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I have Major Depression and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Major Depression. It sounded weird when it was finally said. I have been seeing psychiatrists since I was eleven. Mental illness runs rampant in my family. My parents knew from early on what to look for, what the signs were, and they saw it all in me. Enter Dr. Salzman. Dr. Salzman asked me lots and lots of questions. "How is school?" "Do you have a lot of friends?" "Do you read books?" He never asked me, "Are you sad?" "Why are you losing weight?" "Why do you cry all the time?" I do not think Dr. Salzman was very good, but apparently he is very highly regarded among American Psychiatrists. That's my parents for you -- always the best for their little girl. I think they accepted that my visits to Dr. Salzman were saving me, and they certainly did not know how to save me, so they left it at that until I was old enough to go to college and leave Dr. Salzman behind. In college I suffered. Freshman year was the worst. I could not go to class, I did not want any friends, no one understood. No one understood that when I sat alone in the cafeteria, I was not looking for an invitation to join them, I was not looking for a friendship, I was glad to be alone. What would I say to people? What was there to say? No one understood. I was on a separate level, and my highest high was never as high as normal people's lowest of lows. No one understood why I could not just snap out of it, be social, and get on with my life. I lived that entire year without talking to anyone except this one boy I met. I think I trusted him because he was mentally ill as well, though we never talked about it. We had this weird, tumultuous relationship where he was constantly telling me to get on with it and kill myself, and I was constantly running away. I moved on, went to another college, and basically everything was the same. I was sad. It was not your normal sadness, either. Thankfully I was born with a sort of built-in intelligence, so my absence in classes was never noticed -- only my exceptional grades were. I was on the dean's list, I was making excellent grades, but I only went to class seven times in one entire semester. Seven times. The rest of the time I was at home, blankly staring at the television, a blanket pulled up around me, alternating between the bed and the sofa. I was crying at nothing, and not crying at everything else. I had no friends, no social outlet, and I did not want one. I was my own little messed up ball of muck. I was so different from everyone else, that I could not relate. People would try to talk to me, and I would just miss everything they said and my mind would be elsewhere. I never paid attention to anyone. All I could think of was blending into the background, disappearing. I wanted to die. I toyed with that idea plenty of times. Death. How warm, how comforting, how perfect. I took too many pills, I threw them up. I took too many pills, I threw them up. Until one time I took too many pills and ended up in the hospital. Suicide always seems so glamorous. No one tells you how gross and disgusting it really is. Even at that point I was in denial. I told the people at the hospital that I was dizzy, I did not tell them what I did. I just said I did not feel well. Couldn't they give me something? Anything? They did blood work, and they knew what happened. There were lots of whispers, I said I had no relatives, no emergency contacts, and they eventually sent me home. Then my whole life changed. I met a girl at college who was also mentally ill. We were both artists, and somehow we both knew. She was so open with her mental illness that I could not even believe it. I always saw it as a stigma, and now she was opening my eyes. That's when I realized I needed to get help. I immediately went into therapy. I went to the free psychiatrist at my university. He put me on Prozac. Nothing happened. He put me on more. Nothing happened, except I was getting worse. He said I was getting worse because I did not have enough Prozac. So he upped the dosage, and threw in some Xanax. I was going insane. I was crying all the time. I could not stop crying. I was convinced everyone I knew was going to die, I was going to die. I did not want to die, but I wanted to die. I wanted the horrible pain to go away. He put me on more Prozac. He would not listen to me, would not stop upping the dosage. I said I was suicidal, he said I wasn't serious. So one day, I took them all, all the Prozac he gave me. That would show him, right? Back to the hospital. Not fun. Very sick. Very very sick. Doctors did not take me off the Prozac. Saw a new psychiatrist at school, she also said that my suicidal thoughts were not substantial. I was begging her, pleading with her to put me in the hospital. I could not eat, I could not sleep, I was miserable, miserable, I wanted to die. So she put me on Ambien. Ambien was the worst mistake of my entire life. It is a sleeping pill, that is what they tell you. A harmless sleeping pill. What they do not tell you is that if you take one and accidentally have to stay up for whatever reason, you will hallucinate. Your lights will talk to you, and even worse, you will talk back. Your carpet will roll up right before your eyes, and your dog will dance. Please take me off the Ambien, I'm too afraid to sleep, too afraid to stay awake. So they give me more Ambien. I'm a zombie. I've also graduated college, and now I am a school teacher. A suicidal, zombified school teacher with no insurance. Out go the medications. In comes the Ambien withdrawl. I felt like a heroin addict must feel. Worst time of my life. I switched to over the counter sleeping pills and began taking 8 - 15 a night. What they did was keep me up. I quit my job, too many nights spent calling the school's answering machine in a crying fit, calling off work. Got a different job, got insurance, met the woman of my dreams, my new psychiatrist. No talk, no bull. She said we would dive in right away, get the medications right, and deal with the rest. Medications are not quick. This does not happen quickly. She put me on Luvox to control my OCD, because those symptoms were the worst at the time. The Luvox worked, my OCD was under control, and the depression came out like the beast. I went to work, saw my co-workers, and just started crying. Every day. "What is wrong?" I cannot even answer because the tears are everywhere, in my eyes, my nose, my mouth, my throat, my heart, everywhere. Send me home. Send me home. Send me home every day. Emergency appointments with Dr. Webb. Dr. Webb, I cannot get out of bed. Dr. Webb, I think I am dying. Dr. Webb I don't want to die. Dr. Webb I want to die. Dr. Webb, I cannot even paint or draw anymore, my lifelines are gone. Dr. Webb I have no interests. Dr. Webb, I sleep all day. Dr. Webb I have insomnia. Dr. Webb the people at work think I am insane, have been sent home numerous times, cannot go back, hate my job, never go back, crawl in a hole and die. Why? I don't know why. I do not know why. And for the first time, that is completely acceptable. We can conquer this. We added Effexor and took me out of work for two weeks. We added Effexor, and found the miracle cure for me. Granted, it took months to get it right, but I went from crying in the movies, crying at Toys R Us, crying at the library, to simply crying myself to sleep every night. Then I had one single day without crying. One single day without tears. One single day, and I knew it was out there. I knew that could be me. Eventually the one day turned into two, and the two turned into three, and I am living that life now. I am living that life that you only see other people live. I am singing in the car, and taking showers, and petting my dogs, and I love my job. Life is good. Life is worth it. I love it. I am in love with everything. The medications do not make me numb. I still have ups and downs, and bad days and good days, but they are finally, for the first time in 22 years, my moods are in the normal range. I can function, I can relate to people. Will I be on medications forever? I do not know. But I know now what it can be like, and I do not want to go back. Strange enough, I do miss it. I miss having so much dread and darkness and fodder for artwork, but now I have me, and that is something I never really had. I feel like being the psychiatry cheerleader. I really never knew it could be like this. Feel free to send me your story as well, or ask questions or anything you need. I'm always around, just e-mail me. This is my family below. My two lovely children, then me, then my much, much better half who is fantastic, loving, forgiving, wonderful, and absolutely supportive and understanding.
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