Coming to terms with depression
- The Girl in the Red Hat
- Dec 13, 2022
- 4 min read
When I first hit bottom, I did what I always do — I kept going. As the weeks went by, I continued to arrive at work most mornings close to tears. It was becoming a chore to calm myself; I was never sure when something would trigger anger or tears. After six weeks, I acknowledged that this was not going away. I needed help. Seeking help for a mental health issue - and admitting that it was, in fact, a mental health issue - was not something I ever saw myself having to do. I never thought it would happen to me.
The afternoon I walked into my doctor’s office, I felt like I was admitting defeat. It was like I was losing my grip on the person I was trying to pull up after she’d fallen over the edge. As I started telling my doctor what was happening, I broke down.
My doctor did not push but waited until I had collected myself. She then proceeded to tell me that my nerves had “broken.” I suspect she is an empath. Often she does not say anything but waits patiently for me to continue. When I am in the presence of someone who has honed their intuition skills and ability to pick up on minute changes in body position, expression, and energy, I know that more is being understood than what is being said aloud.
As we began to discuss antidepressants and antianxiety medication, I told her I could not go on anything that made me gain weight. I had been working hard to lose weight. I needed to have some semblance of control in my life, and watching what I ate was something I could control. While I didn’t admit it to her, I knew that in my fragile state of mind, weight gain could send me spiralling back into binging and purging. I knew I was on a precarious perch and did not want to fall any further.
Nights were the worst. Mentally exhausted but unable to turn my thoughts off, I felt like a hostage audience to my mind as it rewound and replayed the scenes of my pain repeatedly. I felt betrayed. I felt like I had let people down. I felt like I had failed. I had failed to prove I was up to the challenge, was good enough, and deserved to be on the team. As my doctor explained, that is what can happen with anxiety and depression. She told me the antidepressants would take some time to start working, but the anti-anxiety medication would help me sleep more and ruminate less. I had never been a great sleeper. In fact, in my 30s, I had been on medication to help me fall asleep for years due to chronic migraines. I knew a peaceful sleep would be good for my soul.
As promised, after a month on the antidepressants, I finally started to feel a sense of calm. Like a sharp edge that had been rounded, my feelings felt less severe. I still did not desire activity or project work besides work and school. James was forced to pick up the slack and did so without complaint. Our house would have fallen into shambles if it weren’t for him and a bi-weekly visit from our housekeeper. At least I was no longer crying and found it easier to navigate the days at work without launching into fight or flight. I also had a newfound understanding and compassion for my friends, mom, and sister-in-law.
Depression is not always being sad. Depression can be rage, irritability, and difficulty focusing or concentrating. It is an internal battle you fight day in and day out. You cannot just snap out of it. And while there may have been a situation that pushed you over the edge, your hopelessness and negative self-image had likely been festering for some time.
Over the years, I have been told I share too much. I think I share partly because of how strong my feelings are; sometimes, I just need to get them out and allow them to be free. The environment I worked in was not necessarily the most open when it came to talking about mental health, but as I came to terms with the fact that I had depression, I knew I had to be open and willing to talk about what was going on. Confiding in my doctor was a big step - and well worth it for her amazing, ongoing support, for which I’m grateful. As it turned out, she told me she had “seen this coming”: in fact, when we first met eighteen months ago, she was not sure she wanted me as a patient. She could not decide if I was going to be difficult because I was wound so tight or if I was wound so tight because I was working so hard, pretending to be perfectly fine. I’m not pretending anymore. Talking about what I feel or how I interpret situations will be an integral part of my recovery. It’s my way of understanding and identifying when my illness is talking and when my authentic voice is coming out loud and clear.
I also hope my story will be read by others who are struggling as I have. You are not alone, and there is hope.
Originally published on January 24, 2021 (https://girlintheredhatblog.wordpress.com/)
If you are struggling with your mental health or an eating disorder, please know that you are not alone. Here are some resources to help you on your road to recovery.
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