the paintings of pictureseque landscapes decorating the white walls and hear the word Depression. I felt like laughing, who doesn't get depressed? Show me a person who is never depressed or anxious and I'll show you the ON switch because that person couldn't possibly be human. We all have our bad days, we all have days we just want to go back bed. She said the fact I want to back to bed isn't the issue its the thoughts I have that I don't want to ever wake up that cause the concern. This very nice physiotherapist (what a title, try putting that on a business card) explained to me that while everyone has bad days, my particular brand of bad is a cause for concern. I'm not really sure why that is yet, but maybe as I begin to feel "better" I'll be able to figure it out. She and my therapist (ugh, writing this down is making me feel like I should be a mafia member living in Long Island stretching out on my therapist's couch and telling her about my latest hit) have decided I need medication to control this illness. That was when it hit me...I have been diagnosed with an illness, an actual disease and I'm going to need medication, probably for the rest of my life, to control it. Suddenly it wasn't just a succesion of bad days, or strange thoughts, it was a "condition" a "mental illness". You see Lifetime movies about women with mental illnesses. I don't think my life would make a very good movie..even for Lifetime...so how did I get here? and what next?
I'm writing this all down because I'm hoping that as I take this journey, I'll notice some differences along the way. Maybe even if I don't feel better all the time, maybe it will show up in the entries here. My biggest fear in taking medication is losing the essence of who I am. Hopefully I can prove that's not the case. I'll still be me, just less noisy (more on what I mean by that later). And maybe if you've found this blog you've been where I've been or maybe you need to go where I'm going. Either way, you're welcome along for the ride, all of my personalities say it's okay :)
I'm writing this all down because I'm hoping that as I take this journey, I'll notice some differences along the way. Maybe even if I don't feel better all the time, maybe it will show up in the entries here. My biggest fear in taking medication is losing the essence of who I am. Hopefully I can prove that's not the case. I'll still be me, just less noisy (more on what I mean by that later). And maybe if you've found this blog you've been where I've been or maybe you need to go where I'm going. Either way, you're welcome along for the ride, all of my personalities say it's okay :)
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