Insight into Depression

First of all I think it’s important to understand why I’m writing this. I know everyone’s experiences are unique and different. I am hoping, however, that my experience is relatable and can perhaps help someone else or offer them insight into themselves.

My story starts when I was 15. This was the first time I realized something was off with me. I was never happy, even when I knew I should be. I had a lot of pain bottled up inside and I didn’t know how to verbalize it. This is when I turned to cutting. It started with smashed tin cans with jagged edges. I couldn’t stomach cutting myself with a knife at first. I found that the cutting ‘released’ the pain. It gave me a sense of control I otherwise didn’t have. It also allowed my internal pain to be visible externally. I’ve often been asked if it hurt when I cut. At the time I was doing it, no. It felt good. It would hurt in the days after at times, but during the act it was almost a relief…so much so that the tin cans did eventually turn to knives. At one point I had a knife hidden under my mattress for easy access.

I hid my cuts under long sleeves, no matter how hot it was outside. No one questioned me…until they did. A friend of mine eventually put 2 and 2 together and later my stepmother did. It was then I was forced to ask for help. I lived with my father at the time and I went and told him I thought I was depressed.

Before I continue there are two very important things to note here. 1) I never told him about the cutting specifically. It’s only been in recent months I’ve told him that part. 2) To this very day he denies the following ever happened. I know for a fact it did. It was in January of 2000. I have the event written in a diary I kept at that time. I’m not sure if he truly believes this didn’t happen or if he’s trying to convince me it didn’t, regardless, this is my account of how *I* KNOW it happened.

I went into my father’s room and explained how I’d been feeling and that I was depressed. I told him I needed help. He responded by telling me I was too young to know was depression was and that this was a sick cry for attention. I started to cry and plea for him to listen. In retrospect I’m not sure how clearly I was even speaking at this point. His response was to tell me if I was going to act like a child he would treat me like one. I was sent to the corner to face the wall for a ‘time out’. I sat there and cried until I was sent to my room. Once I made it to my room I cried and cried. I wanted to die then and there. I remembered the knife stashed under my mattress. I knew if I grabbed it at that point I would go too far. I knew I would kill myself. To this day I’m not entirely sure why, but something in me fought against picking up the knife that night. I literally clung to the corners of my mattress as I battled myself against digging out that knife. I cried and clung to my mattress until I finally crashed from exhaustion.

In the months that followed I continued to cut but I took even more care to conceal it. I suffered through the depression alone. At some point I actually managed to convince myself I was fine. I convinced myself I wasn’t depressed.

In my senior year of high school I moved back in with my mom. She saw clearly I needed help and she tried to get me help. But I was convinced I was fine. I did not want to be on medication for the rest of my life. It took months or arguments and battles but I finally did go to the doctor. I was diagnosed with depression and put on medication. For a couple of years I was fine.

At some point I got it in my crazy head I was cured and that I didn’t need medication anymore. I took myself off of it. Let me say that again. I took MYSELF off it. Anyone that knows anything about medication knows you should never take yourself off any med. If you are going to go off any medication you should always consult a doctor.

Fortunately I was fine, for awhile. For quite awhile. Until I wasn’t.

I was 23 and it had been six years since the last time I cut. Something in me snapped I sunk to a level of depression I had never before seen. Quite simply, I was out of control. I started having horrible anxiety attacks to the point I couldn’t even deal with going to work. I started cutting again. I got to the point that I would flip out and go hysterical for almost nothing at all.

One night I got so bad that I grabbed an almost full box of sleep aid. I was going to down them all. My life was a mess. I had pushed away everyone that mattered to me. I had single handedly trashed my life to a point I felt was beyond repair. I saw no silver lining anywhere and I was convinced it would never get better. I wanted out. I was done. I would have taken those sleep aids if my older brother hadn’t walked in. He literally had to tackle me to get them out of my hand. He took them and disposed of them then he talked me down.

At this point I realized I needed help in the most severe way. I went to the doctor the next day. I didn’t have a regular doctor. I just took the first one that would see me. I went in and explained my situation to her. She was worried I was a danger to myself and she sent me to a mental hospital for evaluation. As I was sitting in the waiting room filled with other psych patients it was then I realized how far out of control I’d actually spun out. I made a conscious decision at that point to get better…to get my life back.

It was that decision that kept me from being committed that day. By the time the doctors saw me I had made up my mind that I didn’t want to die. After evaluations from three doctors they decided I wasn’t a danger to myself or others and they released me on the condition I go back for outpatient treatment. And I did. I saw a psychiatrist on a regular basis and we went through different medications until we found one that worked. I also started therapy.

I want to pause and make a very important point here…we had to try different medications until we found one that worked. Too many times people try one and give up when it doesn’t work. I’ve been on Celexa, Zoloft, and Paxil CR in various doses. None of those worked for me. Do they work for some? Absolutely. I know someone that is doing very well on Zoloft. It didn’t work for me. If you are having issues with depression stay in contact with your doctor and adjust your medication until it works. This is a very personal process and one you should be very active in.

I finally settled on Paxil. Just normal Paxil. It took a little dosing adjustment but eventually, after months of trial and error, we got it right and life was good again. I moved back in with my mom (I’d been living on my own after college) and started to get my life back on track.

A couple years later I noticed some of my symptoms coming back. I went back to the doctor and my medication got adjusted and I got a higher dose. This worked, but not for long. The next step was to change meds again. This time I got switched to Efexor. Like with Paxil it took some dose adjustment to get it right, but we did. This is the medication I remain on today.

Throughout this process I learned I will never be cured. I will likely be on some sort of medication for the rest of my life, and that’s ok. Depression is an illness, just like diabetes or any other life long condition. Some people take insulin everyday to maintain a normal life. I have to take pills. It’s just the cards I was dealt. I also learned I am not a “former” cutter. I am a recovering cutter and I will be forever. Cutting is a vice like drinking or drugs. It’s an unhealthy coping mechanism. There are times I still do get the urge to cut and I fight it. I am always at risk of “falling off the wagon”. All I can do is maintain awareness of this fact and take it one day at a time.

I’ve also learned what to look for in myself. If my symptoms start to creep back up I go to my doctor right away and get my medication adjusted. Whether it’s a different dose or a different medication altogether there is a way to balance it out. It’s a constant work in progress. I have to stay very aware of my moods and determine if what I’m feeling is normal depression for a reason or irrational depression that is part of my illness. The longer I deal with this illness the more self aware I become. I also rely on those around me to tell me if I’m acting abnormal. I’ve learned to trust their comments. I may not see what they do. If I have those closest to me tell me I’m not myself then I go to my doctor for evaluation.

Again, everyone is different. This is my story. This is what I went through and how I came through it. I don’t proclaim to know your story or what will work for you. I can only offer up my experience and hope it helps in some way. The most important thing to know is that you are not alone. Millions of people suffer from depression. Some are on medication for a short time, others are lifers like me. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It is an illness, but a treatable one. You can over come it. Look within yourself and fight it.