For almost two years before I was officially diagnosed with depression, I went on a rabbit trail trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I knew I was not normal, not the same as everyone else. My major suspect with a thyroid disorder due to my symptoms, but my lab work all came back normal. I have never been so discouraged in my life.
I eventually began seeing a therapist, we’ll call her Dorothy, once I began suspecting I was suffering from depression. The company I worked for at the time offered a pretty great Employee Assistance Program which allowed for 8 FREE sessions per year per topic, and my husbands company also offered an EAP with free sessions as well. On my first visit, convinced I was depressed, my new therapist had me fill out a questionnaire about my symptoms. I filled it out and handed it back to her.
She stated that based on my answers, I was definitely depressed and delicately suggested I might think about antidepressants. I agreed and let her know that I would make an appointment with my general practitioner, which I did.
Let me rewind a bit. I’ve been conscious about what I put in my body for a very long time, and always scoffed at the idea of people needing medication. I did not make this decision lightly, but also knew that I could no longer manage on my own. I knew meds were the next step to at least get me back to where I could live a semi-normal life. Let me also say that I still think prescription medications are often handed out too quickly and easily, but they do have their place. No shame to anyone on any medication, but I hope everyone does their own research on what is best for them.
A few sessions later when I was feeling a bit better, Dorothy told me that she was so concerned about me after our first session, that if I had not agreed to try medication, she would have hospitalized me because of the danger I was to myself. I had never thought I was that bad off, but looking back, I was. I was just so used to feeling so low that it was my normal.
So it was true: I was depressed. I’ve never really felt ashamed of being depressed even though any mental illness is typically regarded as shameful (absurd as it may be..). But it is who I am. I hope I can recover and get to a point of no longer being depressed, but so far, it’s been an everyday, constant, never-ending struggle. The diagnosis was somewhat of a relief, to finally have an answer. For
Eventually, I realized that Dorothy was not helping me, as much as I loved her. I’ve never gone back to therapy, but I did start seeing a psychiatrist which helped me to figure out my medication situation. But that is a story for a different day. I have not found another therapist yet, but it’s on my list. The process will make it into a blog post, I’m sure. So we all have something to look forward to (kidding, sort of).
Can you relate to when you were first diagnosed? What did you go through to discover the real cause of your issues? Are you still not sure what is the true underlying cause? I’m here for you no matter where you’re at!
-Linsey
Linsey 