My journey with depression

I know I have had depression since I was a child.  I always wondered how other people were so self-confident and assertive.  As I child I would sit in my closet criticizing myself, ruminating on bad or embarrassing events from the day, or perceived failures, virtually beating myself up. It was self-torture. It never occurred to me that I had a choice in the matter, or that maybe that this was unusual, or that I could include a happy or proud thought in the litany.

I had a supportive and caring family. Looking back, I am convinced my depression was entirely biologically-based and had little or nothing to do with my environment or experiences.  My environment and experiences all spelled "s-u-c-c-e-s-s."

Fortunately, I was smart and able. I achieved in school and in hobbies. I read a lot. When occupied with a school assignment or activities, I was fine. I coped. I had migraine headaches and allergies. These provided a reason to rest, to be alone and withdraw. They were real -- I still have them -- but they also provided a respite, albeit painful, from the exhausting job of coping.

While in reality I had wonderful friends and genuinely enjoyed their company, at other times -- multiple times daily -- I was convinced that I was unlikable and that people were just pretending to like me, putting up with me, barely tolerating me. I dealt with the praise heaped upon me by parents and teachers by thinking they were well-meaning, but simply didn't realize that I was fundamentally flawed.  I was a fraud.

As a teen, when I heard of a suicide, I always identified with the person. I was never suicidal myself, but I couldn't understand why people said things like, "how could anyone do that?" I knew exactly how someone could do that.

Since childhood, I've had a persistent, intrusive thought: "you're going to wind up in the gutter."

I started into counseling in my twenties, and learned proactive skills -- how to interrupt negative thoughts and how to re-frame negatives as positives. This was a great help to me, but I still had frequent feelings of worthlessness or that I was doomed to failure. By this time, of course, I realized that these thoughts had no basis in fact -- quite the opposite. That did not prevent them from draining me or sneaking up on me when I was tired.

In retrospect, I can identify many self-defeating decisions and behaviors.  I can also identify episodes of major depression.

Fast forward twenty years. A psychologist who was treating another family member recommended I be evaluated for clinical depression.  "Finally," I thought to myself, "someone has recognized that there is something amiss in me." I got the evaluation and a prescription for Zoloft.

My husband first noted a change when I replied sassily to some small criticism. He was actually glad that I now talked back to him in a joking manner rather than letting his remark pierce me to the core!  He didn't have to worry so much about hurting my feelings. Wow! What a concept!

I have been let out of a cage that entrapped me all my life. I am now able to spread my wings and fly.  

Antidepressants are not perfect. No pill can substitute for the intricate regulation that a properly-working body provides. Just look at diabetes.  Medical science is getting better at titrating medications based on real-time feedback, but we are many years away from doing this with brain chemistry. I am grateful for medication, imperfect as it is.  It sure beats the alternative.

If you think psychiatric medications are crutches or "happy pills," I can assure you that my experience has been the opposite. I am still able to feel the full range of emotions, but negative emotions no longer sink me.  I think the "real me" has been able to finally emerge and mingle with the world rather than being imprisoned by depression. Hallelujah!