This is not a question. It is an odyssey of anxiety and depression. My hope is that maybe something in ths will help someone in need of something that actually worked for me. My childhood was perfect, I was the baby of the family, with doting mom, older brother, and older sister. When I was 15, my sister and her three young children died in a house fire. I was beyond devastated, and unconsolable. I felt like she left me right when I needed her the most. My poor mother was in no shape to be of any help to me. In school, I got into the bad crowd, smoked pot, smoked cigarrettes, drank alcohol, and was very promiscuous. I literally did every bad thing a kid could do. I was hurt and angry, and refused to listen when anyone tried to tell me to stop. Whenever I found myself alone, with no one in earshot, I would just stand and scream, long and full of pain, until my throat hurt and my head was banging. I began to have periods of dissasociation (sp?) and numbness in my extremeties. I continued to act out whenever I could, barely graduated high school, abd refused to go to college. Then my life became a slow but steady more downward spiral. I dated men my mother didnt like, just because she didnt like them. I worked sporadically. Started having babies at 18, four of them altogether, fathered by men who wre irresponsible in awful ways. I became convinced that I was worthless, and stopped caring about alot of things. I was abused in every possible way, and convinced it was my fault. The years went on, with me basically trying to raise my kids, and not doing a good job of it.Finally, when my youngest was only a year old, I met a man who wanted to get to know me. Of course I knew I'd mess this up too, or he would. So I went through my motions of not being nice to him, pushing him, testing him, to see where things would break. And came to the conclusion that this guy was a flipping rock who would not be put off, no matter what I threw at him. He cooked and cleaned for me, and babysat my kids while I worked. When I cried, he held me. He listened when I spoke, even if I wasn't being nice. By then I had already begun a regimen of Zoloft through my moms doctor, in an effort to calm me down. That worked for awhile, and I was keeping jobs longer. I found myself falling in love with this man, whom I will call James. He fell in love with me and my kids at the same time. I started to be nice to him alot more often. We began our (now) 17 year relationship, and enjoyed a good life for several years. Then I suffered a severe nervous breakdown that lasted two weeks, during which I had to be cared for like a small child by my family (thank God for them). This was due to stress at work, and the doctor added Klonopin to my Zoloft. I stayed on that a few more years, feeling a bit better, but I could still feel the anxiety inside, waiting to come out. I suffered panic attacks regularly. The doctor put me on Rispiridone and Ambien. Again a bit of releif, but not enough. Stress at work continued until I couldn't take anymore and I quit. My thinking there was not only to get away from this major stressor, but to give myself a bit of a break while I looked for more work. I found a handful of jobs, and all of them brought the anxiety back full force. I attempted suicide, twice. My doctor became uncooperative at that point and wanted me committed right away, I refused. I changed doctors to one that would not only work with me, but also had a psychologist in his practice, who would also see me, and share their findings about me with each other, which I found to be a great idea. He took me off rispiridone and Zoloft, which he deemed unnecessary, and put me on effexor. He warned me that it would take awhile (weeks) to work. I took it as he said to, and gave it plenty of time to work. Nothing. Zero improvement. I was sleeping 16 hours a day, and rarely left my house. I couldnt work at all like that. I was also having some sort of (what I was told after a CT scan) harmless pseudo-seizure activity, which scared me to tears. One day two weeks ago, I was woken up by seizure activity so severe that my body was jumping every few minutes. I treid distracting myself, eating a meal, showering, then finally I thought a nap might help. As soon as I got into bed, I just freaked. I didnt want to spend one more day in bed. I sat there and screamed and cried and shook, and had to call for help because I was hyperventilating. At the local hospital, I was given the opportunity to enter a mental and behavioral health ward at another hospital not far away. The thought scaed me to death. But continuing to feel awful evry day scared me worse. I agreed to go, signed all the papers, and was whisked off in an ambulance to ST. Mary's Hospital in Jefferson City, Missouri. Once there, I continued to panic until I was given a shot of trazadone, which I found comforting, and was able to listen calmly while a nurse xplained how the ward worked. I would not be restrained unless I became a danger to others, my room would never be locked, and I would have 24 hour access to the halls and activity rooms in the t-shaped ward, as well as any help I needed from the nurses. I would not be allowed outside, or even off the ward until the hospital psychiatrist said I was allowed to go home. That could take three days or three weeks, depending on how much help I needed. I had a room mate, who was a very nice girl. She helped me find my way around, and explained the rules of conduct, which were all easy and reasonable. The nurses were awesome. I got determined to make the best of my time there. I needed it to work. I ate my meals, saw the doctor, got meds that worked for real (six of them!), went to every group and activity meeting. I spoke up and asked questions. I helped to comfort others who were in distress. I joined peer conversations and learned how to cope. I took notes like a maniac. I showered, made my bed, wore clean clothes, and enjoyed good personal hygeine. I told my doctor that I would not leave until I was better (in spite of everyone else who just wanted out). One day, on a Thursday, I saw the doctor, and as usual, he asked me how I was feeling. Something in me clicked, like puzzle peices coming together, and I grinned really big: I felt really good! He saw all this on my face and said 'you are going home today.' And he grinned right back at me. I had a whole booklet of skills to take home, plus scripts for all my meds plus a refill. I was home by that afternoon. Ever since, my life is wonderful. I have structure in my life, and I am happy to get out of bed every morning. I do not nap at all. I go to bed only at bedtime. I go out and socialize with friends, shopping, etc. No job yet, but that will come at the right time. My life is mine again. I hope this story is useful to someone... - Blu
I read your whole journal entry. I'm very happy for you that you are finally feeling better and that "life is wonderful". I myself went though a depression about twelve years ago. There were a number of things that led to the depression which lasted more than 8 months. I got a lot of help too. You have really been through the ringer, but you are a survivor and for that you should be very proud of yourself. I'm so glad the new meds are working for you and that you're finally feeling good. I will end my comment by saying I used to take my health for granted. Now I know how important staying healthy is. Be well. I like butterflies too. Eve :)
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