My story, an introduction message [View all]

I just read the post regarding the purpose of this group, and I elect to tell others about my journey through hell and back in the hope that someone gets hope, or at least can recognize themselves in my experiences. I am currently writing a book about my experience with mental illness and, yes, there are tons of them out there. I don't need to have a best seller, and the process may be nothing but therapeutic towards helping me in understanding myself. If so, that's more than enough.

Moderators: if anything I've said here may be seen as counterproductive, please hide it, but please give me a chance to edit. Thanks!

I've known I've had depression since I was probably twelve years old. A couple of decades have gone by since then; at the time, I was mortified someone would find out. I grew up in the south, and everyone used to talk about the state-run "insane asylum," and recall being told that if I wasn't "good" in school, church, home, etc., someone could sentence me to go there. Of course none of them knew what I knew, and when other kids were told the same thing, they just laughed. I was petrified.

So, you might say there was some stigma attached to the idea of being less than "right" up there.

As time has passed, I'm sure my mother and her father suffered from the same illness and the same fear of treatment, and in fact I think knowing how they felt about it made me hypersensitive. Fortunately, we live in a (somewhat) more enlightened age.

When, at about 18 or 20, and still in the South, I made an appointment with the county mental health care office, I went to be interviewed. I think the woman had her own set of issues, honestly. Saying "damn" or "hell" obviously freaked her out. She finally told me what she'd obviously wanted to all along—"just pray about it and god will fix it." I probably don't need to mention that my reliance on the state stopped right then and there. And, no, I wasn't as honest then as I am now, otherwise I'd have told her a few things. Anyway, by then I'd already been praying about it for years, as well as another issue*, with no response. Of course.

Should probably mention I grew up going to church Sunday, morning & night as well as sometimes during the week. I left that place as soon as possible, and moved on to other places, other opportunities, using each move to an unknown city as a chance to "start over."

For years, I got on just fine, most of the time, by throwing myself into my work, taking on more work than I should have so that I always had something churning in the back of my mind. I didn't realize why at the time, but it worked to my advantage: I could go to sleep with several problems in my head, and would very often awake with creative solutions, which of course helped my career. Yet, every time I was spotlighted for good work, etc., I felt ashamed. At one industry awards ceremony I had to stand before a huge audience to accept. I could feel heat coming off my face, knowing I didn't deserve any award for anything, and I just wanted to run and hide. Years, as they do, went by.

Finally, between the rigged Supreme Court election of 2000, a disastrous move to another city, the nation on Bush, the killing of the Twin Towers, Armed Forces at airports, eroding privacy, etc., just wore me down to a point where I couldn't function. Couldn't get out of bed for hours at a time. I would literally have to envision every step of getting up--every muscular movement, no matter how small, to even raise myself up in bed, much less to get up, shower, make coffee, etc. It was thoroughly exhausting, and while I knew it made no sense, obviously, I was somehow paralyzed and unable to move.

The phone would ring, and I couldn't answer it. I could hear my friends, clients, family talking into the answering machine. Sometimes this went on for days at a time. Yet I was powerless. Sometimes I could force myself out of bed if I had to pee real bad. Sometimes not. Finally, I somehow summoned up the wherewithal to get to a doctor and got put on meds.

I can recall lying in bed, trying to sleep, but my brain just kept on going and going, like a needle or data sensor on a blank disk, searching for something, anything, to occupy it. I can only assume this is why I had earlier been able to take on complex problems and solve them, literally, in my sleep. I confess I did self medicate with LOTS of alcohol, just to shut my brain down, hoping to reboot. I literally felt like I was walking chest-deep in cold lead that had been formed around me.

Most of my clients left me due to my inability to respond quickly and churn out professional work. Yet, even though I was able to get free meds through The City's program, I paid for them myself, more often than not, figuring, rightly, that others needed help as much as or more than me, and I could afford it, for awhile, anyway.

I had what my doctor called "suicidal ideation," in that I wanted to not exist but couldn't do anything about it. Glad I didn't, in retrospect!

I was diagnosed ten years ago next week, and finally feel as though my self-confidence is back. Of course, starting treatment with meds was a very long and wrenching process: Lexapro, which took months to sorta work, in that I could finally consciously notice colors and flowers; then Celexa, which was Lexapro repackaged so they could retain a patent. And a couple of other drugs that didn't work or made me nearly psychotic. One drug, may have been an old antidepressant now used as a sleeping med, gave me incredible, mostly wonderful dreams. Nothing too unusual if you find the idea of washers and dryers growing from giant plants unremarkable!

I finally got on the drug regimen I'm on now just over four years ago, and the heavy dark fog started going away. Went to group therapy all that time with no real success, but made some wonderful friends. It was obvious to my dr it was a chemical imbalance, in my case.

Of course, your mileage may vary.

Anyone who may wish to DUmail me for details or just to chat, feel free.


*Oh yeah, I almost forgot. That other thing I prayed so damn hard about? I'm gay. If anyone has a problem with that, it's your problem, so enjoy it, by all means.