For most of my adult life I’ve lived with mild depression and anxiety.
Three and a half years ago, my family was thrust into a tragic situation involving one of our children and deep down the rabbit hole I went. My depression and anxiety consumed my life.
I sought the help of a psychiatrist and therapist to help me through those dark days. The psychiatrist prescribed medication, which I willingly accepted. The therapist listened to and gave me insight in order to help me survive the ordeal one day at a time.
Despite medication and therapy, my depression and anxiety continued to worsen. It became so bad, all I wanted to do was sleep.
I didn’t care about anything; not getting dressed, brushing my hair, housework, showering, nothing. Sleep was my escape from all that was happening in my life. You can’t think or worry if you’re sleeping, right?
I didn’t go anywhere unless it was absolutely necessary, didn’t see friends or family; I basically hid away from the world. It was really exhausting and not something easily explained to those who haven’t been there.
Returning to the doctor, I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder with anxiety. I didn’t much care for the diagnosis because it made me feel weak and embarrassed.
A change in medications finally pulled me out of the dark hole and back into the light of the world. I still struggle, but I’m no longer sleeping all the time and I’ve returned to things like showering and getting out of the house. Two really big accomplishments.
I’ve come to realize my depression/anxiety is an illness not something of which to be ashamed. I no longer try to hide the fact that my brain has a chemical imbalance and is wired differently than others.
I no longer believe I’m weak. I’ve come to know I am a strong individual.