Ok, here we go from the beginning. For those of you who are following because of the tag of “depression”, you’ll get it. For those of you following because you know me, you’ve lived it with me!
A little over a year ago, my tongue started to flicker in my mouth. Turns out it was a rare side effect (Tardive Dyskinesia) from one of my antidepressants I had been on. (Of course, I get the rare side effects, I’m a “sensitive” person, lol.) So I had to go off the medication that had worked wonderfully for me straight away. It put me in worse than a “blue funk” I normally get into. My wonderful internist tried a different drug to no avail, and he finally said, “time for a psychiatrist”, which I had been fighting like crazy, (not a pun) as I have so much respect and trust and feelings of safeness with him. Meanwhile, I had been bumped up on one drug to try to compensate for the loss of the one I had to be taken off. (For those of you who aren’t familiar, many of us with depression take more than one drug for it.)
I became ultra hyper, to say the least. We were moving our daughter from Colorado to Buffalo for a few months before her wedding, and all I could do was pace, or, take a Xanax, and then collapse from anxiety. Andrea’s caption of this pic, “Moving broke Mom” .
So I got into a psychiatrist asap. (If you can get into a psychiatrist soon, it’s a red flag.) She was Russian, which provided an ethnic flair to her handling of me. Andrea (our daughter) came with me. The psychiatrist was not for me. She would throw her arms up in the air and say, “What I do with you????” Her morals and standards on life were way different than mine. She wanted me to start ECT ( electroconvulsive therapy), “electric shock” from the olden days! She claimed it was no big deal – out patient now! Yipee! I refused, as it would require me to get out of bed for many weeks every day of the week to complete it. Plus, I would probably have memory loss of my daughter’s wedding and my grandson’s precious last six months. And plus again, I was petrified about it as my mother had it twice, and it did NOT help her. You’re conjuring up “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”, aren’t you? Apparently it’s easier and nicer (?) now, they claim.
Long story short, after nine months of trying different SNRIs, SSRIs, mood stabilizers, off-label use pills, I had lost 35 lbs, and still could not stop crying 24/7 or get out of bed. I was sick (the barfs, nausea, etc.) all the time (the depression itself caused this as there are serotonin receptors in your stomach, and the medication side effects contributed). I carried a barf bag with me at all times. Again, I can’t explain the nonstop crying I couldn’t control. Marty (my husband) would find me in the fetal position in the kitchen crying, take me upstairs, feed me my xanax, and I’d sleep. But only to wake up to do the whole thing over again. Depression is so debilitating.
I was in therapy with a psychologist every other week, where I sat there for 50 minutes and cried. She was so worried about me. The therapy itself didn’t really help me other than it got me out of the house and from the safety of my bed to the safety of her couch, where nobody could say something stupid to me. She could soothe me.
I had to take a leave of absence from my volunteer position at the local cancer hospital, but my husband, Marty, still made me still babysit twice a week for my grandson, which saved my life….he kept me going, as did my family. He is my little blessing.
More to come….