Monitor Me

I'm going to preface this particular post with a little statement: I speak from personal experience, and not from a standpoint of medical or psychological expertise. If you think you may be dealing with depression, you should speak with a doctor or counselor.

I've had a few friends talk to me about their bouts with depression since I talked about going off of antidepressants. I usually respond with a very lengthy e-mail that discusses pretty much everything that I mention here. I know that my family and friends have to deal with depression, and so I wanted to tell you about my experience. Here's an excerpt from some correspondence that I've written recently. I think it's a good way to start off this post:

Some things that I should emphasize: the only reason why things went so well for me is because I was meeting often with my doctor, and he was excellent. The antidepressants helped give me a boost so that I had the strength to deal with the issues that were making me miserable. If I hadn't dealt with the issues, I'd likely still be on antidepressants.

Last fall was a particularly rough one for me. The summer hadn't been a walk through the park. I had some family troubles, marital troubles, and I was once again stalled with my academic career. I hit a low point in the month before Rob came home from his summer job, and I was getting really unlike myself. I mean, unlike myself to the point where I was never happy, regardless of the face I presented to my friends and family. I was bitter and angry, and I think Rob got the brunt of it. Phone calls were always upsetting, as I let go of weeks of anguish to the only person I felt close enough to, to see the pain that was inside of me. He was disappointed by my lack of writing progress over the summer, but I'm pretty sure no one was more disappointed than I was.

The things that went through my head were disturbing and harmful, and as I watched myself becoming less and less like the person I knew I could be, I decided to talk to my physician. I booked an appointment to talk about my emotional well-being. I had no physical ailments in the sense that I had an injury that could be diagnosed or an infection that could be treated. However, I was undeniably unwell. I have an excellent relationship with my doctor. We discussed some possibilities, and when he recommended an antidepressant, I was ready to accept any help, anything that might make me feel less miserable. I also trust my physician; he's been my doctor for almost ten years, and he has proven his medical expertise in his treatments and examinations. I stress this because I don't think I would have accepted his advice so quickly, if he had been a doctor that I didn't know as well as I know this one.

After a month on antidepressants, I was starting to feel a little bit more motivation to take care of myself, and to apply myself more diligently to my work and to school. Rob had come home from camp, and things weren't going as smoothly as I had hoped they would. When Caesar died, and Rob and I decided that he should take a well-paying job in B.C. again, I hit another low point. The progress that I thought I had made in the months of keeping a careful eye on myself, felt like it was slipping through my fingers. My frustration increased because I had felt like I had found a solution to my emotional turmoil, and if it could be undone, then there was this horrible potential to never feel good again.

So, I returned to my doctor. We adjusted my dosage. I called my mother. She stayed with me for a few days, and helped me put my house in order, helped me not to feel alone. We didn't discuss my well-being. We happily avoided talking about how shitty my life had turned over the recent months, and instead focused on managing the little things. It helped more than I can express. I was in contact with a few friends who deal/have dealt with depression and medication, and their input was invaluable. They reassured me that I was experiencing something that was not interminable, that I was not alone in this experience, and that I had taken the appropriate steps to remedy things. This also helped me more than I can express. There were two dramatic posts at The Rook's Nest in which he talked of his depression that also helped me a lot. This post of his, has some bits of an e-mail conversation that we were engaged in while I was at the beginning of my treatment.

I recently started taking cipralex to treat my own depression. It's weird, I used to think that taking drugs for the "moods" that I had would have somehow been betraying who I really was. I reminded myself of artists and poets who have all lived through mental conditions/disabilities and held onto the hope that I would come out of whatever I was going through with something beautiful and lasting. I thought that whatever came out of it, would be payment enough for the personal anguish/anxiety that I was experiencing, and that pharmaceuticals would take away the beauty of the horror.

Then, I realized that I'd rather live than revel in the horror anymore. That's when I sought out my Dr and got the prescription.

There were many ups and downs in the months to follow, and taking pharmaceuticals was only a small part in the steps I was taking to get better. It was becoming clear to me that my marriage was failing, and that this was a large part of my unhappiness. With Rob back in B.C. it became both more difficult and more simple to deal with the emotions that were tied up in our union and its troubles. My physician had told me several times that it was necessary for me to deal with whatever personal issues were causing my depression. Otherwise, he said, the pills would just be a band-aid on a bigger problem.

I feel obligated to mention that some people who struggle with depression have horrible experiences with trying to find a medication that works for them. I hope that I don't leave any of you with the impression that pharmaceuticals are a quick fix. They were not the key to feeling better, for me personally. What they were for me, was the help that I needed to start dealing with things that I would have preferred to not deal with.

Aside from trying to resolve my emotionally-problematic relationship, I was consciously eating better, sleeping better, getting exercise, and monitoring my personal hygiene. I say consciously because if I had followed my natural tendencies I would have been eating like shit, never leaving the house, and never showering or brushing my teeth. All desire to be a functional human being had pretty much left. I wish I could say that wasn't the case because it's embarrassing to think of myself, as a grown adult, having a difficult time dealing with such mundane necessary things. It's part of the whole illness, but it doesn't mean it's excusable. And, my doctor had warned me that failure to follow these basic parts of daily life would make me feel worse and then compound upon my depression. Reading this now, it feels like I can't stress enough how difficult it was to be a part of the world, but at the same time how necessary it was for my recovery.

Things reached a breaking point when Rob and I decided to divorce. That post that I just linked should emphasize how it was not a poisonous experience, and that we were both trying to figure out what to do with a union that wasn't. As sad and terrible as it was to end the relationship, it sparked a speedier and healthier recovery. I don't know if I could say the same if Rob hadn't continued to be a part of my life. I switched medications near the end of my stint, onto a weaker version of my original prescription, and then I just stopped taking them. I consulted with my doctor. We agreed that I would keep an eye on myself, but that things were definitely better than they were when I saw him at the beginning of this whole thing.

As for the aftermath of depression, every now and then I find myself walking on eggshells. If I'm getting sad or upset about something, I immediately have to assess whether this is a reasonable reaction to an upsetting situation, or whether this is a warning sign. I'm getting better at spotting the warning signs. This post of mine was a big old warning sign. My tendencies to shy away from society have rarely led me to happy places.

So what do I do when I realize my mental health needs a pick me up? I take myself into the sunshine and go for a walk. I do something that makes me feel productive like knitting, cooking, or cleaning, basically any small task that has semi-immediate results. I write, mostly here, but also other places. It may be petty, but sometimes I'll even do my make-up, just for the sake of feeling self-worthy. Before this whole things started, I was staunchly anti-make-up. Now, I'm kinda cool with it.

Like I mentioned above, it really helped me to know that I wasn't alone in these awful feelings and experiences. At the very least, I hope this will give some of you a glimpse of what depression can be like.