When did this adventure start?

My slow descent began probably when I was nine. I won’t take you on the full 29 year journey where I didn’t admit or cope with my depression (although there are some pretty amazing stories from that time period). I didn’t arrive to the point where I needed help until this past fall.  It was the perfect storm.  I can now say that I have depression and anxiety with a genetic predisposition for stress, which makes me more vulnerable to my emotions.   Beginning in the late spring of 2014 several small interactions with people in my professional life started piling on top of one another and I was stuffing my feelings (turns out I’ve been doing this my whole life). By August I was in a deep funk I couldn't get myself out of.  

I confided in (OK - I broke down hysterically crying in her office first) one friend and started talking and talking. This was the beginning of my “talk therapy.”  After a few weeks, she convinced me to contact a new primary care physician who she trusted and have blood work taken and ask for something to help the sadness. Knowing that we had a family history, the Dr. agreed to prescribe me an antidepressant… I really thought that would be the end of my story - but if that were the case you obviously wouldn’t be reading this blog.

The first two antidepressants I tried had side effects that I felt were much worse than the bouts of crying! At that point the Dr. encouraged me to contact a psychiatrist.  Not only was I scared to go down that path, I also have the issue of my insurance. I looked at the names that were accepted by my insurance, got recommendations from friends and researched online. Unfortunately every single one that had good references wasn't taking new patients.  My PCP even tried contacting some of them.  I abandoned that route for the time being. I absolutely refused to take drugs to alter my mind from someone whose name I was getting essentially out of the Yellow Pages. I was frustrated and decided that I could do what I've always done and stuff the feelings back down and keep going. Boy was I wrong!

The tears continued...I was still talking to my good friend who was encouraging me to see a therapist that she recommended and really start working on my issues and my illness. I took the name and number and put it in the top drawer of my dresser.  I wasn’t ready (by now my friend definitely was!)

During this time, I traveled to Macon, Georgia for my annual state professional conference. I was scheduled to present one lecture and lead a dinner for 100+ people. When I checked into my hotel room that I was sharing with 3 other people, I sat on the bed and began to cry.  Since I was away from my kids and the students I teach, my body decided it needed to stop pretending to be okay for a little while.  I texted my friend and asked for help (listening to calming music and doing deep breathing) which did allow me to get myself together enough to go and present my lecture.  Unfortunately, my exhaustion and depression pulled me down so far that I feigned a headache and stayed in my room crying all night. Two friends had to host the dinner that I was responsible for while I stayed in my room. I missed out on the annual gathering of friends and former college classmates… I told them I wasn’t feeling well - which was the truth. I made it to breakfast, sat between two friends (who I had filled in on what was going on with me) as a barrier against the world, and then made my escape back to Atlanta, crying the entire way.  This was becoming debilitating.  

The following weekends I continued to bow out of events or break down and have to leave them. I referred to my alone car time as "drivin’ n cryin’".  Some of my friends were starting to notice my new demeanor and show concern.  I let a few of them in, but told most people at this point that I was just tired or fine. When we went to a friend’s daughter’s Bat Mitzvah party and my family had to leave early because I was sitting in the car crying while my husband and daughter were inside dancing, I knew that I was not going to be able to handle this episode the way I had all the others in my life.

I pulled the name and number of the therapist out, took 18 deep breaths, then had my friend e-mail her from my e-mail account to set up an appointment (have I mentioned I am a wimp - we’ll just get that out here). You’ll have to wait for the next post to hear about therapy!