Hi all,
A depressed gal named Kass has a blog called Depression Introspection. It is a great resource from an experienced and articulate woman. Today's post, My Dark Passenger, is all about that crazy voice that interrupts your life in order to make you feel bad. We all know that voice. On our good days it's the annoying little mosquito buzz in the back of your head that spouts crazy-talk. On our bad days it's the overwhelming voice of conviction that stymies us and worries us and encourages us to do things we would never normally do. If you're already having a bad day, today might not be the day to read her post, but if you need to know you aren't alone go check it out!
Love,
Laura
Showing posts with label profiles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label profiles. Show all posts
Friday, April 15, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Katie L and Doubt: the story of a Mormon girl with Pure-O (part I)
Hi friends! This Depression Profile is actually in two parts and is not exactly about depression. A wonderful woman, Katie L, contacted me and told me about her years of struggle with Pure-O OCD and the effect it had on her spirituality as a Mormon. (While this lady was not clinically depressed her struggles did lead to some depressive episodes.) Pure-O OCD is a (somewhat disputed) anxiety condition where the sufferer obsesses about unwanted, intrusive thoughts without any recognizable or outward compulsions. For me this kind of obsessing was the defining factor of the postpartum period with my first child. It's also how I know when I am on the brink of a breakdown. Having experienced a version of this myself, I really appreciate how Katie L. describes this. Her writing is vivid and the information she gives important. For more info on Pure-O check out the website The Other OCD or the books The Imp of the Mind by Lee Baer, Brain Lock: Overcoming Obsessive-Compulsive Behavior by Dr. Jeffrey M. Schwartz, and When in Doubt, Make Belief by Jeff Bell.
Name: Katie L.
Location: Pacific Northwest
Age: 29
Religion: Mormon
I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't struggle with anxiety. It became more pronounced around the age of nine, though. Before then, I'd feel very guilty about things I did wrong and make conscientious attempts to avoid sin; by the age of nine, my flirtation with guilt and doubt had blossomed to a full-blown romance.
OCD is sometimes called "the doubting disease," and that description resonates deeply with me. From 9-years-old on, I not only experienced doubt about things that are "normal" to doubt -- such as the existence of God or the truthfulness of the Church (though perhaps the severity was abnormal for someone so young) -- but I also began to have very strange doubts. For example, I would feel guilty for doing something and then feel unsure about whether or not I actually did it.
I developed a fairly severe confession compulsion. Whenever I did something wrong, I confessed it to my mother. If I wasn't sure whether or not something I'd done was actually wrong, I confessed it anyway, just in case. Sometimes, questions arose about who had done one thing or another -- who broke the scooter in the basement, who took Dad's quarters off the dresser, who made a mess in the laundry room -- and I confessed, even though I had no recollection of doing it.
Eventually, my mother caught on that something wasn't quite right. We didn't have enough information to call it OCD, but it became okay for me to say, "I don't know if I did it or not!" Although I imagine that some parents would have assumed that their child was trying to get out of punishment, somehow my mom understood that I was being honest -- I really wasn't sure -- and she didn't press me on it. In fact, she often reassured me that I probably hadn't committed the crime in question.
I also found myself praying constantly. I prayed for forgiveness. Unwanted thoughts about the truthfulness of the church would trouble me, so I prayed for a stronger testimony. I prayed to "know" whether or not I had actually committed the sins I worried about. I prayed for help overcoming my weaknesses, both real and imagined.
As I grew older and learned about sex, I became troubled with disturbing sexual images that would flash through my mind frequently (well, disturbing for a scrupulous pre-teen; I realize now they were pretty tame). [Laura's note: scrupulosity is a technical term for a moral or religiously fixated OCD. What Katie L describes above is a quintessential definition. For more on scrupulosity check out this scrupulosity blog and this article from Catholic Culture or the book Devil in the Details, about a girl growing up Jewish and with OCD.] For a period of about a month when I was 10 or 11, I refused to take the sacrament, because I believed I was unworthy due to "dirty thoughts." I feared that by partaking of the sacrament I would eat and drink damnation to my soul. (Finally my mom asked what was going on, and when I told her, she said it was okay to take the sacrament even if you couldn't completely eliminate bad thoughts from your mind, because that's what the atonement is all about.)
I began to fear the Second Coming because I believed that I would be cast into the fire due to the intrusive obsessions and my inability to be perfectly clean. I started begging God to wait to send Jesus until I was worthy, to give me enough time to properly repent of my sins.
As I've gotten older I've found that Doubt targets whatever is the most important to me. For example, in my late teens, I fell in love for the first time and began to think of myself as a sexual person who could be attractive to men. So OCD hit me there: I developed an obsession about my sexual orientation (this is different from real homosexual attractions or sexual curiosities; what I experienced were overpowering fears that one day I would wake up and suddenly "discover" I was gay).[Laura's note: H-OCD is a subset of OCD where the sufferer worries that they are actually gay but don't know it or that they have somehow done something that makes them gay but don't remember it. Often it takes the form of obsessing over the fact that the individual cannot ever remember being not-gay, not just straight but not-gay--a distinction that really only makes sense in the context of OCD. For more information on understanding the difference between sexual orientations and HOCD check out this website, Gay or Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder:Homosexual fears and OCD. Please, please, please don't think this is a comment on sexual orientation; it's not.]
On my mission, my doubts about the truthfulness of the church intensified to near-deafening levels. I found myself agonizing over the use of "you"-pronouns in the Book of Mormon -- did it use "ye" vs. "thee" properly? I struggled with feelings of unworthiness, and questions as to whether or not I had done bad things arose again. I confessed several non-sins to priesthood leaders on at least five separate occasions.
When I was pregnant with my daughter, I began obsessing that I might harm her after she was born. That's when I finally checked myself into therapy -- I simply could not bear those thoughts, nor their implications.
These days, although my symptoms are much milder thanks to effective treatment and a softer worldview that I've worked consciously to develop, I continue to struggle with obsessive thoughts. Lately, they tend to focus around whether the people I am close to "really" love me, the veracity of my religious beliefs (this one dies hard), and whether the food I'm about to eat is going to make me sick.
On my worst days, the obsessions are so overpowering that I think about little else. My stomach is in knots. I spend the day praying, checking things online, seeking reassurance -- and, of course, ruminating. Rumination involves trying to solve whatever unsolvable problem is in front of me, an attempt to "think" myself out of Doubt. Since I'm "Pure-O," this is by far my most consuming compulsion.
Because my compulsions are primarily mental, unless it's a really, really bad day, it's easy to hide my disorder. This is both a blessing and a curse. It's a blessing because there are often legitimate reasons why you might want to keep something like this private. But it's a curse because it isolates you. For example, for years my husband -- yes, the dude I live with every day! -- had no idea I struggled with anxiety because I was so skilled at hiding it, so adept at going through the motions of daily life, even while I was suffocating in Doubt's stranglehold.
I have had perfectly normal, funny, seemingly carefree interactions with people, while inside my mind and stomach are absolutely churning. I have often excused myself from a class, meeting, or conversation to retreat to the bathroom, drop to my knees in anguish, beg God to take it away -- and then stand up, look in the mirror, put my smile back on, and return to face the world.
That's a terrible way to live. I don't recommend it.
[Laura's note: Please come back and read part II. I promise this story has a better ending!!]
Name: Katie L.
Location: Pacific Northwest
Age: 29
Religion: Mormon
I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't struggle with anxiety. It became more pronounced around the age of nine, though. Before then, I'd feel very guilty about things I did wrong and make conscientious attempts to avoid sin; by the age of nine, my flirtation with guilt and doubt had blossomed to a full-blown romance.
OCD is sometimes called "the doubting disease," and that description resonates deeply with me. From 9-years-old on, I not only experienced doubt about things that are "normal" to doubt -- such as the existence of God or the truthfulness of the Church (though perhaps the severity was abnormal for someone so young) -- but I also began to have very strange doubts. For example, I would feel guilty for doing something and then feel unsure about whether or not I actually did it.
I developed a fairly severe confession compulsion. Whenever I did something wrong, I confessed it to my mother. If I wasn't sure whether or not something I'd done was actually wrong, I confessed it anyway, just in case. Sometimes, questions arose about who had done one thing or another -- who broke the scooter in the basement, who took Dad's quarters off the dresser, who made a mess in the laundry room -- and I confessed, even though I had no recollection of doing it.
Eventually, my mother caught on that something wasn't quite right. We didn't have enough information to call it OCD, but it became okay for me to say, "I don't know if I did it or not!" Although I imagine that some parents would have assumed that their child was trying to get out of punishment, somehow my mom understood that I was being honest -- I really wasn't sure -- and she didn't press me on it. In fact, she often reassured me that I probably hadn't committed the crime in question.
I also found myself praying constantly. I prayed for forgiveness. Unwanted thoughts about the truthfulness of the church would trouble me, so I prayed for a stronger testimony. I prayed to "know" whether or not I had actually committed the sins I worried about. I prayed for help overcoming my weaknesses, both real and imagined.
As I grew older and learned about sex, I became troubled with disturbing sexual images that would flash through my mind frequently (well, disturbing for a scrupulous pre-teen; I realize now they were pretty tame). [Laura's note: scrupulosity is a technical term for a moral or religiously fixated OCD. What Katie L describes above is a quintessential definition. For more on scrupulosity check out this scrupulosity blog and this article from Catholic Culture or the book Devil in the Details, about a girl growing up Jewish and with OCD.] For a period of about a month when I was 10 or 11, I refused to take the sacrament, because I believed I was unworthy due to "dirty thoughts." I feared that by partaking of the sacrament I would eat and drink damnation to my soul. (Finally my mom asked what was going on, and when I told her, she said it was okay to take the sacrament even if you couldn't completely eliminate bad thoughts from your mind, because that's what the atonement is all about.)
I began to fear the Second Coming because I believed that I would be cast into the fire due to the intrusive obsessions and my inability to be perfectly clean. I started begging God to wait to send Jesus until I was worthy, to give me enough time to properly repent of my sins.
As I've gotten older I've found that Doubt targets whatever is the most important to me. For example, in my late teens, I fell in love for the first time and began to think of myself as a sexual person who could be attractive to men. So OCD hit me there: I developed an obsession about my sexual orientation (this is different from real homosexual attractions or sexual curiosities; what I experienced were overpowering fears that one day I would wake up and suddenly "discover" I was gay).[Laura's note: H-OCD is a subset of OCD where the sufferer worries that they are actually gay but don't know it or that they have somehow done something that makes them gay but don't remember it. Often it takes the form of obsessing over the fact that the individual cannot ever remember being not-gay, not just straight but not-gay--a distinction that really only makes sense in the context of OCD. For more information on understanding the difference between sexual orientations and HOCD check out this website, Gay or Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder:Homosexual fears and OCD. Please, please, please don't think this is a comment on sexual orientation; it's not.]
On my mission, my doubts about the truthfulness of the church intensified to near-deafening levels. I found myself agonizing over the use of "you"-pronouns in the Book of Mormon -- did it use "ye" vs. "thee" properly? I struggled with feelings of unworthiness, and questions as to whether or not I had done bad things arose again. I confessed several non-sins to priesthood leaders on at least five separate occasions.
When I was pregnant with my daughter, I began obsessing that I might harm her after she was born. That's when I finally checked myself into therapy -- I simply could not bear those thoughts, nor their implications.
These days, although my symptoms are much milder thanks to effective treatment and a softer worldview that I've worked consciously to develop, I continue to struggle with obsessive thoughts. Lately, they tend to focus around whether the people I am close to "really" love me, the veracity of my religious beliefs (this one dies hard), and whether the food I'm about to eat is going to make me sick.
On my worst days, the obsessions are so overpowering that I think about little else. My stomach is in knots. I spend the day praying, checking things online, seeking reassurance -- and, of course, ruminating. Rumination involves trying to solve whatever unsolvable problem is in front of me, an attempt to "think" myself out of Doubt. Since I'm "Pure-O," this is by far my most consuming compulsion.
Because my compulsions are primarily mental, unless it's a really, really bad day, it's easy to hide my disorder. This is both a blessing and a curse. It's a blessing because there are often legitimate reasons why you might want to keep something like this private. But it's a curse because it isolates you. For example, for years my husband -- yes, the dude I live with every day! -- had no idea I struggled with anxiety because I was so skilled at hiding it, so adept at going through the motions of daily life, even while I was suffocating in Doubt's stranglehold.
I have had perfectly normal, funny, seemingly carefree interactions with people, while inside my mind and stomach are absolutely churning. I have often excused myself from a class, meeting, or conversation to retreat to the bathroom, drop to my knees in anguish, beg God to take it away -- and then stand up, look in the mirror, put my smile back on, and return to face the world.
That's a terrible way to live. I don't recommend it.
[Laura's note: Please come back and read part II. I promise this story has a better ending!!]
Katie L and Doubt: the story of a Mormon girl with Pure-O (part II)
This is part II of Katie L's story. For part I please read here.
My obsessions have almost always revolved around religion. (This is actually a common enough theme for OCD sufferers that it has its own term, "scrupulosity.") This has made my relationship with both the church and God very complicated. To be totally blunt, there are aspects of Mormon teaching and practice that make life hell for OCD sufferers like me (and that I believe are unnecessary burdens for the rest of the membership) -- and if I were in charge, I would change them in a heartbeat. (Which, let's be honest, might be one of the myriad reasons why God hasn't seen fit to put me in charge.) ;-)
Still, my commitment to my Mormon faith goes very deep. It has supplied me with so many beautiful things: my family, many of my closest friends and most rewarding associations, dozens if not hundreds of life-changing experiences, a language and culture and framework for service and worship that feed my soul.
When it comes right down to it, though, I consider myself a disciple of Jesus before anything else. Mormonism is my religious community where I fellowship and live out my faith; but my hope is in Christ alone. OCD has required that I let go of minutiae and details, or I'll drive myself crazy -- quite literally! -- and so, out of necessity, I choose to focus on one thing. That one thing is Christ. (And I'm not sure, but I the more I learn the more I discover that that just might be what the scriptures ask me to do anyway.) :-)
Bottom line: it's taken me a long time to get some space between OCD and what I really believe about God, but what I've discovered is full of hope. Still, I imagine that this is something I'll be unraveling until the day I die.
Since I've been officially diagnosed with OCD -- specifically, "Pure-O," or "Pure Obsessional" OCD things have gotten better. (This is really a misnomer; as best I understand it, OCD always contains both obsessions AND compulsions. It's just that a "Pure-O" sufferer tends to have mental, as opposed to physical, compulsions.)
For treatment, I've tried traditional talk therapy (this was before I was diagnosed, and while it was helpful in addressing some of the collateral damage my disorder caused, it didn't touch the core issue), mindfulness therapy (helpful!), and a 4-step process from a book called Brain Lock: Free Yourself from Obsessive Compulsive Behavior by Dr. Jeffrey M. Schwartz (SUPER DUPER HELPFUL!). There is nothing I won't consider, though the Brain Lock treatment I've been using lately has been effective enough that I might not need to explore too many more options. [Laura's note: from what I understand the majority of OCD sufferers do very well with Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, but there are also many who do not find relief until they try medication. For some, it takes a combination of both for relief.]
Having Pure-O OCD has made me much more spiritual than I believe I would have been without it. I have a tendency toward rigid, dogmatic, black-and-white thinking, and without OCD, I probably would have stayed there comfortably. But because I took my dogmatism to such an extreme that it was debilitating, I was forced to change my perspective for my very survival. Living like a Pharisee (like I did for years) is a spiritual dead end. Achieving moral perfection is simply impossible -- believe me, I've tried.
When God opened my eyes to the good news of His gospel, to the reality of His grace and mercy and love, it was like oxygen for a dying soul. I am now able to handle the messiness and ambiguity of life much better. I find myself filled with compassion and tolerance for others and their sins and weaknesses, because I have so much time agonizing over mine.
I believe that God gave me OCD to teach me how to love other people and to remind me how desperately I need Him. As painful as it has been over the years, I praise Him for that and consider it a gift.
On my best days, the anxiety is just a blip. An obsessive thought will come, and I'll make a mental note of it (or write it down on a note card), take inventory of the compulsion it wants me to perform, and then say, "Screw you, OCD. I'm NOT going to spend two hours agonizing over this. I'm gonna go do something else." And then I do.
I never expect the thoughts to go away. Maybe one day they will, but for now, I'm stuck with them. So I simply accept them, train myself to ignore them. I remind myself that if my heart is pumping, my stomach twisting, my hands cold and sweaty, then chances are it's an OCD thought and not something I need to take seriously.
So, on my best days, I don't.
I wish people understood how dang freakin' hard it is to diagnose this. Many Pure-O OCD sufferers go years, even in therapy, without a proper diagnosis. That's because, on face value, it can look a lot like general anxiety. A Pure-O OCD sufferer will come in with one obsession or another, and because there are no obvious compulsions like hand-washing or lock-checking, the therapist will treat the content of the obsession as opposed to the disorder itself.
In the end, it doesn't matter what you're obsessing about: OCD is about doubt (the obsession) and trying to neutralize that doubt (the compulsion). Whether you doubt that you really locked that door, or if your hands are really clean, or if your bad thoughts are enough to make God damn you for eternity -- and whether you respond by checking the doors, or washing your hands, or praying or confessing or ruminating -- it's irrelevant. You have to treat OCD like OCD to get better.
If anything that I've described today sounds familiar, I strongly recommend that you seek an evaluation from an OCD expert. I went through three counselors over five years before I finally found one who helped me figure out what was really going on with me. Getting the right diagnosis and the right treatment has made all the difference in my life.
Also, please feel free to reach out to me if there's anything I can do to help. I feel as though my own experiences have purpose and meaning when I can help others who are struggling. My email address is katiel2952 AT gmail DOT com.
To read more from Katie check out her blog Standing, Sitting, Lying Down. Also, if you'd like to share your own story of mood disorder or mental health issues feel free to email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Be sure to put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you're not a spammer!
My obsessions have almost always revolved around religion. (This is actually a common enough theme for OCD sufferers that it has its own term, "scrupulosity.") This has made my relationship with both the church and God very complicated. To be totally blunt, there are aspects of Mormon teaching and practice that make life hell for OCD sufferers like me (and that I believe are unnecessary burdens for the rest of the membership) -- and if I were in charge, I would change them in a heartbeat. (Which, let's be honest, might be one of the myriad reasons why God hasn't seen fit to put me in charge.) ;-)
Still, my commitment to my Mormon faith goes very deep. It has supplied me with so many beautiful things: my family, many of my closest friends and most rewarding associations, dozens if not hundreds of life-changing experiences, a language and culture and framework for service and worship that feed my soul.
When it comes right down to it, though, I consider myself a disciple of Jesus before anything else. Mormonism is my religious community where I fellowship and live out my faith; but my hope is in Christ alone. OCD has required that I let go of minutiae and details, or I'll drive myself crazy -- quite literally! -- and so, out of necessity, I choose to focus on one thing. That one thing is Christ. (And I'm not sure, but I the more I learn the more I discover that that just might be what the scriptures ask me to do anyway.) :-)
Bottom line: it's taken me a long time to get some space between OCD and what I really believe about God, but what I've discovered is full of hope. Still, I imagine that this is something I'll be unraveling until the day I die.
Since I've been officially diagnosed with OCD -- specifically, "Pure-O," or "Pure Obsessional" OCD things have gotten better. (This is really a misnomer; as best I understand it, OCD always contains both obsessions AND compulsions. It's just that a "Pure-O" sufferer tends to have mental, as opposed to physical, compulsions.)
For treatment, I've tried traditional talk therapy (this was before I was diagnosed, and while it was helpful in addressing some of the collateral damage my disorder caused, it didn't touch the core issue), mindfulness therapy (helpful!), and a 4-step process from a book called Brain Lock: Free Yourself from Obsessive Compulsive Behavior by Dr. Jeffrey M. Schwartz (SUPER DUPER HELPFUL!). There is nothing I won't consider, though the Brain Lock treatment I've been using lately has been effective enough that I might not need to explore too many more options. [Laura's note: from what I understand the majority of OCD sufferers do very well with Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, but there are also many who do not find relief until they try medication. For some, it takes a combination of both for relief.]
Having Pure-O OCD has made me much more spiritual than I believe I would have been without it. I have a tendency toward rigid, dogmatic, black-and-white thinking, and without OCD, I probably would have stayed there comfortably. But because I took my dogmatism to such an extreme that it was debilitating, I was forced to change my perspective for my very survival. Living like a Pharisee (like I did for years) is a spiritual dead end. Achieving moral perfection is simply impossible -- believe me, I've tried.
When God opened my eyes to the good news of His gospel, to the reality of His grace and mercy and love, it was like oxygen for a dying soul. I am now able to handle the messiness and ambiguity of life much better. I find myself filled with compassion and tolerance for others and their sins and weaknesses, because I have so much time agonizing over mine.
I believe that God gave me OCD to teach me how to love other people and to remind me how desperately I need Him. As painful as it has been over the years, I praise Him for that and consider it a gift.
On my best days, the anxiety is just a blip. An obsessive thought will come, and I'll make a mental note of it (or write it down on a note card), take inventory of the compulsion it wants me to perform, and then say, "Screw you, OCD. I'm NOT going to spend two hours agonizing over this. I'm gonna go do something else." And then I do.
I never expect the thoughts to go away. Maybe one day they will, but for now, I'm stuck with them. So I simply accept them, train myself to ignore them. I remind myself that if my heart is pumping, my stomach twisting, my hands cold and sweaty, then chances are it's an OCD thought and not something I need to take seriously.
So, on my best days, I don't.
I wish people understood how dang freakin' hard it is to diagnose this. Many Pure-O OCD sufferers go years, even in therapy, without a proper diagnosis. That's because, on face value, it can look a lot like general anxiety. A Pure-O OCD sufferer will come in with one obsession or another, and because there are no obvious compulsions like hand-washing or lock-checking, the therapist will treat the content of the obsession as opposed to the disorder itself.
In the end, it doesn't matter what you're obsessing about: OCD is about doubt (the obsession) and trying to neutralize that doubt (the compulsion). Whether you doubt that you really locked that door, or if your hands are really clean, or if your bad thoughts are enough to make God damn you for eternity -- and whether you respond by checking the doors, or washing your hands, or praying or confessing or ruminating -- it's irrelevant. You have to treat OCD like OCD to get better.
If anything that I've described today sounds familiar, I strongly recommend that you seek an evaluation from an OCD expert. I went through three counselors over five years before I finally found one who helped me figure out what was really going on with me. Getting the right diagnosis and the right treatment has made all the difference in my life.
Also, please feel free to reach out to me if there's anything I can do to help. I feel as though my own experiences have purpose and meaning when I can help others who are struggling. My email address is katiel2952 AT gmail DOT com.
To read more from Katie check out her blog Standing, Sitting, Lying Down. Also, if you'd like to share your own story of mood disorder or mental health issues feel free to email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Be sure to put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you're not a spammer!
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Depression Profile: Sandra S.
Hi readers! Remember when I used to do depression profiles? Well, right after I had my baby an amazing lady emailed me hers and I was all psyched--er, um, I should probably clarify: excited--to post it and then completely spaced it for three months! Sandra, I am truly, genuinely sorry. If you are still reading, THANK YOU for sending me this. You are an amazing woman. Sandra's honesty about her struggles was touching and eye-opening for me. I hope it is for you all too.
Name: Sandra S.
Age: 33
Location: Kansas
Other facts: Active Mormon, mother of five, born in Mexico but adopted by Americans in the 1980s, married at 19 (just like me!), Rick's College graduate.
I was never depressed growing up. I developed post-partum depression after the birth of my first baby. I didn't know what it was. I didn't know what was going on with me. All I knew was that I wasn't happy. I didn't know if my marriage would last. I didn't know if I had married the right person or married for the right reasons. Our marriage really struggled during this difficult time which lasted about 2 years. Regardless of my feelings and struggles, we decided to have another baby. A miracle! No depression. No crying for no reason, I was generally happy. I had my 2nd baby and you guessed it, depression hit. This time, we were a little better prepared. I went to to the doctor who diagnosed me and put me on Zoloft.
Even though I had been diagnosed and put on medication, I didn't want people to know about it. I was ashamed. I don't know why. Maybe because I didn't want others to know how weak I was, how I couldn't control my feelings. I don't know. I didn't take my medication very regularly, so I still had some good days and bad days.
A bad day. A bad day is not wanting to get out of bed at all. It's wanting so bad to tell C. (Sandra's DH) that I want him to stay home and take care of the kids. Take care of me. It's also not wanting to verbally ask C. to stay home. I want him to read my mind. My physical language is screaming for him to stay home. But he doesn't stay home. He doesn't read my mind. Doesn't see the physical signs. Doesn't see them or doesn't want to. Sometimes I don't know. A bad day is also wanting to wish the kids away. Sometimes just for a few hours, sometimes forever. A bad day is looking for ways to end my life. A bad day is looking at my life and wondering if this is really what I wanted. Is this all I have? If it's not a particularly bad day, I can take a good, hard look and say, "Yes." Yes, this is what I wanted. Before depression took over and C. and I were dating, this is what we talked about. I wanted kids, wanted to stay home. Wanted to run them to school activities, sports, etc. I have that. So why can't I be happy?
A good day. A good day is being my old self again. Being who I was when we were dating. Being generally happy. Being carefree and glad I am a mom. Being glad I have 5 amazing kids. A good day is getting through it without being cross or short with my family. It's being able to feed them, instead of staying in bed all day. A good day is having me take care of the younger kids instead of asking the older ones to help more than they should. A good day is knowing that I will get through this. Somehow.
I have tried to get therapy for my depression. In the end, I just can't stick with it. I go and feel fine when I'm there, so I feel lame because if I feel ok, why should I be there? I feel ok when I go because you can't go out in public in tears. I can't cry in public. I can't show up being sad. I should show up happy and put together. So why would somebody that's happy and put together need therapy? I haven't tried an LDS therapist though. Maybe that would be worth looking into.
Currently I am taking 120mg of Cymbalta. I am told that's the highest dosage. I am not sure how that's working out. I don't know if it's the medicine or the depression that causes me to be tired all the time. After I get the older kids to school, I come home, turn on the tv for the little ones and they watch it all morning long while I try to sleep on the couch. No breakfast for them most mornings. Sometimes there's lunch. I think they have learned to fend for themselves a little and will sneak food from the kitchen to the basement. I just want to sleep all the time. What kind of mother am I being when I can't even feed my kids? I am crying as I'm typing this because it is so sad. So sad.
I believe depression runs in my family. I have 2 sisters that have struggled with this. I don't talk to them about it. I don't know why. I would really like my biological mom be here and help me through this. I miss her terribly. Sometimes thinking about her will set me off on a crying fit.
The depression has affected my spirituality a lot. I find myself really doubting the church. I haven't been to the temple in years and I really have no desire to go any time soon. I am in the YW organization which requires a lot of time. I love the girls and I do like my calling. Sometimes it's just too much though. I often wonder if the church will ever cut back on activities or meetings. I have asked C. for blessings but find myself wondering if it will really do any good. I have no faith sometimes. I wonder if I am being punished just because I am a woman. Because I am a woman, I have to have periods. Have babies. Be more emotional. Be more susceptible to depression. Be less likely to have orgasms. Men don't have periods, babies or anything emotional that comes with all that. But they do have orgasms. I know, orgasms are kind of random in here, but it's something that really bothers me.
So that's my profile. Sounds really lame and pathetic when it's written down. Oh, yeah. After our 4th baby we were done having kids. I wanted to be a good mom to the 4 we already had and didn't want to go through depression again. Surprise! A big, unexpected, unwanted surprise. I spiraled into a deep depression when I found out I was expecting. I did not want this again. When I went to the hospital to have the baby I really think I had an anxiety attack. I was crying for no reason all the time. I had to stay a little longer because I had high blood pressure and I couldn't handle the thought of bringing the baby home. None of the nurses recognized what was happening even though I'd be in tears whenever they came into the room. I had never gotten depressed at the hospital, it always hit me a few weeks after the baby was born. This was new and it scared me a lot. During that pregnancy, Craig had a vasectomy. That baby is 2 now and is such a fun little guy. It's still hard dealing with depression. Sometime even taking it 1 day at a time seems too much. One moment at a time seems more doable right now.
Sandra, I'm still praying for you and I hope you will keep me posted! You may not feel it but you are an inspiration for enduring the hard times.
Name: Sandra S.
Age: 33
Location: Kansas
Other facts: Active Mormon, mother of five, born in Mexico but adopted by Americans in the 1980s, married at 19 (just like me!), Rick's College graduate.
I was never depressed growing up. I developed post-partum depression after the birth of my first baby. I didn't know what it was. I didn't know what was going on with me. All I knew was that I wasn't happy. I didn't know if my marriage would last. I didn't know if I had married the right person or married for the right reasons. Our marriage really struggled during this difficult time which lasted about 2 years. Regardless of my feelings and struggles, we decided to have another baby. A miracle! No depression. No crying for no reason, I was generally happy. I had my 2nd baby and you guessed it, depression hit. This time, we were a little better prepared. I went to to the doctor who diagnosed me and put me on Zoloft.
Even though I had been diagnosed and put on medication, I didn't want people to know about it. I was ashamed. I don't know why. Maybe because I didn't want others to know how weak I was, how I couldn't control my feelings. I don't know. I didn't take my medication very regularly, so I still had some good days and bad days.
A bad day. A bad day is not wanting to get out of bed at all. It's wanting so bad to tell C. (Sandra's DH) that I want him to stay home and take care of the kids. Take care of me. It's also not wanting to verbally ask C. to stay home. I want him to read my mind. My physical language is screaming for him to stay home. But he doesn't stay home. He doesn't read my mind. Doesn't see the physical signs. Doesn't see them or doesn't want to. Sometimes I don't know. A bad day is also wanting to wish the kids away. Sometimes just for a few hours, sometimes forever. A bad day is looking for ways to end my life. A bad day is looking at my life and wondering if this is really what I wanted. Is this all I have? If it's not a particularly bad day, I can take a good, hard look and say, "Yes." Yes, this is what I wanted. Before depression took over and C. and I were dating, this is what we talked about. I wanted kids, wanted to stay home. Wanted to run them to school activities, sports, etc. I have that. So why can't I be happy?
A good day. A good day is being my old self again. Being who I was when we were dating. Being generally happy. Being carefree and glad I am a mom. Being glad I have 5 amazing kids. A good day is getting through it without being cross or short with my family. It's being able to feed them, instead of staying in bed all day. A good day is having me take care of the younger kids instead of asking the older ones to help more than they should. A good day is knowing that I will get through this. Somehow.
I have tried to get therapy for my depression. In the end, I just can't stick with it. I go and feel fine when I'm there, so I feel lame because if I feel ok, why should I be there? I feel ok when I go because you can't go out in public in tears. I can't cry in public. I can't show up being sad. I should show up happy and put together. So why would somebody that's happy and put together need therapy? I haven't tried an LDS therapist though. Maybe that would be worth looking into.
Currently I am taking 120mg of Cymbalta. I am told that's the highest dosage. I am not sure how that's working out. I don't know if it's the medicine or the depression that causes me to be tired all the time. After I get the older kids to school, I come home, turn on the tv for the little ones and they watch it all morning long while I try to sleep on the couch. No breakfast for them most mornings. Sometimes there's lunch. I think they have learned to fend for themselves a little and will sneak food from the kitchen to the basement. I just want to sleep all the time. What kind of mother am I being when I can't even feed my kids? I am crying as I'm typing this because it is so sad. So sad.
I believe depression runs in my family. I have 2 sisters that have struggled with this. I don't talk to them about it. I don't know why. I would really like my biological mom be here and help me through this. I miss her terribly. Sometimes thinking about her will set me off on a crying fit.
The depression has affected my spirituality a lot. I find myself really doubting the church. I haven't been to the temple in years and I really have no desire to go any time soon. I am in the YW organization which requires a lot of time. I love the girls and I do like my calling. Sometimes it's just too much though. I often wonder if the church will ever cut back on activities or meetings. I have asked C. for blessings but find myself wondering if it will really do any good. I have no faith sometimes. I wonder if I am being punished just because I am a woman. Because I am a woman, I have to have periods. Have babies. Be more emotional. Be more susceptible to depression. Be less likely to have orgasms. Men don't have periods, babies or anything emotional that comes with all that. But they do have orgasms. I know, orgasms are kind of random in here, but it's something that really bothers me.
So that's my profile. Sounds really lame and pathetic when it's written down. Oh, yeah. After our 4th baby we were done having kids. I wanted to be a good mom to the 4 we already had and didn't want to go through depression again. Surprise! A big, unexpected, unwanted surprise. I spiraled into a deep depression when I found out I was expecting. I did not want this again. When I went to the hospital to have the baby I really think I had an anxiety attack. I was crying for no reason all the time. I had to stay a little longer because I had high blood pressure and I couldn't handle the thought of bringing the baby home. None of the nurses recognized what was happening even though I'd be in tears whenever they came into the room. I had never gotten depressed at the hospital, it always hit me a few weeks after the baby was born. This was new and it scared me a lot. During that pregnancy, Craig had a vasectomy. That baby is 2 now and is such a fun little guy. It's still hard dealing with depression. Sometime even taking it 1 day at a time seems too much. One moment at a time seems more doable right now.
Sandra, I'm still praying for you and I hope you will keep me posted! You may not feel it but you are an inspiration for enduring the hard times.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Depression Profile: Melissa
I haven't done a Depression Profile in a while. But I came across this blogger, Melissa at Pressing Forward With Faith, and thought you all might enjoy her stuff about depression.
Be sure to check out her sidebar. She totally owns this illness. But she also doesn't let it hold her back. I love that.
Thanks for sharing with us Melissa!
Be sure to check out her sidebar. She totally owns this illness. But she also doesn't let it hold her back. I love that.
Thanks for sharing with us Melissa!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Book Review: Hold on the Light Will Come
Hi friends!
One quick note: I updated my goodreads widget so check it out to see what I've been reading!
Now to business.
I recently read Michael McLean's book, Hold On, the Light Will Come, and I have to say that I was a little disappointed. I suppose it was because I had my hopes all up and that rarely leads to a good reading experience. You'd think I'd know better by now.
McLean and I go way back. Fifteen years in fact. I remember getting a tape of his for Christmas when I was eleven (I think it was the only tape I ever owned; I got cd's after that) and my dad was in the bishopric of a student ward. I was doing community theater by that point and was gone a lot. Anyway, I came home from play practice one Monday night to a house full of college students and my parents nowhere in sight. I mean, the place was packed. It was a Family Home Evening group and since we lived in Utah there were probably forty giddy co-eds kicking it in our house. They were in the kitchen, the living room, the backyard, everywhere. So I did what any tweenaged girl would do. I panicked. I locked myself in my bedroom (which I was sharing with my older sister) and turned on the tunes. Michael McLean's "You're Not Alone" came pouring out of the speakers on my little boombox and soothed me. I rewound it and listened to it over and over until my sister finally came in and asked me what the heck I was doing and didn't I want refreshments?
As an older teen I liked listening to his music and I would sometimes put lines up on my wall (I wallpapered my room in quotations from music, poetry, and books), but even then I knew they didn't make whole lot of sense. Emotionally they were satisfying but artistically they left something to be desired. (His song about anger, "If it's not love, simply let it go", is a perfect is example. Since when is anger like an innocent, injured bird? Only if that bird is an angry goose and you're the last picnicker and you're all out of bread crumbs.) Nevertheless, I still looked forward to our family's annual attendance of The Forgotten Carols concert at USU and even the cheesy hand holding and singing at the end.
I eventually got too sophisticated for Michael McLean and forgot him completely until my sister mentioned the fact that he was depressed. She said she'd read about it in one of his books and she liked what he had said. My heart thrilled a little. What? Another depressed Mormon? One who's open about? One who used his art to help fix it? Maybe, just maybe, Michael McLean had a few more thoughts worth hearing. So I read the book.
Here's what he said about depression:
And that was it. The rest of the book is just as cheesy and campy as his music. At first I took it personally that he glossed over all the struggles and I wondered if Deseret Book had pressured him keep the depression talk to a minimum. And maybe they did. Maybe I should just be happy that he owned up the fact that he's depressed and on antidepressants. Besides Marie Osmond, who also sings campy music (coincidentally? hmm. . .), McLean is one of the few Mormons who owns up to mood disorder struggles and needing help.
But I wanted more. I still want to know if he has suicidal thoughts or violent visions. Has he ever been so depressed he couldn't feel the Spirit? How does his wife live with it? How has it affected his children? How could he hear the music through the crazy? Really, I wanted to know if he was like me and if had any survival tips. This book didn't answer any of those questions.
It's funny to me, though, that I can't let Michael McLean go. I still have his autograph tucked away in one of my journals somewhere. Seriously. I actually waited in line at a book store so that he could sign a bright green sticky note for me.(My only thought at the time: "Man! He's old!") A lot of the time, when I'm really frustrated and overwhelmed random lyrics will come to me. "Which part is mine? And, God, which part is yours? Could you tell me one more time? I'm never quite sure?" is like a muzak-ghost some days. Or even, "like an awkward dancer on a crowded floor, I'll learn to dance once more, someday." And, of course, "You're not alone." My brain still pulls that out as a reminder sometimes.
Despite my general frustration with his music, there is one song of his that I have always loved. "Gentle" really meant a lot to me as a high schooler and I still think it has some merit. Here's my favorite part (for all the lyrics click here):
Life can hard, but we need not be
so hard on ourselves, if we will see…
Like the shepherd leads his flock with gentle commands.
With his gentle voice that only hearts understand.
One thing we can know for certain, He has borne the awful burdens
So we can be gentle with ourselves.
Still gets me. Every time. I guess I shouldn't write him off after all.
One quick note: I updated my goodreads widget so check it out to see what I've been reading!
Now to business.
I recently read Michael McLean's book, Hold On, the Light Will Come, and I have to say that I was a little disappointed. I suppose it was because I had my hopes all up and that rarely leads to a good reading experience. You'd think I'd know better by now.
McLean and I go way back. Fifteen years in fact. I remember getting a tape of his for Christmas when I was eleven (I think it was the only tape I ever owned; I got cd's after that) and my dad was in the bishopric of a student ward. I was doing community theater by that point and was gone a lot. Anyway, I came home from play practice one Monday night to a house full of college students and my parents nowhere in sight. I mean, the place was packed. It was a Family Home Evening group and since we lived in Utah there were probably forty giddy co-eds kicking it in our house. They were in the kitchen, the living room, the backyard, everywhere. So I did what any tweenaged girl would do. I panicked. I locked myself in my bedroom (which I was sharing with my older sister) and turned on the tunes. Michael McLean's "You're Not Alone" came pouring out of the speakers on my little boombox and soothed me. I rewound it and listened to it over and over until my sister finally came in and asked me what the heck I was doing and didn't I want refreshments?
As an older teen I liked listening to his music and I would sometimes put lines up on my wall (I wallpapered my room in quotations from music, poetry, and books), but even then I knew they didn't make whole lot of sense. Emotionally they were satisfying but artistically they left something to be desired. (His song about anger, "If it's not love, simply let it go", is a perfect is example. Since when is anger like an innocent, injured bird? Only if that bird is an angry goose and you're the last picnicker and you're all out of bread crumbs.) Nevertheless, I still looked forward to our family's annual attendance of The Forgotten Carols concert at USU and even the cheesy hand holding and singing at the end.
I eventually got too sophisticated for Michael McLean and forgot him completely until my sister mentioned the fact that he was depressed. She said she'd read about it in one of his books and she liked what he had said. My heart thrilled a little. What? Another depressed Mormon? One who's open about? One who used his art to help fix it? Maybe, just maybe, Michael McLean had a few more thoughts worth hearing. So I read the book.
Here's what he said about depression:
I know life's hard and things are tough . . . I know how dark it can feel . . . why do you think I'm waiting in line for antidepressants? But when i hear a story in a song, and someone overcomes something, or finds a way to hold on or learns how to let go or discovers something that alters the way they view their life, I want to celebrate it[. . .]I want to know that somewhere inside of me I'm capable of feeling hope" (p. 3).
And that was it. The rest of the book is just as cheesy and campy as his music. At first I took it personally that he glossed over all the struggles and I wondered if Deseret Book had pressured him keep the depression talk to a minimum. And maybe they did. Maybe I should just be happy that he owned up the fact that he's depressed and on antidepressants. Besides Marie Osmond, who also sings campy music (coincidentally? hmm. . .), McLean is one of the few Mormons who owns up to mood disorder struggles and needing help.
But I wanted more. I still want to know if he has suicidal thoughts or violent visions. Has he ever been so depressed he couldn't feel the Spirit? How does his wife live with it? How has it affected his children? How could he hear the music through the crazy? Really, I wanted to know if he was like me and if had any survival tips. This book didn't answer any of those questions.
It's funny to me, though, that I can't let Michael McLean go. I still have his autograph tucked away in one of my journals somewhere. Seriously. I actually waited in line at a book store so that he could sign a bright green sticky note for me.(My only thought at the time: "Man! He's old!") A lot of the time, when I'm really frustrated and overwhelmed random lyrics will come to me. "Which part is mine? And, God, which part is yours? Could you tell me one more time? I'm never quite sure?" is like a muzak-ghost some days. Or even, "like an awkward dancer on a crowded floor, I'll learn to dance once more, someday." And, of course, "You're not alone." My brain still pulls that out as a reminder sometimes.
Despite my general frustration with his music, there is one song of his that I have always loved. "Gentle" really meant a lot to me as a high schooler and I still think it has some merit. Here's my favorite part (for all the lyrics click here):
Life can hard, but we need not be
so hard on ourselves, if we will see…
Like the shepherd leads his flock with gentle commands.
With his gentle voice that only hearts understand.
One thing we can know for certain, He has borne the awful burdens
So we can be gentle with ourselves.
Still gets me. Every time. I guess I shouldn't write him off after all.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Depression Profile: Sue at Um, Thanks for Sharing
One of the best things about blogs is the discovery that you are not alone. My latest find: Sue! Sue is a warrior mommy--she's conquered perinatal and postpartum depression along with some generalized anxiety--with three kids and some truly insightful posts.
Confessions of an Anxiety Ridden Mother could have been my own story. I know what it's like to punch walls and yell at infants even when I know I shouldn't. I loved her honesty about how difficult it is to be a mom, a supportive wife, and a person in your own right. Be sure to look through the comments, too. Her post struck a nerve with several people. Here was one comment that really caught my eye:
I know Relief Society isn't meant to work this way, but sometimes it does. My personal solution? Just start admitting your flaws--the real ones, not just the cute quirky ones--when you make a comment. When one person gets real the rest seem to follow. I have to say, though, I'm not the first woman in our ward to do this. There are a couple sisters out there who really open themselves up and put themselves out there and I love it. (Nancy, Verna, De--you are ladies I so admire!) It is only when we are real with each other that I come close to understanding what the concept of Zion is all about.
Another post by Sue, If the Problem Gets Solved, Does it Really Matter How You Solved it?, is the story of how a nice girl with some solid biological issues ends up deciding to she needs medicine. It's a tough decision but Sue makes it deliberately and wisely.
One part I really appreciated was the description of her supportive husband:
Every depressed person needs someone like this in their life. Someone with knowledge and compassion. Someone who may not be living it but wants to be with you while you do. Someone who can reassure you when your resolve wavers. Sue is extremely lucky that this person is her husband. For me, that support has come through different people at different times. My sister has been there for me (thanks to our cell phones that we use more like walky-talkies!). My husband pulls me out of some sad, icky places when my mind is holding me hostage. Mommy friends,oh!, of course the mommy friends! Having someone to sit in the park/ice cream shop/coffee (except we only ever order steamers and sometimes a pastry) shop with and kvetch about the bad times, well, that's priceless. And, when I'm too afraid to tell anyone else how nuts I really feel, my therapist is there. She isn't fazed by anything.
Thanks, Sue, for your example and your courage. Telling your story is definitely blessing other people's lives. All us other But Not Unhappy Mommies are sending good vibes your way!
Confessions of an Anxiety Ridden Mother could have been my own story. I know what it's like to punch walls and yell at infants even when I know I shouldn't. I loved her honesty about how difficult it is to be a mom, a supportive wife, and a person in your own right. Be sure to look through the comments, too. Her post struck a nerve with several people. Here was one comment that really caught my eye:
Antidpressive meds were designed for the modern LDS woman! First of all, we all attempt to accomplish too much... and if you attend relief society on a regular basis, you try even harder. Calm down and realize that you are a wonderful person who is greatly loved and respected for all the tasks you accomplish.
I know Relief Society isn't meant to work this way, but sometimes it does. My personal solution? Just start admitting your flaws--the real ones, not just the cute quirky ones--when you make a comment. When one person gets real the rest seem to follow. I have to say, though, I'm not the first woman in our ward to do this. There are a couple sisters out there who really open themselves up and put themselves out there and I love it. (Nancy, Verna, De--you are ladies I so admire!) It is only when we are real with each other that I come close to understanding what the concept of Zion is all about.
Another post by Sue, If the Problem Gets Solved, Does it Really Matter How You Solved it?, is the story of how a nice girl with some solid biological issues ends up deciding to she needs medicine. It's a tough decision but Sue makes it deliberately and wisely.
One part I really appreciated was the description of her supportive husband:
I often think about how blessed I am to be married to Dan specifically because of his understanding and support about my treatment for depression. Not only does he have the scientific knowledge of depression, but he has also seen first-hand, from the time he was a little child, the effects of depression. And he knows that the meds work and that they are beneficial. When I started taking anti-depressants, I used them for about a year or so, then went off them during my pregnancy with Lily (not because they're unsafe, but because I was feeling pretty good and didn't think I needed them.) Then when she was about eight months old, I went through a bad time and Dan pointed out that he had watched the same cycle throughout our marriage, that I would fight and try to be positive for six or eight months, then I'd have a drawn out episode of depression that lasted for a couple months. It really caught my attention to hear him say there was a pattern to my behavior.
I was still feeling a little bit like I was weak for needing to take anti-depressants, that now that I was aware of my tendency for getting depressed, I should be able to combat it on my own with behavior modification, attitude adjustment, and lots of prayer. I worked with a counselor for 8 or 9 months and learned so much about my thought processes and emotional tendencies. But even with this knowledge, I still couldn't conquer the beast. I went on and off the meds two more times while Lily was a toddler. After hearing Dan tell me over and over that taking meds wasn't a sign of weakness, it was the same as a diabetic taking their insulin, I started accepting that for me, taking an anti-depressant wasn't a temporary solution to help me kick-start my system. It was something that my brain chemistry required regularly to stay balanced. I was a lifer.
Every depressed person needs someone like this in their life. Someone with knowledge and compassion. Someone who may not be living it but wants to be with you while you do. Someone who can reassure you when your resolve wavers. Sue is extremely lucky that this person is her husband. For me, that support has come through different people at different times. My sister has been there for me (thanks to our cell phones that we use more like walky-talkies!). My husband pulls me out of some sad, icky places when my mind is holding me hostage. Mommy friends,oh!, of course the mommy friends! Having someone to sit in the park/ice cream shop/coffee (except we only ever order steamers and sometimes a pastry) shop with and kvetch about the bad times, well, that's priceless. And, when I'm too afraid to tell anyone else how nuts I really feel, my therapist is there. She isn't fazed by anything.
Thanks, Sue, for your example and your courage. Telling your story is definitely blessing other people's lives. All us other But Not Unhappy Mommies are sending good vibes your way!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Depression Profiles Wanted! Share your story!
Hi friends, thanks to me being really tired (I've got a cold) and some wonderfully kind bloggers linking to me (Thanks Camarena Circus and Postpartum Progress!)I thought I would do a shout out for Depression Profiles. It's been quite a while since I posted one and they are so important!
What is a Depression Profile, you ask? Well, that is what I call the short interviews I post with other depressed people. In a Depression Profile you can share your story your own way, like Doc did, or you can just answer my questions and I'll post it in a Q&A format, like Annalee chose. You don't have to be a member of the LDS Church, like Courtney. I just want to know about you. Oh, and you can be totally anonymous if you want.
I want to reiterate how important these profiles are. Depression is a tricky illness and everybody (the media, well-meaning bishops/doctors/teachers/anyone in authority positions, spouses, children, parents, men, women . . .you get the idea) wants to simplify it. They want it to be easy to spot and easy to treat. But depression is a varied thing and the only way we can understand it is to share our experiences. So, please, if you feel like you can, share your story here. We all benefit from each other's wisdom and perspective!
If you would like to share your story, email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Please put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you aren't a spammer :)
Oh, and if you like to take quizzes about yourself (and what red-blooded American doesn't?) try this one: What type of depression are you? The coding is bad/ugly, but it's interesting. I came out with cyclothymic disorder. Since the quiz is only five questions long, I took it twice just to be sure. Never heard of it before but it sounds interesting! Too bad I don't really have "episodes of hypomania", though. My therapist will love this *wink*.
What is a Depression Profile, you ask? Well, that is what I call the short interviews I post with other depressed people. In a Depression Profile you can share your story your own way, like Doc did, or you can just answer my questions and I'll post it in a Q&A format, like Annalee chose. You don't have to be a member of the LDS Church, like Courtney. I just want to know about you. Oh, and you can be totally anonymous if you want.
I want to reiterate how important these profiles are. Depression is a tricky illness and everybody (the media, well-meaning bishops/doctors/teachers/anyone in authority positions, spouses, children, parents, men, women . . .you get the idea) wants to simplify it. They want it to be easy to spot and easy to treat. But depression is a varied thing and the only way we can understand it is to share our experiences. So, please, if you feel like you can, share your story here. We all benefit from each other's wisdom and perspective!
If you would like to share your story, email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Please put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you aren't a spammer :)
Oh, and if you like to take quizzes about yourself (and what red-blooded American doesn't?) try this one: What type of depression are you? The coding is bad/ugly, but it's interesting. I came out with cyclothymic disorder. Since the quiz is only five questions long, I took it twice just to be sure. Never heard of it before but it sounds interesting! Too bad I don't really have "episodes of hypomania", though. My therapist will love this *wink*.
Friday, January 16, 2009
We interrupt your regularly scheduled post for a Depression Profile
I know, I know. I was going to be all regular about my posting and I'm sure all of you are expecting the another But Not Unhappy Science Friday, but I have another Depression Profile to share with you and I was just so excited I couldn't wait! I love it when we share our stories. We all have so much to learn from each other.
Name: Courtney
Age: 24
Location: Colorado
I was officially diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, OCD, and anxiety disorder when I was 15 years old. Currently my psychiatrist does not believe that I have bipolar, she has suggested that perhaps I was diagnosed too young and I just have depression with OCD and anxiety. I have been this way since I was very little according to my mother. I first noticed it when I was probably about 12 or 13. As a child I was rapid cycling bipolar so my moods shifted quickly, sometimes several times a day and sometimes just several times over a few days. After I had my son I suffered from severe post partum, which was exacerbated by a lot of external forces at the time. I also suffered from severe post partum right after I had my daughter 9 months ago. I think I am still feeling a bit of that.
My worst days vary. Sometimes it means I feel totally hopeless and spend a lot of time crying and sitting at the computer. I just meet my children’s basic needs and I feel a lot of guilt. Sometimes I get really hostile and angry. It seems I have no fuse and no filter. I say whatever comes into my head and I feel myself loose control quickly. Then I feel a lot of guilt for being so mean and upsetting my family.
My best days I feel like I am okay, I feel happy and hopeful. I feel like I want to go places and see people. I want to be part of society and I am pleasant and I actually laugh about things! I am more patient as well.
I have seen several therapists and psychiatrists. I took meds for bipolar at age 15 switching between several to find the right ones. I stopped treatment at 18, then went back when I was pregnant with my son. I was terrified that I would have severe postpartum because I was predisposed to it with the bipolar. I started taking meds the minute he was born, but stopped them when he was 6 months old. That was a mistake. I spiraled down fast and I was out of control miserable. I tried to go back and get help at the mental health center in [my town] but had a horrible experience. I was having a lot of rage. I felt out of control and I was trying to find a way to help and feel less angry, I explained what was going on that I had lost it and smacked my sons hand after he pulled all the wipes out of the box for the millionth time and she called social services. They came to my house and looked at my son and thankfully closed the case. But I was terrified and the damage was done. I was too afraid to go back and get the help I needed. Anyway right after my daughter was born I went back and got help again. I currently see a psychiatrist for meds and I see a therapist once a week.
The medication has always been iffy for me because I hate taking it so a lot of times I would forget or stop treatment before it had time to work. I cannot really remember my childhood reaction because I was not really sure what was wrong. Therapy has always been a great tool for me and really just good friends who are willing to talk and accept me the way I am without a stigma. I am trying medication again because I am tired of trying to control it all on my own. With two children life is so much more complex. There’s no time for insanity. Especially since my husband is in school full time (night classes) and he works full time. I am also a part time student. Its hectic.
I think I always felt extreme guilt for what I lacked. I searched for the Spirit and always felt that I had a special connection with God because I really felt He was the one person who truly understood me and knew the real me. I felt great compassion for others and I really did feel connected to the spirit. I had a lot of time with prayers though. I tried to pray but could not quiet my mind enough to hear the answers. I always doubted and never really felt sure I was getting and answer.
I was always feeling that if I just did more, tried harder, maybe I would feel better. I never felt like I measured up. I obsessed over not being righteous enough. I worried about not fitting in with people at Church. They seemed so happy and perfect and I was so NOT. I always sensed the façade that members put on. So many people were afraid to tell the real truth about things like mental illness or anything that would be perceived as imperfect. [Laura's note: That's one thing I'm trying to help with at the But Not Unhappy Blog. Mental illness and mood disorders are NOT sins! We can talk about it and reach out to each other.]
I left the church a year ago for one reason; I just didn’t believe that Joseph Smith was a prophet anymore. I read a lot of historical materials about the Church and about Joseph and I just could not make my new vision of all that fit with the vision I had grown up with.
It was devastating because it made me question the reality of God which sent me into a deeper depression. I relied so heavily on God for so many years and suddenly I felt cut off. I was lost. I still am in a lot of ways. I worry about it all the time. I obsess over his reality and what comes after this life. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in it, it sinks me and I feel so hopeless. I am trying at the moment to find God again, taking baby steps just to get some of what I lost back.
Since leaving the Church my guilt has gone away. I don’t feel so bad because I don’t set myself up to a standard that for me was impossible to reach. I am better able to accept my flaws and imperfections.
I wish there was not such a stigma attached to bipolar. To me depression alone seems a little more common these days, but bipolar is still very stereotyped, and feared. I wish people knew that being bipolar doesn’t make you psycho, it just means you are overly moody. I just wish people had more of an open mind and heart to people who are suffering from afflictions like this.
I want to thank Courtney for sharing her story and being honest about her experiences with the Church. While not all depressed people have the same experiences, I think it is valuable to all of us to see the other viewpoints. I'm sending Courtney lots of good vibes and wish her luck in her search for God. I know He will guide her and reach out to her. Thanks Courtney!
Name: Courtney
Age: 24
Location: Colorado
I was officially diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, OCD, and anxiety disorder when I was 15 years old. Currently my psychiatrist does not believe that I have bipolar, she has suggested that perhaps I was diagnosed too young and I just have depression with OCD and anxiety. I have been this way since I was very little according to my mother. I first noticed it when I was probably about 12 or 13. As a child I was rapid cycling bipolar so my moods shifted quickly, sometimes several times a day and sometimes just several times over a few days. After I had my son I suffered from severe post partum, which was exacerbated by a lot of external forces at the time. I also suffered from severe post partum right after I had my daughter 9 months ago. I think I am still feeling a bit of that.
My worst days vary. Sometimes it means I feel totally hopeless and spend a lot of time crying and sitting at the computer. I just meet my children’s basic needs and I feel a lot of guilt. Sometimes I get really hostile and angry. It seems I have no fuse and no filter. I say whatever comes into my head and I feel myself loose control quickly. Then I feel a lot of guilt for being so mean and upsetting my family.
My best days I feel like I am okay, I feel happy and hopeful. I feel like I want to go places and see people. I want to be part of society and I am pleasant and I actually laugh about things! I am more patient as well.
I have seen several therapists and psychiatrists. I took meds for bipolar at age 15 switching between several to find the right ones. I stopped treatment at 18, then went back when I was pregnant with my son. I was terrified that I would have severe postpartum because I was predisposed to it with the bipolar. I started taking meds the minute he was born, but stopped them when he was 6 months old. That was a mistake. I spiraled down fast and I was out of control miserable. I tried to go back and get help at the mental health center in [my town] but had a horrible experience. I was having a lot of rage. I felt out of control and I was trying to find a way to help and feel less angry, I explained what was going on that I had lost it and smacked my sons hand after he pulled all the wipes out of the box for the millionth time and she called social services. They came to my house and looked at my son and thankfully closed the case. But I was terrified and the damage was done. I was too afraid to go back and get the help I needed. Anyway right after my daughter was born I went back and got help again. I currently see a psychiatrist for meds and I see a therapist once a week.
The medication has always been iffy for me because I hate taking it so a lot of times I would forget or stop treatment before it had time to work. I cannot really remember my childhood reaction because I was not really sure what was wrong. Therapy has always been a great tool for me and really just good friends who are willing to talk and accept me the way I am without a stigma. I am trying medication again because I am tired of trying to control it all on my own. With two children life is so much more complex. There’s no time for insanity. Especially since my husband is in school full time (night classes) and he works full time. I am also a part time student. Its hectic.
I think I always felt extreme guilt for what I lacked. I searched for the Spirit and always felt that I had a special connection with God because I really felt He was the one person who truly understood me and knew the real me. I felt great compassion for others and I really did feel connected to the spirit. I had a lot of time with prayers though. I tried to pray but could not quiet my mind enough to hear the answers. I always doubted and never really felt sure I was getting and answer.
I was always feeling that if I just did more, tried harder, maybe I would feel better. I never felt like I measured up. I obsessed over not being righteous enough. I worried about not fitting in with people at Church. They seemed so happy and perfect and I was so NOT. I always sensed the façade that members put on. So many people were afraid to tell the real truth about things like mental illness or anything that would be perceived as imperfect. [Laura's note: That's one thing I'm trying to help with at the But Not Unhappy Blog. Mental illness and mood disorders are NOT sins! We can talk about it and reach out to each other.]
I left the church a year ago for one reason; I just didn’t believe that Joseph Smith was a prophet anymore. I read a lot of historical materials about the Church and about Joseph and I just could not make my new vision of all that fit with the vision I had grown up with.
It was devastating because it made me question the reality of God which sent me into a deeper depression. I relied so heavily on God for so many years and suddenly I felt cut off. I was lost. I still am in a lot of ways. I worry about it all the time. I obsess over his reality and what comes after this life. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in it, it sinks me and I feel so hopeless. I am trying at the moment to find God again, taking baby steps just to get some of what I lost back.
Since leaving the Church my guilt has gone away. I don’t feel so bad because I don’t set myself up to a standard that for me was impossible to reach. I am better able to accept my flaws and imperfections.
I wish there was not such a stigma attached to bipolar. To me depression alone seems a little more common these days, but bipolar is still very stereotyped, and feared. I wish people knew that being bipolar doesn’t make you psycho, it just means you are overly moody. I just wish people had more of an open mind and heart to people who are suffering from afflictions like this.
I want to thank Courtney for sharing her story and being honest about her experiences with the Church. While not all depressed people have the same experiences, I think it is valuable to all of us to see the other viewpoints. I'm sending Courtney lots of good vibes and wish her luck in her search for God. I know He will guide her and reach out to her. Thanks Courtney!
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Depression Profile: Kelly "Depression can't be fixed, it can only be managed"
Name: Kelly (name has been selected from a random name generator. Well, not really. But wouldn't one of those come in handy?)
Age: 33
Location: Utah
1. Have you ever been officially diagnosed? How do you classify your depression? (i.e. post partum depression, anxiety/depression, clinical depression, etc.)
I have been diagnosed by my doctor with clinical depression and anxiety disorder. I also suffer from post partum depression.
2. How long have you been depressed?
I remember being sad and having anxiety since I was about ten. I remember contemplating suicide often during my teen and early adult years. My symptoms became the worst after I had kids. When my life is overwhelming, then my symptoms become worse.
3. What are you like on your worst days?
My mind won’t stop. I think about way too many things in a very negative way. Everything sucks…Everyone sucks…The world is out to get me. I have the type of depression that makes it so I don’t stop moving and worrying about everything (versus the type where you stay in bed all day). On my worst days I am running around like a mad woman while I stress and freak out about everything around me. My body can’t keep up with my brain. This is frustrating to the point of me yelling and screaming and panicking over everything. I cry a lot, and feel so alone.
4.What are you like on your best days?
I am calm and can think things through reasonably. It occurs to me on my good days that this is what “normal” feels like. I can accomplish things. I am not annoyed by everything. I smile and mean it.
5. What kind of treatments have you pursued?
I have taken Lexapro and Zoloft without any great results. Lexapro made me gain 60 pounds so I decided to go get off it. I tapered off it slowly, but the withdrawals were still unbelievable. I came very close to killing myself while in the withdrawal stage. It was one of the darkest periods of my life. I decided, after that experience, that I didn’t want to be dependent on medication again. While initially it helped, and I am not against medication for anyone with depression and anxiety, it just isn’t for me.
Since then I have tried to take a more holistic approach. This approach takes a lot more time and effort, but the benefits have been positive for me. I exercise at least two hours a day and I take a combination of B vitamins, vitamin D, and a supplement called inositol. [Laura's note: Hi Readers--sorry to interrupt. I have never heard of inositol before. Drop me a line or comment and tell me what you know about it. I plan on doing a more in depth post on it in the future and would love your input.] I also get at least 20 minutes of sunshine/outdoor light a day. While I still have really bad days occasionally, and every day is a little bit of a challenge, all of these things I do make it better.
At one point this last year I was walking 12 miles a day and this made me feel better than I ever did on medication. But of course that kind of commitment is hard to continue on a daily basis.
I have also tried therapy and I have not found many benefits to this for me personally. I suppose I just haven’t found the right therapist, though I have tried several. I feel like they want to fix me and move on. Depression can’t be fixed, only managed.
6. How do you feel your depression has affected your spirituality? How would you describe your current relationship with the Church?
I once had someone of my faith tell me, “You’re kids deserve a happy mom.” It was said in a judgmental way. That sums up my feelings about the Church. Mental illness is misunderstood. I feel judged by most people of my faith. I also feel like the Church has way too many expectations to meet, and it is impossible for a depressed LDS person to meet all these expectations. This leaves me feeling less than whole and guilty and not quite up to par.
I have also been told to pray harder, read my scriptures more, have more faith. It is funny that these things are not told to people with physical illnesses, only mental illness. Sometimes this makes me feel bitter and lonely.
I hope to someday have the faith I need to make it through this life without being angry and feeling misunderstood. I need to look past other people's weaknesses and insensitivity. However, right now in my life I need more people to lean on and it seems there doesn’t seem to be many who are willing. Where is the Christ-like attitude we are all supposed to have?
Sometimes the thought of going through this illness every day is overwhelming to me. I lose faith, I become angry at God, I don’t understand why I have to deal with this lonely disease that very few people understand. I also see some signs of mental illness in my children, and this makes me angry that they will have to go through this, and I had a part in it.
So to be honest the last couple of years while my depression has been at its highest, my spirit and faith have been at their lowest.
7. What do you wish other people understood about depression?
The thing I wish people mostly understood is that depression and anxiety are real. They can be just as debilitating and life threatening as a physical illness. And for the most part depressed people just want someone to talk to without judgment.
I want to thank Kelly for this. I really appreciate her honesty about her relationship with the Church. There are so many demands on our time and energy and there are a lot of individuals who don't understand how consuming mood disorders can be. All that makes it so difficult to remember that we go to Church to worship the Lord and reconnect with our Savior--not to tell others what to do or judge them. Some Sundays, when I'm depressed, a spiritual experience feels impossible. I want to commend Kelly for persevering through this. She is woman of real inner strength.
If you would like to share your story (as anonymously as you'd like) please email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Please put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you aren't a spammer.
Age: 33
Location: Utah
1. Have you ever been officially diagnosed? How do you classify your depression? (i.e. post partum depression, anxiety/depression, clinical depression, etc.)
I have been diagnosed by my doctor with clinical depression and anxiety disorder. I also suffer from post partum depression.
2. How long have you been depressed?
I remember being sad and having anxiety since I was about ten. I remember contemplating suicide often during my teen and early adult years. My symptoms became the worst after I had kids. When my life is overwhelming, then my symptoms become worse.
3. What are you like on your worst days?
My mind won’t stop. I think about way too many things in a very negative way. Everything sucks…Everyone sucks…The world is out to get me. I have the type of depression that makes it so I don’t stop moving and worrying about everything (versus the type where you stay in bed all day). On my worst days I am running around like a mad woman while I stress and freak out about everything around me. My body can’t keep up with my brain. This is frustrating to the point of me yelling and screaming and panicking over everything. I cry a lot, and feel so alone.
4.What are you like on your best days?
I am calm and can think things through reasonably. It occurs to me on my good days that this is what “normal” feels like. I can accomplish things. I am not annoyed by everything. I smile and mean it.
5. What kind of treatments have you pursued?
I have taken Lexapro and Zoloft without any great results. Lexapro made me gain 60 pounds so I decided to go get off it. I tapered off it slowly, but the withdrawals were still unbelievable. I came very close to killing myself while in the withdrawal stage. It was one of the darkest periods of my life. I decided, after that experience, that I didn’t want to be dependent on medication again. While initially it helped, and I am not against medication for anyone with depression and anxiety, it just isn’t for me.
Since then I have tried to take a more holistic approach. This approach takes a lot more time and effort, but the benefits have been positive for me. I exercise at least two hours a day and I take a combination of B vitamins, vitamin D, and a supplement called inositol. [Laura's note: Hi Readers--sorry to interrupt. I have never heard of inositol before. Drop me a line or comment and tell me what you know about it. I plan on doing a more in depth post on it in the future and would love your input.] I also get at least 20 minutes of sunshine/outdoor light a day. While I still have really bad days occasionally, and every day is a little bit of a challenge, all of these things I do make it better.
At one point this last year I was walking 12 miles a day and this made me feel better than I ever did on medication. But of course that kind of commitment is hard to continue on a daily basis.
I have also tried therapy and I have not found many benefits to this for me personally. I suppose I just haven’t found the right therapist, though I have tried several. I feel like they want to fix me and move on. Depression can’t be fixed, only managed.
6. How do you feel your depression has affected your spirituality? How would you describe your current relationship with the Church?
I once had someone of my faith tell me, “You’re kids deserve a happy mom.” It was said in a judgmental way. That sums up my feelings about the Church. Mental illness is misunderstood. I feel judged by most people of my faith. I also feel like the Church has way too many expectations to meet, and it is impossible for a depressed LDS person to meet all these expectations. This leaves me feeling less than whole and guilty and not quite up to par.
I have also been told to pray harder, read my scriptures more, have more faith. It is funny that these things are not told to people with physical illnesses, only mental illness. Sometimes this makes me feel bitter and lonely.
I hope to someday have the faith I need to make it through this life without being angry and feeling misunderstood. I need to look past other people's weaknesses and insensitivity. However, right now in my life I need more people to lean on and it seems there doesn’t seem to be many who are willing. Where is the Christ-like attitude we are all supposed to have?
Sometimes the thought of going through this illness every day is overwhelming to me. I lose faith, I become angry at God, I don’t understand why I have to deal with this lonely disease that very few people understand. I also see some signs of mental illness in my children, and this makes me angry that they will have to go through this, and I had a part in it.
So to be honest the last couple of years while my depression has been at its highest, my spirit and faith have been at their lowest.
7. What do you wish other people understood about depression?
The thing I wish people mostly understood is that depression and anxiety are real. They can be just as debilitating and life threatening as a physical illness. And for the most part depressed people just want someone to talk to without judgment.
I want to thank Kelly for this. I really appreciate her honesty about her relationship with the Church. There are so many demands on our time and energy and there are a lot of individuals who don't understand how consuming mood disorders can be. All that makes it so difficult to remember that we go to Church to worship the Lord and reconnect with our Savior--not to tell others what to do or judge them. Some Sundays, when I'm depressed, a spiritual experience feels impossible. I want to commend Kelly for persevering through this. She is woman of real inner strength.
If you would like to share your story (as anonymously as you'd like) please email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Please put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you aren't a spammer.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Depression Profile: Annalee "It's Not A Made Up Thing"
Name: Annalee (name has not only been changed but been pulled from thin air!)
Age: 28
Location: Colorado
Occupation: SAHM and other part time stuff
1. Have you ever been officially diagnosed? How do you classify your depression? (i.e. post partum depression, anxiety/depression, clinical depression, bipolar disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, etc.)
I have been diagnosed. i think if i remember correctly i was diagnosed as being moderate to severely depressed, seasonal affective disorder, OCD(I count things. I used to count my fingers to make sure I had 10. And I count random things at least three times), and tendencies of schizophrenia. And I'm a cutter.
2.How long have you been depressed?
For as long as I can remember. Maybe from the age of five. I can always remember hating myself. That is when I started counting my fingers. When I was around 10 I started to count other things. I noticed that I started to count road mile markings and windows on buildings. Right around this time is when the self abuse started too.
3.What are you like on your worst days?
I stay in bed and sleep all day. It's too much work or an effort to shower and I think about how to hang myself in the closet. I'm angry and sad all at the same time. Very short tempered. And I cry very easily. I abuse myself. Mostly with just my hands. In the past, I have cut myself with razor blades, scissors, anything sharp really. But I tend to lean towards the scissors. I also hit my head on things--walls, doors, anything hard that is close to me. I have given myself black eyes before.
4. What are you like on your best days?
You would never know that I was depressed.
5. What kind of treatments have you pursued?
I didn't get help till I was 16. I started on Prozac and it mad me a zombie; no ups or downs. I flat-lined. Then I switched to St. Johns Wort, but heard of long term side effects and stopped using that. Then I went on Zoloft and was off and on this for a few years. I then went to Lexapro and from there I went to Wellbutrin 150. I have always been inconsistent with my meds. I stop and start on my own and have huge withdrawals. It took me awhile to come to grips with my depression. I got in a huge low where I started to see things again and just couldn't function with daily tasks like showering, eating, taking care of the house, family. I then went to a psychiatrist. He is the one who diagnosed me. He started me on Lexapro and Wellbutrin 300.
6. How have those treatments worked for you?
Since being diagnosed I have come to terms with my depression/disorders. I felt for a long time that I wasn't myself on meds. That I wasn't really me. That I was supposed to be an angry person and that's who I was. That people couldn't get to see who I really was, like I was just pretending all the time. Since coming to terms with it I have been so good at taking my meds regularly. I was seeing my Dr. every week for two months and then it went to every other week to once a month to every three. Once I went to every three months I felt like i didn't need to see him anymore. It was a waste of my time and money to go see him to say,"Yep, everything is working just fine. I haven't really had any episodes--only when i forget to take my meds for a couple day can I notice a change. But that happens very rarely." Then he reminds me to take them and sends me on my way.
8. How do you feel your depression has effected your spirituality? How would you describe your current relationship with the Church?
To be honest I don't connect the two. I never really thought of it. I guess that I am more in tune with the Spirit when I am on my meds and doing well. I tend to want to do the right things and everything that I'm supposed to be doing. With the Church right now I'm in a good place. Everything seems to be making more sense now that I have gotten myself to a healthy place.
8. What do you wish other people understood about depression?
That it's not a made-up thing. That people don't choose to be depressed and that we can't just be happy. It's not that easy.
What I really appreciate about Annalee's story is, first off, her honesty and, secondly, how she has been dealing with this her whole life. I see a lot of courage in her. It also gives me hope for the future. Thinking about my depression as a chronic condition is so scary. I can't imagine dealing with this year after year after year. But Annalee has and she is HAPPY. Amazing! Thanks so much Annalee! You are awesome!
If you would like to share your story here (as anonymously as you want) please email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Every story counts. The more we share, the more we learn, and the better-equipped we are to help ourselves and each other.
Age: 28
Location: Colorado
Occupation: SAHM and other part time stuff
1. Have you ever been officially diagnosed? How do you classify your depression? (i.e. post partum depression, anxiety/depression, clinical depression, bipolar disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, etc.)
I have been diagnosed. i think if i remember correctly i was diagnosed as being moderate to severely depressed, seasonal affective disorder, OCD(I count things. I used to count my fingers to make sure I had 10. And I count random things at least three times), and tendencies of schizophrenia. And I'm a cutter.
2.How long have you been depressed?
For as long as I can remember. Maybe from the age of five. I can always remember hating myself. That is when I started counting my fingers. When I was around 10 I started to count other things. I noticed that I started to count road mile markings and windows on buildings. Right around this time is when the self abuse started too.
3.What are you like on your worst days?
I stay in bed and sleep all day. It's too much work or an effort to shower and I think about how to hang myself in the closet. I'm angry and sad all at the same time. Very short tempered. And I cry very easily. I abuse myself. Mostly with just my hands. In the past, I have cut myself with razor blades, scissors, anything sharp really. But I tend to lean towards the scissors. I also hit my head on things--walls, doors, anything hard that is close to me. I have given myself black eyes before.
4. What are you like on your best days?
You would never know that I was depressed.
5. What kind of treatments have you pursued?
I didn't get help till I was 16. I started on Prozac and it mad me a zombie; no ups or downs. I flat-lined. Then I switched to St. Johns Wort, but heard of long term side effects and stopped using that. Then I went on Zoloft and was off and on this for a few years. I then went to Lexapro and from there I went to Wellbutrin 150. I have always been inconsistent with my meds. I stop and start on my own and have huge withdrawals. It took me awhile to come to grips with my depression. I got in a huge low where I started to see things again and just couldn't function with daily tasks like showering, eating, taking care of the house, family. I then went to a psychiatrist. He is the one who diagnosed me. He started me on Lexapro and Wellbutrin 300.
6. How have those treatments worked for you?
Since being diagnosed I have come to terms with my depression/disorders. I felt for a long time that I wasn't myself on meds. That I wasn't really me. That I was supposed to be an angry person and that's who I was. That people couldn't get to see who I really was, like I was just pretending all the time. Since coming to terms with it I have been so good at taking my meds regularly. I was seeing my Dr. every week for two months and then it went to every other week to once a month to every three. Once I went to every three months I felt like i didn't need to see him anymore. It was a waste of my time and money to go see him to say,"Yep, everything is working just fine. I haven't really had any episodes--only when i forget to take my meds for a couple day can I notice a change. But that happens very rarely." Then he reminds me to take them and sends me on my way.
8. How do you feel your depression has effected your spirituality? How would you describe your current relationship with the Church?
To be honest I don't connect the two. I never really thought of it. I guess that I am more in tune with the Spirit when I am on my meds and doing well. I tend to want to do the right things and everything that I'm supposed to be doing. With the Church right now I'm in a good place. Everything seems to be making more sense now that I have gotten myself to a healthy place.
8. What do you wish other people understood about depression?
That it's not a made-up thing. That people don't choose to be depressed and that we can't just be happy. It's not that easy.
What I really appreciate about Annalee's story is, first off, her honesty and, secondly, how she has been dealing with this her whole life. I see a lot of courage in her. It also gives me hope for the future. Thinking about my depression as a chronic condition is so scary. I can't imagine dealing with this year after year after year. But Annalee has and she is HAPPY. Amazing! Thanks so much Annalee! You are awesome!
If you would like to share your story here (as anonymously as you want) please email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Every story counts. The more we share, the more we learn, and the better-equipped we are to help ourselves and each other.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Shout out for Profiles!
Hi readers!
I've had a few newbies stop by (or at least comment for the first time) and I wanted to let you all know about my "Depression Profile" posts. From time to time I like to post other people's stories about how they have dealt with depression. I know that my personal life is endlessly fascinating to you all *wink*, but I also find it encouraging to hear how people have worked/are working through their struggles. Here are examples of past profiles:
Profile of Miss S: It is Okay!
Profile of Doc
Profile of Jer--an awesome SAHM
Profile of Charlotte of the Great Fitness Experiment
Profiles are as anonymous as you want them to be. And they are easy! Just email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com and I'll write you back with some questions. Please be sure to put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you are not a spammer :) We all benefit by hearing others talk about this stuff; knowing we are not alone makes it easier for all of us.
Oh, and thanks for reading. I appreciate all the support I get from you guys.
I've had a few newbies stop by (or at least comment for the first time) and I wanted to let you all know about my "Depression Profile" posts. From time to time I like to post other people's stories about how they have dealt with depression. I know that my personal life is endlessly fascinating to you all *wink*, but I also find it encouraging to hear how people have worked/are working through their struggles. Here are examples of past profiles:
Profile of Miss S: It is Okay!
Profile of Doc
Profile of Jer--an awesome SAHM
Profile of Charlotte of the Great Fitness Experiment
Profiles are as anonymous as you want them to be. And they are easy! Just email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com and I'll write you back with some questions. Please be sure to put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you are not a spammer :) We all benefit by hearing others talk about this stuff; knowing we are not alone makes it easier for all of us.
Oh, and thanks for reading. I appreciate all the support I get from you guys.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Depression Profile: It IS Okay
This is the story of Miss S (the "S" stands for surviving and smiling) an LDS woman living in California and dealing with depression. I am so grateful to her for sharing her story here.
Looking back, I've probably always suffered from some kind of mild depression. I was raised in a home (not LDS)with a lot of yelling and name-calling. I had my son when I was 17 and never married his dad. I went through two divorces before 25. (Sounds really crazy when I say that out loud!)
The first time I thought I had depression was in my second marriage. I was always angry at the man I married (although, later I found out my anger was misdirected. I was actually angry at myself for marrying him). I'd have anger episodes that felt borderline psychotic: breaking down, screaming, shaking, so much fury. I got a quick prescription for Prozac, took it 3 days and threw it out because I figured I wasn't depressed chemically, it was just my situation. So, "we" started marriage counseling together and I kept going by myself after the separation. I started learning about myself and what I needed in my life--how to be happy by myself and those kinds of things.
I met my current husband shortly after that, joined the church at 26, married him at 27, had baby #2 at 28 and baby #3 at 30. My youngest is now 8 months old. I noticed depression kicking in around my seventh month of pregnancy. I didn't realize that's what it was until later. In retrospect, I think I probably suffered from PPD with my previous pregnancy also. My depression was hard to admit to, and to realize that it was depression, b/c for me, I become angry when I'm down. Also, to admit to depression is taboo in my family; "nobody" has it, but looking at my mom, I'm sure she does too. Anyway, I thought it was just PPD and that it would wear off.
My oldest child's father committed suicide 6 years ago. He suffered from bipolar disorder and was suicidal from the time I met him at 13 years of age. Growing up with him, I thought he was faking it, trying to get attention, that he could control it, that it was all "in his head." I tried to get him to focus on other things to distract him from depression. I didn't realize it was a REAL illness until after he died at 24. It was a long road. He turned to street drugs to self-medicate and by the time he got professional help, the meds counteracted and did more damage than good. He died within a year from that time.
I've been on Prozac for about 5 months now and I've tried to wean off twice. I noticed the first time that the depression signs came back right away. The second time, not so much, but a little here and there. I'm nervous that I will need meds the rest of my life. I really don't want to "need" medication, but so far I've noticed that I'm a much better person, wife, mother, etc. with it. I feel better on the medication, but I don't like being dependent on it. I'm only on 10 mg, at one point I thought I'd need more, but I'm taking it every other day now and doing fairly well. Maybe I'm getting better?
But then the other day I was so tired all day, got absolutely NOTHING done at home and had to drag myself to the scout court of honor at church. I've been very tired lately and thought I might be prego again (not to my excitement), but found out that it was PMS (Yay!). I need my energy back.
I like Prozac for the simple fact that there aren't many side effects. I do have night sweats, but not too badly and I get tired off and on. I have some really good, energetic days and other times sleepless nights and dragged out days. My appetite is normal and I've succeeded in losing some weight that I've been working on--but I hear Prozac suppresses your appetite so that might be part of it too.
Spiritually, my depression has affected me a great deal. When I'm not on meds, I'm a monster and want to be left alone; I'm angry and ungrateful. When I'm on meds, I'm indifferent to emotion. I've only cried three times in the last 6 months: once was at church when the Spirit hit me and I couldn't stop crying. I was a mess! Another time I was talking to my good friend and told her I couldn't figure out why I was emotionless. Then the flood gates opened. Either way, I continue to go to church even when I don't feel like it. My husband has helped us stay on track there. I love being active in the church, but many times I feel like I'm going through the motions. I don't set aside the time I should to pray and read scriptures. I think if I did, it would help more. We haven't been to the temple as much as we should b/c of small babies, but my husband just heard a great talk about how we should make the time to go no matter what. He is going with our 13 year old on Saturday to do baptisms with the youth. I might go and do a session on my own if I can find a babysitter.
I wish other people knew (I'm still learning this myself) is that IT IS OKAY. It's okay to be depressed. It's okay to ask for help. It's okay to be on meds. It's not your fault for being depressed; you didn't do anything wrong, it's just a trial in life. I still have trouble going to the clinic b/c I feel weird. I feel uncomfortable, like a freak, like I don't belong and I'm always nervous there. But just because I'm depressed doesn't mean I'm crazy. I'm still learning this. I haven't told my mom or my sister or my son for fear that they will think I'm nuts and should be doing this on my own, without a shrink or meds. I'm so grateful to have a supportive husband. Without him, I probably would go nuts!
We (my readers and I) send you our support and prayers, Miss S! Good for you for building a support system and making an effort to include the Lord in your life and trials. Even if you can't make it to the temple, all the small and simple things you do make a difference. Thanks again for sharing your story.
If anyone else would like to share their story here please email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you are not a spammer!
Looking back, I've probably always suffered from some kind of mild depression. I was raised in a home (not LDS)with a lot of yelling and name-calling. I had my son when I was 17 and never married his dad. I went through two divorces before 25. (Sounds really crazy when I say that out loud!)
The first time I thought I had depression was in my second marriage. I was always angry at the man I married (although, later I found out my anger was misdirected. I was actually angry at myself for marrying him). I'd have anger episodes that felt borderline psychotic: breaking down, screaming, shaking, so much fury. I got a quick prescription for Prozac, took it 3 days and threw it out because I figured I wasn't depressed chemically, it was just my situation. So, "we" started marriage counseling together and I kept going by myself after the separation. I started learning about myself and what I needed in my life--how to be happy by myself and those kinds of things.
I met my current husband shortly after that, joined the church at 26, married him at 27, had baby #2 at 28 and baby #3 at 30. My youngest is now 8 months old. I noticed depression kicking in around my seventh month of pregnancy. I didn't realize that's what it was until later. In retrospect, I think I probably suffered from PPD with my previous pregnancy also. My depression was hard to admit to, and to realize that it was depression, b/c for me, I become angry when I'm down. Also, to admit to depression is taboo in my family; "nobody" has it, but looking at my mom, I'm sure she does too. Anyway, I thought it was just PPD and that it would wear off.
My oldest child's father committed suicide 6 years ago. He suffered from bipolar disorder and was suicidal from the time I met him at 13 years of age. Growing up with him, I thought he was faking it, trying to get attention, that he could control it, that it was all "in his head." I tried to get him to focus on other things to distract him from depression. I didn't realize it was a REAL illness until after he died at 24. It was a long road. He turned to street drugs to self-medicate and by the time he got professional help, the meds counteracted and did more damage than good. He died within a year from that time.
I've been on Prozac for about 5 months now and I've tried to wean off twice. I noticed the first time that the depression signs came back right away. The second time, not so much, but a little here and there. I'm nervous that I will need meds the rest of my life. I really don't want to "need" medication, but so far I've noticed that I'm a much better person, wife, mother, etc. with it. I feel better on the medication, but I don't like being dependent on it. I'm only on 10 mg, at one point I thought I'd need more, but I'm taking it every other day now and doing fairly well. Maybe I'm getting better?
But then the other day I was so tired all day, got absolutely NOTHING done at home and had to drag myself to the scout court of honor at church. I've been very tired lately and thought I might be prego again (not to my excitement), but found out that it was PMS (Yay!). I need my energy back.
I like Prozac for the simple fact that there aren't many side effects. I do have night sweats, but not too badly and I get tired off and on. I have some really good, energetic days and other times sleepless nights and dragged out days. My appetite is normal and I've succeeded in losing some weight that I've been working on--but I hear Prozac suppresses your appetite so that might be part of it too.
Spiritually, my depression has affected me a great deal. When I'm not on meds, I'm a monster and want to be left alone; I'm angry and ungrateful. When I'm on meds, I'm indifferent to emotion. I've only cried three times in the last 6 months: once was at church when the Spirit hit me and I couldn't stop crying. I was a mess! Another time I was talking to my good friend and told her I couldn't figure out why I was emotionless. Then the flood gates opened. Either way, I continue to go to church even when I don't feel like it. My husband has helped us stay on track there. I love being active in the church, but many times I feel like I'm going through the motions. I don't set aside the time I should to pray and read scriptures. I think if I did, it would help more. We haven't been to the temple as much as we should b/c of small babies, but my husband just heard a great talk about how we should make the time to go no matter what. He is going with our 13 year old on Saturday to do baptisms with the youth. I might go and do a session on my own if I can find a babysitter.
I wish other people knew (I'm still learning this myself) is that IT IS OKAY. It's okay to be depressed. It's okay to ask for help. It's okay to be on meds. It's not your fault for being depressed; you didn't do anything wrong, it's just a trial in life. I still have trouble going to the clinic b/c I feel weird. I feel uncomfortable, like a freak, like I don't belong and I'm always nervous there. But just because I'm depressed doesn't mean I'm crazy. I'm still learning this. I haven't told my mom or my sister or my son for fear that they will think I'm nuts and should be doing this on my own, without a shrink or meds. I'm so grateful to have a supportive husband. Without him, I probably would go nuts!
We (my readers and I) send you our support and prayers, Miss S! Good for you for building a support system and making an effort to include the Lord in your life and trials. Even if you can't make it to the temple, all the small and simple things you do make a difference. Thanks again for sharing your story.
If anyone else would like to share their story here please email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you are not a spammer!
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Depression profile: Doc
Thanks to Doc for sending me his story. I found it quite moving. He is one courageous guy! I had to really cut it down to fit here so be sure to check out his blog to get the whole story.
Part I—The Pretender
I have always been painfully, exceptionally, extraordinarily shy. The technical term is social phobia. This has haunted and hamstrung me most of my life, but never at anytime more than when I decided I might have the ability, the drive, and the heart to be a physician.
After surviving the brutal application process, my medical career was born. In my mind though, I had fooled them. I slipped by the gatekeepers whose job was to sift out “losers” like myself.
I did quite well with the first two years of medical school which were all academic. I was a miserable third year for the most part. Surgery in particular was a meltdown month. Otherwise, I learned to keep a low profile and slide along. What I did not learn to do was to become comfortable in my own skin, put patients at ease, and feel like I had a clue doing a physical exam.
There was only one exception: kids. The intimidation factor was not there and I let my goofy self out. I had the patience to get farther with them than other students. My first exposure to them was in Neurology, where I had the luck of being assigned to the Children’s Hospital. I fell in love with it, was fascinated by it and, best of all, there was a massive shortage of pediatric neurologists. I found my calling in medicine.
Unfortunately, I was still compromised by my phobia: pacing around the hospital for 20 minutes to work up the nerve to talk to a nurse; avoiding waking up patients; being terrified of phone calls.
Then it was time to find a residency. I interviewed at every pediatric residency I applied to. Pediatric neurology is the red-headed step child of pediatric subspecialties. It’s claimed by neither Neurology or Pediatrics in training. It requires a partial residency in both which causes political problems.
The fate of the interns is determined by a computer—the infamous “match” system. It works by residencies interviewing great swaths of medical students and medical students interviewing with many residencies. Then the two parties form wish lists and the computer optimizes the list so both students and programs get the places they indicated they prefer to be. In pediatrics, 93% of medical students get one of their top three choices. In my case, due to politics I got into my fifth choice, my failsafe. It was a large program with all the clinical exposure I could want and a bunch of strangely unhappy pediatric residents. I had a deep sense of foreboding.
Part II—Meltdown
Life stressors #1 (the new addition) and #2 (the move): We learned early in my last year of medical school that we were expecting a new baby boy. He was due right about the time we would move, the month after graduation. In order to have him covered by insurance we had to have him before we moved. My residency began orientation mid-June. Thanks to an understanding OB, labor was induced June 6th. We packed up the moving van and my wife was discharged from the hospital 2 hours later. We moved to a computer matched assigned city which, like medical school, was hundreds of miles from any family. I also realized I felt strangely detached from my son, thinking of him more in clinical terms than fatherly terms. It disturbed me.
Life stressor #3 (the heart): In preparing for the move I went into the doctor for a checkup. He thought he heard a murmur (never identified by anyone since) and sent me for an echocardiogram. It turned out I have a rare condition where the pericardial sack that my heart sits in did not form completely. While often not discovered or the cause of any problems, on rare occasion, part of the heart can get caught in the opening, strangulate, and rupture, causing sudden death. I had an MRI done the day before my son was born. I received a call that my cardiologist was discussing it with a heart surgeon (yikes!). In the end, this was all much ado about nothing and I never needed the surgery, but that was up in the air for several months. Death became a consuming theme in my thoughts.
Life stressor #4 (the job): I began the first year of my residency on what was the most difficult rotation for the year, the Neonatal ICU. We had overnight call every third night and put in about 100 hours per week. My head was absolutely swimming. I had to learn emergency care for some sick infants completely on the fly. We dealt regularly with distraught parents in a variety of intense situations. I had to make the dreaded phone calls. I had to learn to speak to the nurses.
I performed miserably, telling myself that all interns perform miserably their first month. To some extent this is true, the learning curve is indeed steep, but I faltered more than most. I walked around like a zombie, constantly exhausted. Some of the nurse practioners became so concerned they had the residency call me one day and tell me to sleep. People were always asking if I was okay.
I moved from this to the general inpatient pediatrics service. It should have been a relief, but I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t concentrate. I would sit on call with the other resident telling me about the patients I would be covering and what I needed to do and I wouldn’t hear anything past the first sentence. My mind was spinning out of control, imagining disastrous scenarios one after another. (This feeling, I later learned, is a hallmark of generalized anxiety disorder.)
Too often, when asking for help the answer was, “Figure it out for yourself. I had to when I was an intern.” I felt incredibly alone. The many critiques and suggestions brought to me a new round of self-flagellation. I was miserable. I began having strange worries. I wondered what it was that made people into child abusers. I started having intrusive, unwelcome thoughts about hurting children. I somehow convinced myself that I was really a monster, hiding beneath a facade. This kind of fear is also a part of generalized anxiety. There was no danger of me acting on these feelings, but they seemed real and distressing. My life was enveloped in guilt.
My wife, desparate for help with the children, left to stay for an extended period with family. I came home to an empty house every night. I began watching the same depressing movie over and over and over. I was living on donuts, boxes of cookies, anything that came in a box really.
The low point came when I was presenting a patient whose mother had Munchhausen’s syndrome. In typical, cynical, burntout MD fashion, we got to laughing about some of the nonmedical complaints the mother brought. I began laughing hysterically. My laughs turned into tears that would not stop. All the pain, all the anxiety, all the insecurity, and all the misery of my training just burst out of me. The tears were unsatisfying and bitter.
My attending was shaken; she quietly and concernedly gave me the number of the medical school counselor and encouraged me to go. I resisted. My senior resident came and told me to go. I resisted. Finally, she went to the chief residents who told me to go. I agreed. But put it off. Then our evaluations came in, my program director became involved and I was dragged into the counselor’s office, immediately suspended from clinical duty.
Part III—Acceptance
Here’s the funny thing: They told me I was depressed and I didn’t believe it. I took a kazillion question test, scored 98/100 on the depression scale, and I didn’t think I was depressed. I mean, aren’t all residents tired? Don’t all residents do nothing but eat work and sleep? I was not suicidal, hadn’t even had the thoughts.
I only knew this because I had had those thoughts before. My medical education alerted me to the fact that I had been in the throes of major depression previously. Junior high was not kind to me. I was an outcast, I was lonely, I was miserable. Young and unequipped to recognize and sort out what was going on with me, I struggled. I am likely the only Mormon kid who ever used to sneak into the chapel when the building was empty and just pour my heart out to God, begging, pleading for him stop the pain. I used to sit, staring at the bottle of Tylenol, wishing, just wishing I could get up the guts to down it all.
I never could. I always came back to the thought, “How could I do that to my family?” I knew they cared.
I moved past it on my own. I maintained high function in high school, having some happy moments and involving myself in extracurriculars and a small group of friends. I graduated fifth in my class. I received a 4 year tuition scholarship to Somewhere Else University.
I served a mission which was no small achievement for a social phobic.I took verbal abuse on what I believed and still presented what I had to offer in a spirit of love. I grew and matured. There was a period at the end where it was hard to do anything. I didn’t enjoy missionary activity or our liesure day anymore. It was a relapse, but I recovered.
Of course, when I returned to college I had my rough patches: periods of melancholy, lack of enjoyment, excessive tiredness. But, hey, I still kept my grades and married my soulmate. I made it to medical school. Sure, I was really disappointed by the general peds rotation, because I was doing something I loved got no joy out of it, but still, I wasn’t tempted to knock myself off.
Well, it turns out you don’t have to be suicidal to be depressed. I was referred to a psychiatrist, started on anti-depressants, and felt totally defeated. I wanted to be mentally strong. I didn’t want my secrets out. I didn’t want the prejudice. I felt like my medical career was slipping away, now that the pretender was caught.
On medication, disaster scenarios raced through my mind and thoughts of ending my life returned, again rebutted by the quandary of how my wife and kids would fare. While this kept me from giving in to suicidal thoughts, it sure didn’t help my guilt.
It took several weeks, but one day I found enjoyment in my old hobbies, in music, in joking around, in my children. I suddenly felt alive again, even though I had no idea previously how dead I felt for so long. I eased back into clinical duty, with a couple of rotations and with supportive attendings my abilities grew. The workload was less intense, but I was moving and thinking a thousand times better. I began to see how counter-productive my fear of weakness had been. I felt like Moroni, a prophet in the Book of Mormon, whom God told “And because thou hast seen thy weakness thou shalt be made strong” (Ether 12:37).
This was so foreign to my previous mindset. I thought I knew all about the wonders of God’s love, and what it meant to be born of God. I thought I had witnessed the transformative power of the atonement. I had read the Book of Mormon; the power of the story of Alma was burnt into my soul. Yet, somehow, I didn’t really understand these doctrines. I wanted to be great on my own, to achieve on my own. I was proud (paradoxically in light of my poor self image) and I wanted to face down my shortcomings on my own.
Part IV—Fight the Power
As I recovered from depression it brought to light my anxiety. One of the first side effects the medication gave me was panic attacks. I worried incessantly about the future, about my patients, about the rumor mill, about the stigma.
My residency program had a reputation for regularly dropping people, but I slowly gained confidence as my performance quickly improved on lighter rotations. Still, as a resident, I was shuffled into new hospitals so quickly it was hard to adjust, which in most medical situations was dangerous. I reluctantly started a low dose benzodiazepine.
As my anxiety became more apparent, my counseling adjusted. I learned relaxation techniques, and learned to stop and evaluate my fears to see if they were founded in reason. I tried to learn to live in the now. While the consequences of failure were real, the doomsday scenarios in my head were excessive. It was more helpful to see what I needed to do right here and now. My anxiety was mitigated but still took a lot of energy to manage.
By the end of that rotation, I could see where my knowledge, comfort level and ability had skyrocketed. I felt competent, especially compared to other interns I performed alongside with. I was climbing out of a huge hole. I realized for the first time that medicine, even intensive care, was something I was capable of.
Unfortunately, the program began to feel maybe I just wouldn’t survive with my fragile mental state. Ironically, as the help they had me get started working and kicking in, the program’s willingness to let it work decreased.
In accordance with my career plans, I moved ahead with a child neurology interview. I was open about my issues. The interview went well. I felt my career was going to be salvaged. I was accepted to a program near my wife’s family. My local program director was not happy, but since I kept passing my rotations he couldn’t actually do anything to stop me.
That changed two months later, when I did the pediatric ER rotation. I wanted to really prove something here so without consulting anyone I stopped taking my benzos. In my mind, I was better now and needed to learn to perform without the drug. This was a horrible, stupid mistake. Things kept getting tougher and without the medicine the only coping mechanism I had was anger. I offended a lot of people and ended up losing my residency contract. I took some bogus limbo rotations and came up with a new plan. It had just one problem: I needed all the people who I offended to come to bat for me. It was awkward. But I knew I needed to reach a peace with them. I needed to forgive. I needed to let go of anger, which was eating at my soul.
Eventually, with a wealth of experience in the school of hard knocks, a dogged determination, a newly developed, hard fought self confidence, and a little luck, I pulled it off. I was accepted into a new child neurology residency and scrambled into a transition year. It was absolutely astounding.
I love what I am doing now. One deciding factor in making the plunge into medicine was the desire to force myself to overcome weakness. I don’t know if I could ever have comprehended what that really would entail. I really don’t know that I would choose to experience it all again if I had the choice, but I have undoubtedly grown.
I know not all bouts of depression end this way. Mental illness and its stigma destroy lives. I know of more than one doctor or medical student who have taken their life. I just hope that telling this story can in some way help others with either the stigma or the healing.
As always if you would like to share your depression story e-mail me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you're not a spammer:)
Part I—The Pretender
I have always been painfully, exceptionally, extraordinarily shy. The technical term is social phobia. This has haunted and hamstrung me most of my life, but never at anytime more than when I decided I might have the ability, the drive, and the heart to be a physician.
After surviving the brutal application process, my medical career was born. In my mind though, I had fooled them. I slipped by the gatekeepers whose job was to sift out “losers” like myself.
I did quite well with the first two years of medical school which were all academic. I was a miserable third year for the most part. Surgery in particular was a meltdown month. Otherwise, I learned to keep a low profile and slide along. What I did not learn to do was to become comfortable in my own skin, put patients at ease, and feel like I had a clue doing a physical exam.
There was only one exception: kids. The intimidation factor was not there and I let my goofy self out. I had the patience to get farther with them than other students. My first exposure to them was in Neurology, where I had the luck of being assigned to the Children’s Hospital. I fell in love with it, was fascinated by it and, best of all, there was a massive shortage of pediatric neurologists. I found my calling in medicine.
Unfortunately, I was still compromised by my phobia: pacing around the hospital for 20 minutes to work up the nerve to talk to a nurse; avoiding waking up patients; being terrified of phone calls.
Then it was time to find a residency. I interviewed at every pediatric residency I applied to. Pediatric neurology is the red-headed step child of pediatric subspecialties. It’s claimed by neither Neurology or Pediatrics in training. It requires a partial residency in both which causes political problems.
The fate of the interns is determined by a computer—the infamous “match” system. It works by residencies interviewing great swaths of medical students and medical students interviewing with many residencies. Then the two parties form wish lists and the computer optimizes the list so both students and programs get the places they indicated they prefer to be. In pediatrics, 93% of medical students get one of their top three choices. In my case, due to politics I got into my fifth choice, my failsafe. It was a large program with all the clinical exposure I could want and a bunch of strangely unhappy pediatric residents. I had a deep sense of foreboding.
Part II—Meltdown
Life stressors #1 (the new addition) and #2 (the move): We learned early in my last year of medical school that we were expecting a new baby boy. He was due right about the time we would move, the month after graduation. In order to have him covered by insurance we had to have him before we moved. My residency began orientation mid-June. Thanks to an understanding OB, labor was induced June 6th. We packed up the moving van and my wife was discharged from the hospital 2 hours later. We moved to a computer matched assigned city which, like medical school, was hundreds of miles from any family. I also realized I felt strangely detached from my son, thinking of him more in clinical terms than fatherly terms. It disturbed me.
Life stressor #3 (the heart): In preparing for the move I went into the doctor for a checkup. He thought he heard a murmur (never identified by anyone since) and sent me for an echocardiogram. It turned out I have a rare condition where the pericardial sack that my heart sits in did not form completely. While often not discovered or the cause of any problems, on rare occasion, part of the heart can get caught in the opening, strangulate, and rupture, causing sudden death. I had an MRI done the day before my son was born. I received a call that my cardiologist was discussing it with a heart surgeon (yikes!). In the end, this was all much ado about nothing and I never needed the surgery, but that was up in the air for several months. Death became a consuming theme in my thoughts.
Life stressor #4 (the job): I began the first year of my residency on what was the most difficult rotation for the year, the Neonatal ICU. We had overnight call every third night and put in about 100 hours per week. My head was absolutely swimming. I had to learn emergency care for some sick infants completely on the fly. We dealt regularly with distraught parents in a variety of intense situations. I had to make the dreaded phone calls. I had to learn to speak to the nurses.
I performed miserably, telling myself that all interns perform miserably their first month. To some extent this is true, the learning curve is indeed steep, but I faltered more than most. I walked around like a zombie, constantly exhausted. Some of the nurse practioners became so concerned they had the residency call me one day and tell me to sleep. People were always asking if I was okay.
I moved from this to the general inpatient pediatrics service. It should have been a relief, but I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t concentrate. I would sit on call with the other resident telling me about the patients I would be covering and what I needed to do and I wouldn’t hear anything past the first sentence. My mind was spinning out of control, imagining disastrous scenarios one after another. (This feeling, I later learned, is a hallmark of generalized anxiety disorder.)
Too often, when asking for help the answer was, “Figure it out for yourself. I had to when I was an intern.” I felt incredibly alone. The many critiques and suggestions brought to me a new round of self-flagellation. I was miserable. I began having strange worries. I wondered what it was that made people into child abusers. I started having intrusive, unwelcome thoughts about hurting children. I somehow convinced myself that I was really a monster, hiding beneath a facade. This kind of fear is also a part of generalized anxiety. There was no danger of me acting on these feelings, but they seemed real and distressing. My life was enveloped in guilt.
My wife, desparate for help with the children, left to stay for an extended period with family. I came home to an empty house every night. I began watching the same depressing movie over and over and over. I was living on donuts, boxes of cookies, anything that came in a box really.
The low point came when I was presenting a patient whose mother had Munchhausen’s syndrome. In typical, cynical, burntout MD fashion, we got to laughing about some of the nonmedical complaints the mother brought. I began laughing hysterically. My laughs turned into tears that would not stop. All the pain, all the anxiety, all the insecurity, and all the misery of my training just burst out of me. The tears were unsatisfying and bitter.
My attending was shaken; she quietly and concernedly gave me the number of the medical school counselor and encouraged me to go. I resisted. My senior resident came and told me to go. I resisted. Finally, she went to the chief residents who told me to go. I agreed. But put it off. Then our evaluations came in, my program director became involved and I was dragged into the counselor’s office, immediately suspended from clinical duty.
Part III—Acceptance
Here’s the funny thing: They told me I was depressed and I didn’t believe it. I took a kazillion question test, scored 98/100 on the depression scale, and I didn’t think I was depressed. I mean, aren’t all residents tired? Don’t all residents do nothing but eat work and sleep? I was not suicidal, hadn’t even had the thoughts.
I only knew this because I had had those thoughts before. My medical education alerted me to the fact that I had been in the throes of major depression previously. Junior high was not kind to me. I was an outcast, I was lonely, I was miserable. Young and unequipped to recognize and sort out what was going on with me, I struggled. I am likely the only Mormon kid who ever used to sneak into the chapel when the building was empty and just pour my heart out to God, begging, pleading for him stop the pain. I used to sit, staring at the bottle of Tylenol, wishing, just wishing I could get up the guts to down it all.
I never could. I always came back to the thought, “How could I do that to my family?” I knew they cared.
I moved past it on my own. I maintained high function in high school, having some happy moments and involving myself in extracurriculars and a small group of friends. I graduated fifth in my class. I received a 4 year tuition scholarship to Somewhere Else University.
I served a mission which was no small achievement for a social phobic.I took verbal abuse on what I believed and still presented what I had to offer in a spirit of love. I grew and matured. There was a period at the end where it was hard to do anything. I didn’t enjoy missionary activity or our liesure day anymore. It was a relapse, but I recovered.
Of course, when I returned to college I had my rough patches: periods of melancholy, lack of enjoyment, excessive tiredness. But, hey, I still kept my grades and married my soulmate. I made it to medical school. Sure, I was really disappointed by the general peds rotation, because I was doing something I loved got no joy out of it, but still, I wasn’t tempted to knock myself off.
Well, it turns out you don’t have to be suicidal to be depressed. I was referred to a psychiatrist, started on anti-depressants, and felt totally defeated. I wanted to be mentally strong. I didn’t want my secrets out. I didn’t want the prejudice. I felt like my medical career was slipping away, now that the pretender was caught.
On medication, disaster scenarios raced through my mind and thoughts of ending my life returned, again rebutted by the quandary of how my wife and kids would fare. While this kept me from giving in to suicidal thoughts, it sure didn’t help my guilt.
It took several weeks, but one day I found enjoyment in my old hobbies, in music, in joking around, in my children. I suddenly felt alive again, even though I had no idea previously how dead I felt for so long. I eased back into clinical duty, with a couple of rotations and with supportive attendings my abilities grew. The workload was less intense, but I was moving and thinking a thousand times better. I began to see how counter-productive my fear of weakness had been. I felt like Moroni, a prophet in the Book of Mormon, whom God told “And because thou hast seen thy weakness thou shalt be made strong” (Ether 12:37).
This was so foreign to my previous mindset. I thought I knew all about the wonders of God’s love, and what it meant to be born of God. I thought I had witnessed the transformative power of the atonement. I had read the Book of Mormon; the power of the story of Alma was burnt into my soul. Yet, somehow, I didn’t really understand these doctrines. I wanted to be great on my own, to achieve on my own. I was proud (paradoxically in light of my poor self image) and I wanted to face down my shortcomings on my own.
Part IV—Fight the Power
As I recovered from depression it brought to light my anxiety. One of the first side effects the medication gave me was panic attacks. I worried incessantly about the future, about my patients, about the rumor mill, about the stigma.
My residency program had a reputation for regularly dropping people, but I slowly gained confidence as my performance quickly improved on lighter rotations. Still, as a resident, I was shuffled into new hospitals so quickly it was hard to adjust, which in most medical situations was dangerous. I reluctantly started a low dose benzodiazepine.
As my anxiety became more apparent, my counseling adjusted. I learned relaxation techniques, and learned to stop and evaluate my fears to see if they were founded in reason. I tried to learn to live in the now. While the consequences of failure were real, the doomsday scenarios in my head were excessive. It was more helpful to see what I needed to do right here and now. My anxiety was mitigated but still took a lot of energy to manage.
By the end of that rotation, I could see where my knowledge, comfort level and ability had skyrocketed. I felt competent, especially compared to other interns I performed alongside with. I was climbing out of a huge hole. I realized for the first time that medicine, even intensive care, was something I was capable of.
Unfortunately, the program began to feel maybe I just wouldn’t survive with my fragile mental state. Ironically, as the help they had me get started working and kicking in, the program’s willingness to let it work decreased.
In accordance with my career plans, I moved ahead with a child neurology interview. I was open about my issues. The interview went well. I felt my career was going to be salvaged. I was accepted to a program near my wife’s family. My local program director was not happy, but since I kept passing my rotations he couldn’t actually do anything to stop me.
That changed two months later, when I did the pediatric ER rotation. I wanted to really prove something here so without consulting anyone I stopped taking my benzos. In my mind, I was better now and needed to learn to perform without the drug. This was a horrible, stupid mistake. Things kept getting tougher and without the medicine the only coping mechanism I had was anger. I offended a lot of people and ended up losing my residency contract. I took some bogus limbo rotations and came up with a new plan. It had just one problem: I needed all the people who I offended to come to bat for me. It was awkward. But I knew I needed to reach a peace with them. I needed to forgive. I needed to let go of anger, which was eating at my soul.
Eventually, with a wealth of experience in the school of hard knocks, a dogged determination, a newly developed, hard fought self confidence, and a little luck, I pulled it off. I was accepted into a new child neurology residency and scrambled into a transition year. It was absolutely astounding.
I love what I am doing now. One deciding factor in making the plunge into medicine was the desire to force myself to overcome weakness. I don’t know if I could ever have comprehended what that really would entail. I really don’t know that I would choose to experience it all again if I had the choice, but I have undoubtedly grown.
I know not all bouts of depression end this way. Mental illness and its stigma destroy lives. I know of more than one doctor or medical student who have taken their life. I just hope that telling this story can in some way help others with either the stigma or the healing.
As always if you would like to share your depression story e-mail me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you're not a spammer:)
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Depression profile #3: ME!
Hi friends! In the comments on my last post Gypsy asked me some good questions that I thought I'd try to answer here. Here is what she (or she could be a he . . .) said:
Laura, I have read some of your posts about your depression. I am happy that you are writing about this subject because many LDS women are afraid about not looking perfect and admitting to themselves that they can't live up to the perceived expectations. I personally have struggled with a mental disorder for the past 10 years, but I have struggled with emotional issues for a good part of my life. But this post isn't about me. I wanted to ask you about the measures you are taking to combat the disorder. How long do you think you have had this depression? What drugs have you taken. . . I may be able to help you in your quest to find the right drug. I have taken almost all of them. YAYA!
Okay Gypsy, here are your answers! I gotta warn you, though. I have never been able to give a short answer in my life.
#1 & #3: I do A LOT of things to combat my depression. I try to exercise almost everyday--I usually skip Sunday (keep that Sabbath day holy!) and miss one or two days during the week. I take an antidepressant. I just switched from Lexapro to Cymbalta a week ago. I'll let you all know how that is in a few weeks when the medicine has a had a chance to kick in. I occasionally go to therapy so that I can sort the effective behaviors from the ineffective ones. I'm part of a playgroup and a book club so that I don't get too lonely. I attend Church and try to pray, read my scriptures, and attend the temple so that I can receive the Lord's guidance and His uplifting spirit. My depression affects every facet of my life so I do a lot of things to fight it.
#2: How long a person has been depressed is always a tricky question. I wasn't formally diagnosed until about four months after I gave birth to my first baby. The depression, however, had started sometime during the pregnancy and I just hadn't realized it. I called it postpartum depression and hoped it was merely a blip in my otherwise seriously, so blessed life. I took Lexapro for about three months and quit, thinking that I was cured.
I started the slow descent back down only a couple of months after I went off the drugs. Exercise, writing, and developing meaningful relationships all helped stave off the bad days. But the bad days were really bad. When I got pregnant with my second baby I started to perk up. My body seems to produce hormones better when I'm pregnant so for the first couple trimesters I felt quite buoyant. Unfortunately, during the third trimester of my second pregnancy I began to feel like, well, crap. So I started thinking of myself as someone with perinatal depression. My OB put me back on Lexapro when my baby was three weeks old and strongly urged me to get a therapist. I found one but we didn't really get along so I quit seeing her after a few sessions.
I quit my medicine the second time, under my doctor's supervision, after six months. I was still hoping the PPD was just a minor detour. My emotional state quickly deteriorated again. This time I joined a gym and found a new therapist. I figured/hoped that maybe the depression was being caused by some underlying anxiety issues that got triggered by the stress of having babies. Which some of it was. But a lot of it wasn't.
I then got pregnant for the third time and, thanks in part to my therapist who provided essential support during my pregnancy, started taking my drugs during the last few weeks before delivery. I had some anxiety and trouble sleeping after the baby was born but nothing like the crazies that I had with my first and second babies.
Which brings me to now. My baby just turned one and I am on a new drug. I also still see my therapist occasionally and I am only now coming to terms with the chronic nature of this illness. It boggles my mind, and kind of scares me, that I am going to have to deal with this issue for the rest of my life. Of course, when I am being honest with myself I admit that I went through depressed phases as a teenager so I've already been dealing with it for quite some time. Bizarrely, that thought gives me hope.
I hope that covers it all in a relatively succinct manner, Gypsy. Oh and by the way, if you or any other reader would like to share your story (in a completely confidential and anonymous way) on my blog I would love it. If you are interested please email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Please put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you are not a spammer! I honestly believe that the more we talk about all this the better it will get.
Laura, I have read some of your posts about your depression. I am happy that you are writing about this subject because many LDS women are afraid about not looking perfect and admitting to themselves that they can't live up to the perceived expectations. I personally have struggled with a mental disorder for the past 10 years, but I have struggled with emotional issues for a good part of my life. But this post isn't about me. I wanted to ask you about the measures you are taking to combat the disorder. How long do you think you have had this depression? What drugs have you taken. . . I may be able to help you in your quest to find the right drug. I have taken almost all of them. YAYA!
Okay Gypsy, here are your answers! I gotta warn you, though. I have never been able to give a short answer in my life.
#1 & #3: I do A LOT of things to combat my depression. I try to exercise almost everyday--I usually skip Sunday (keep that Sabbath day holy!) and miss one or two days during the week. I take an antidepressant. I just switched from Lexapro to Cymbalta a week ago. I'll let you all know how that is in a few weeks when the medicine has a had a chance to kick in. I occasionally go to therapy so that I can sort the effective behaviors from the ineffective ones. I'm part of a playgroup and a book club so that I don't get too lonely. I attend Church and try to pray, read my scriptures, and attend the temple so that I can receive the Lord's guidance and His uplifting spirit. My depression affects every facet of my life so I do a lot of things to fight it.
#2: How long a person has been depressed is always a tricky question. I wasn't formally diagnosed until about four months after I gave birth to my first baby. The depression, however, had started sometime during the pregnancy and I just hadn't realized it. I called it postpartum depression and hoped it was merely a blip in my otherwise seriously, so blessed life. I took Lexapro for about three months and quit, thinking that I was cured.
I started the slow descent back down only a couple of months after I went off the drugs. Exercise, writing, and developing meaningful relationships all helped stave off the bad days. But the bad days were really bad. When I got pregnant with my second baby I started to perk up. My body seems to produce hormones better when I'm pregnant so for the first couple trimesters I felt quite buoyant. Unfortunately, during the third trimester of my second pregnancy I began to feel like, well, crap. So I started thinking of myself as someone with perinatal depression. My OB put me back on Lexapro when my baby was three weeks old and strongly urged me to get a therapist. I found one but we didn't really get along so I quit seeing her after a few sessions.
I quit my medicine the second time, under my doctor's supervision, after six months. I was still hoping the PPD was just a minor detour. My emotional state quickly deteriorated again. This time I joined a gym and found a new therapist. I figured/hoped that maybe the depression was being caused by some underlying anxiety issues that got triggered by the stress of having babies. Which some of it was. But a lot of it wasn't.
I then got pregnant for the third time and, thanks in part to my therapist who provided essential support during my pregnancy, started taking my drugs during the last few weeks before delivery. I had some anxiety and trouble sleeping after the baby was born but nothing like the crazies that I had with my first and second babies.
Which brings me to now. My baby just turned one and I am on a new drug. I also still see my therapist occasionally and I am only now coming to terms with the chronic nature of this illness. It boggles my mind, and kind of scares me, that I am going to have to deal with this issue for the rest of my life. Of course, when I am being honest with myself I admit that I went through depressed phases as a teenager so I've already been dealing with it for quite some time. Bizarrely, that thought gives me hope.
I hope that covers it all in a relatively succinct manner, Gypsy. Oh and by the way, if you or any other reader would like to share your story (in a completely confidential and anonymous way) on my blog I would love it. If you are interested please email me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Please put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you are not a spammer! I honestly believe that the more we talk about all this the better it will get.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Every Story Counts--depression profile #2
Here is the second in my series of depression profiles. Again, the questions are mine, the answers are theirs. Nothing is edited. I want to share other people's stories too because, well, in my mind the more perspectives we add the better. If you would be willing to be profiled e-mail me at lolapalooza AT hotmail DOT com. Please put "depression profile" in the subject line so I know you're not a spammer. (I'm happy to include stories of women who are not mothers, of men, and people who have only had short bouts of depression. Honestly, EVERY STORY COUNTS!)
Name (has been changed): Jer
Age: 28
Location: Colorado
Occupation: SAHM and sometimes Mary Kay consultant
1. Have you ever been officially diagnosed? How do you classify your depression? (i.e. post partum depression, anxiety/depression, clinical depression, etc.)
I have never been officially diagnosed. I believe I had post partum depression after my first was born. The other time was my senior year in high school, and I think that time was circumstantial more than anything.
2. How long have you been depressed?
I’ve always been a really emotionally intense person. I can remember even as a child that often my feelings felt too big to fit in my small body and I couldn’t—or didn’t know how—to contain them. I think I will always feel that way to some degree, though I’ve learned to temper my emotions a little as I have gotten older. I don’t really consider myself depressed anymore, though I still go to therapy occasionally for what I call “maintenance work.”
3. What kind of treatments have you pursued?
Mostly therapy. In high school I tried Prozac. I know this sounds really cliché, but I try getting outside myself (for example, making friends, keeping friends, serving my family and others, etc.) on a regular basis. Also, doing my best at doing what’s right, so there’s less things to beat myself up with guilt about—I make enough reasons to feel guilty as it is. [Note from Laura: Jer! It's not cliche to try getting outside yourself. One reason we talk about service so much in our Church is because it's a true principle--it does make us feel better!]
4. How have those treatments worked for you?
Therapy has been great. I love it and would recommend it to anyone, depressed or not. I just really like having that objective third party to bounce ideas off, and also a safe place where I can spout off any kinds of emotional distress at any level, yet know it is confidential and I won’t be judged for it. In high school I didn’t stay on Prozac long enough to find out if it worked for me. I really do think that surrounding myself with upbeat people really helps me. I’ve also found that it’s a fine balance between trying to do my best, without being too hard on myself. If I can find that balance and stick with it, I think it also helps me.
5. How do you feel your depression has affected your spirituality?
It varies depending on the time in life. Right after I had my daughter, I was so depressed that I had a hard time believing that God loved me, or anyone for that matter. I didn’t pray or read the scriptures. I was so low that I lost a lot of perspective. But as things got better, I think my testimony was strengthened as I became capable of feeling love again. Almost like I had to know what it was like not to feel God’s love to appreciate its importance in my life. I think ultimately I have been strengthened spiritually by my struggles.
6. What do you wish other people understood about depression?
I wish people could sympathize with depression (or mental illness in general) the same way they do with any other physical illness. I sometimes feel that people blame depression on the person, as if the depressed person chooses to be that way, though they would never do that for other physical ailments that are less taboo.
Thank you so much, Jer, for sharing your story. I know there are people out there who will identify with your story and be strengthened by it. You are awesome!
Name (has been changed): Jer
Age: 28
Location: Colorado
Occupation: SAHM and sometimes Mary Kay consultant
1. Have you ever been officially diagnosed? How do you classify your depression? (i.e. post partum depression, anxiety/depression, clinical depression, etc.)
I have never been officially diagnosed. I believe I had post partum depression after my first was born. The other time was my senior year in high school, and I think that time was circumstantial more than anything.
2. How long have you been depressed?
I’ve always been a really emotionally intense person. I can remember even as a child that often my feelings felt too big to fit in my small body and I couldn’t—or didn’t know how—to contain them. I think I will always feel that way to some degree, though I’ve learned to temper my emotions a little as I have gotten older. I don’t really consider myself depressed anymore, though I still go to therapy occasionally for what I call “maintenance work.”
3. What kind of treatments have you pursued?
Mostly therapy. In high school I tried Prozac. I know this sounds really cliché, but I try getting outside myself (for example, making friends, keeping friends, serving my family and others, etc.) on a regular basis. Also, doing my best at doing what’s right, so there’s less things to beat myself up with guilt about—I make enough reasons to feel guilty as it is. [Note from Laura: Jer! It's not cliche to try getting outside yourself. One reason we talk about service so much in our Church is because it's a true principle--it does make us feel better!]
4. How have those treatments worked for you?
Therapy has been great. I love it and would recommend it to anyone, depressed or not. I just really like having that objective third party to bounce ideas off, and also a safe place where I can spout off any kinds of emotional distress at any level, yet know it is confidential and I won’t be judged for it. In high school I didn’t stay on Prozac long enough to find out if it worked for me. I really do think that surrounding myself with upbeat people really helps me. I’ve also found that it’s a fine balance between trying to do my best, without being too hard on myself. If I can find that balance and stick with it, I think it also helps me.
5. How do you feel your depression has affected your spirituality?
It varies depending on the time in life. Right after I had my daughter, I was so depressed that I had a hard time believing that God loved me, or anyone for that matter. I didn’t pray or read the scriptures. I was so low that I lost a lot of perspective. But as things got better, I think my testimony was strengthened as I became capable of feeling love again. Almost like I had to know what it was like not to feel God’s love to appreciate its importance in my life. I think ultimately I have been strengthened spiritually by my struggles.
6. What do you wish other people understood about depression?
I wish people could sympathize with depression (or mental illness in general) the same way they do with any other physical illness. I sometimes feel that people blame depression on the person, as if the depressed person chooses to be that way, though they would never do that for other physical ailments that are less taboo.
Thank you so much, Jer, for sharing your story. I know there are people out there who will identify with your story and be strengthened by it. You are awesome!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)