The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

I will definitely be writing about food in this portion of my journey, but I will be writing just as much about my NOW, my daily life, my Journey of Becoming. This Journey includes my battle with depression and anxiety. This is a difficult subject for me to bare to those I am not close with, but I have come to realize that sometimes brutal honesty about subjects that others are not always willing to talk about can be helpful to others dealing with the same issues. First, a brief history:

Now This is Life is sprinkled with sentences referencing my struggle with depression and anxiety. I cannot pinpoint a time in my life that this surfaced. I can tell you an approximate time that it worsened, but even in childhood I can remember staring into my own eyes in the mirror and just...crying. When I was in high school, I was very religious, and committing suicide never crossed my mind. I simply wished I didn't exist. I prayed for the second coming of Christ to happen ASAP so I wouldn't have to be here anymore. At 17, I began my questioning and soul searching and the quest to find myself. The next few years were extremely tumultuous for me. I had my first full on panic attacks, even though I didn't know that's what was happening at the time. I began to think about taking my wish for lack of existence into my own hands. Daily. I had specific ways chosen. These thoughts would flash through my head unbidden as I was driving down the highway. I would choose to wrap myself in them when I was buried in blankets trying to rid myself of the constant chill that resides in you from November to May for the residents of North Eastern Ohio. This was my reality. I didn't know that there was help. I didn't know that this was unhealthy. I didn't know that I wasn't alone. I didn't know.

After I had my children, I didn't think about removing myself anymore. I had a reason greater than the sadness to remain here. I had responsibility. I had a purpose to fight through. After my first daughter was born, I began my first depression medication. Lexapro seemed to help a little bit, but when I tried to look back on day to day things that happened while I was on that medicine, I found memories to be foggy. I refused to be unable to recall Harmony's childhood. I weaned off of it. I struggled for awhile longer without medication, but after a trip to New York where I had a panic attack in front of Marc's family, I made a call to my doctor on the way home for an appointment to get on something new. I was put on Effexor, but two weeks later at the recheck appointment, found I was pregnant with Layla and had to be taken back off of it. When Layla was 15 months old, I weaned her and began taking Effexor again, with an Ativan kicker when necessary. We tried Xanax first, but I hated the way it made me feel. It made me loopy and knocked me out. I've been on this combination for about two years now. It is helpful, and along with therapy, I feel I have come a long way along this winding road.

Therapy has been extremely helpful. The problem with beginning medications and therapy is that there are so many different ones out there on both counts. I went through two therapists before I finally landed with a third who was actually able to help me. He was able to give me ACTIONS to perform and things to tell myself when I would get into certain states of mind to help break the cycle. He was able to communicate to Marc ways that he could help me when I would get into a state of anxiety. He helped Marc understand what was happening with me. Different medications affect people differently, so it often takes trial and error to find the right combination to help. This is a daunting task when you can barely find the strength and motivation to just get out of bed in the morning. It takes at least six weeks before you will even begin to know if a medicine is beginning to work for you or not, and another period of time to wean off one medicine and to start another. It seems like a never ending cycle sometimes, and you begin to doubt that there really is help.

One of the hardest parts of depression is feeling like there is no hope. That is when the dark thoughts begin to creep it. I felt sometimes like I was destined to hurt this bad forever. I felt like I was never going to get better, I was always going to be sad and have an ache in my chest. The reason I got out of bed was for Harmony. She gave me a reason to push. She gave me a reason to get better. She gave me a reason to keep trying.

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I feel better most of the time now. I struggle more with anxiety than depression these days, but that is due to the medication I am on. I had a period where I fought taking medications. I wanted so badly to be able to do it holistically, with therapy and herbs alone. Eventually I realized that this was not a realistic aspiration for me. I also realized that this has been a lifelong struggle, and will continue to BE a lifelong struggle. I will never "recover" from depression. I will likely need to be on medication the rest of my life. Depression is hard in this sense because if someone has a heart condition, there is something that you can SEE on a screen that shows that you need medication. You can't see depression on a screen. You can't run a blood test that shows you have it. THIS DOESN'T MEAN IT ISN'T REAL. It is just as real of a condition as a heart murmur or a broken leg. I have to remind myself of this often. Occasionally I fight taking my meds. Sometimes I will think, "I feel so much better. My stress inducers have lessened. Maybe I will be fine off the meds." I quickly realize that it doesn't work that way.

All of that back story was to lead up to this:
This last month, I was off my thyroid medicine completely for about a month (thyroid problems also contribute to depression) just because I was too busy to get it refilled, and when I went to finally pick up that prescription, found out that I needed a recheck before I could refill my Effexor. I ended up being off Effexor for a couple of days before I was able to get that taken care of. I had no idea that missing a dose even for a couple of days could have such dramatic results.

Friday was the day. I hadn't had a dose of Effexor in over 48 hours and the 48 hours prior to that, I only had a partial dose in an attempt to "ration" what I had left. I began to feel nauseous. I was having headaches. By Friday, my vision was jumpy, I was extremely irritable, my head was pounding, my stomach was in knots, I was getting sweats, I was crying every few minutes, and I was overall just very unwell. I looked up withdrawel symptoms and found that even one missed dose of Effexor can cause dramatic withdrawel effects. I needed medication back in my system ASAP.

Today is Sunday. I have had three doses of Effexor since Friday and am beginning to feel more "normal".

The fact that I will remain of some form of medication is a hard pill for me to swallow (pun totally intended.) I feel like I SHOULD be able to do it on my own. If I want it bad enough or work hard enough, I should be able to just....be better. Right?!? Wrong. I have to continuously remind myself of this. It doesn't make me weak to admit this. It simply means that I am now wise enough to recognize that I need the help and that it IS OK TO NEED THIS HELP. Sometimes being wise doesn't mean having all the answers, but knowing where to go to find them.

I know I will still fight it occasionally, but I am thankful that I have a partner by my side who has walked with me through all these dark times and stuck with me even during my craziest. He loved me before I loved myself enough to get help. He recognizes when I am getting to a state of agitation sometimes before I do, and helps talk me down when he can, and gets me my medication when he can't. I am so incredibly thankful for him. I am so thankful that he shares my NOW.