The diagnosis.

It was really hard to explain to people, so normally I didn't (and still don't.) Just my one friend-Jenny. And it was hard because sometimes I'd be completely fine, but then other times I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. I wouldn't usually reach out for help or to talk, but when I did, these are the things I'd say:

It's hard to look back at those and truly feel the emotion behind them. I feel like people carelessly have thrown the phrase "kill me" around so much that it has lost meaning. But at these moments, I truly wanted it. I wanted it so badly. 

Anyway, after figuring out that I was probably depressed, I decided to take it more seriously. I realized that nothing was working; everything was just a temporary fix. This had gone on too long, so I decided to take action and get professional help. 

But of course, that was too overwhelming, so I just waited it out a little longer. Like I mentioned earlier, my friend had to come over and basically dial the number for me and let me talk to make the appointment. It was so embarrassing, but I did it. I had an appointment. 

So I went to the doctor's appointment, right? My coworker recommended this doctor because he is also her mental health doctor and she said he was really good. So I sat in the doctor's office and while I waited there, I was overcome with panic. What if I was just overreacting to the entire thing and I'm just fine? i pulled out my phone frantically and texted my friend:

The doctor ended up coming in and giving me tests. I explained my past to him, my present, all the feelings I had been having , all the thoughts I had. He gave me a "diagnosis" of depression and a prescription for antidepressants. He told me to come back in a month. 

I left feeling relieved. A little hopeful that maybe things would be good. Of course it took a month and a half to kick in. And of course I didn't go back to see him in a month... my bad. 

So about two and a half months later, not only am I really bad at remembering to take pills (I was pretty consistent, there was just a day here or there that I'd forget), but I also felt like I was going crazy. I felt anxious and that I had too much energy and I needed an outlet but there was no way to get that outlet. I can't explain it, but in short, I just felt crazy. And I wasn't really feeling "anti-depressed." So I stopped taking those pills. 

It wasn't quite a month later when I started having ridiculous lows again. I had a serious emotional breakdown everyday for at least two hours a day. The most ridiculous things set me off and I would be having a good day where I felt good and then I'd talk to someone about something and start crying and not be able to stop. Not just tears, but full on sobs. And I'd also get super angry, and agitated which as I previously said, is not like me at all. I quickly called to make another appointment with my doctor. the soonest I could get scheduled was two weeks away. I hung up the phone and sobbed in the break room. 

My rapidly fluctuating mood swings ended up interfering too much with my work and I was soon let go. 

I went on road trips to cheer me up. They did, too. But I always had to come back down when I came home. And even though I had been working for months making pretty decent money, my shopping spree of "retail therapy" that I had gone on a month earlier dumped basically all of it and I was left with some sparse remains. 

I was at a loss. I knew I couldn't handle having a job, but I also knew I couldn't really live on the money in my bank account, especially if I was going to be getting professional help. But I didn't really have a choice. 

Stressed, I returned to my doctor. He came in and said "I hear we haven't fixed you yet." I sobbed and explained what I had been experiencing. He had me take a sleep apnea test, added a diagnosis of a mood disorder (which he was suspicious of the first appointment but I tried to talk him out of it then). He gave me some really strong meds and said to come back in two weeks. 

I took those pills at an increasing dose as directed and boy. Those effects were immediate. They knocked me out. I slept for 14-17 hours a day. I felt like a zombie. I had a ridiculous appetite and ate everything, and I also had no energy. I would tell people what these meds were doing to me and they told me to stop taking them, but I couldn't. I couldn't say no to a potential solution. After two weeks, I went back to get more help. I was so discouraged. He came in the room just as he had the previous time and repeated his line "so I hear we haven't fixed you yet." I just looked at him and sad: "I'm unfixable." I really believed it at that point. Sometimes I still do. Much of the time, I still do. 

When I told him about the pills, he decided to do a genetic test to see what medications worked well with the enzymes in my body. I came back a few weeks later to see test results. No surprise, the second one was on the bad list. Turns out, there were only six medications that were on the good list. And one of them was the first medication they had me on. 

That was disheartening. If the first one didn't work, maybe none of the ones on the good list will make any difference. Maybe I really am unfixable.

It's been a few weeks that I've been taking the third medication. I don't think I'm feeling anything yet. I still have approximately 1 emotional breakdown a day. Last week, I think I went one day without one, but ohhhh boy did it catch up with me the next day. I cried so hard. I ugly cried. I cried so loud. I couldn't control myself. I couldn't talk. I couldn't be around people the whole second half of the day, or I would start crying. The amount of snot I produced was unreal. too much? tell me about it. 

I would be lying if I said that I think I'm anywhere near being able to function like a normal human being again. I'll be starting school again in a few weeks. I used to be so good at time management and getting my work done on time and not procrastinating and also being able to work part-time. Now I worry and wonder if I'll be able to make it. 

The reality is that it could never get better in this life. I have hope that it will, but my mood disorder diagnosis (also called bipolar) is something that is lifelong. I am really scared because I don't know when my episodes will happen. I don't how frequently the cycles will cycle. But I am trying to be educated and understand it so that I can help myself. I am fighting. And I hope that I never give up. 

Background.

I feel like even on my good days it gets worse. I get out. I enjoy the sunshine. I talk to good people. I am told that I am loved. I am served. I am complimented. I am offered so much of the good that the world has to offer. I count my blessings. But then, out of nowhere, I am in tears. Convulsing sobs in the confines of my bedroom or even the back seat of my car. I feel unworthy to be on this earth. I didn’t do anything wrong. The guilt comes out of nowhere. But it’s consuming.

 I go out to socialize. People say that having a strong social support group is important for happiness. But there’s always a moment.  A moment during the social interaction where it’s no longer enjoyable. There is a switch- a switch that just turns off and I feel a complete void. I don’t want to be social anymore. I just want to sink away to my room. But how do I tell that to people? How do I tell people that I’m too overwhelmed—even though my daily activities have consisted of nothing—yet I’m too exhausted to be around people. How do I tell them that without them taking it personally that even though we were laughing and having a good time a minute ago—I just have to be alone?  They notice that something is wrong. But it’s never the time to get into it when there’s a bunch of people around. I feel trapped. I feel like I’m sabotaging my relationships. I feel like no matter what I do, I can’t win.

I get angry. I get so, so irritated that I just want to scream and cry and tell people off. People who I love, who are kind, who are doing their best to help me. Instead, I hold it in and I release it in silent sobs at 2 am when I can’t sleep. I laugh off cutting remarks in the moment that eat at me and fuel my hate fire for the next time I see those people. And then the anxious anticipation comes. When I walk in my house and hold my breath, knowing that if my roommates are home I will have to do anything I can to get out of talking to them. Every question they ask feels invasive—even though I know they are just trying to make conversation and be kind and loving. “how are you doing?” “how was your day?” “what are you watching.” It takes all I can muster not to snap and say “none of your business.”

And I hate it. I hate it all.

I wasn’t always like this. I used to be so even tempered, it was insane. I mean, I had the occasional breakdown and fit of rage here and there, as is normal with the typical with depression that I’ve had since childhood, but I was convinced that by 16, I had grown out of it. That was until it came back hard at 18. Then it went minor again. But at 21…I couldn’t deny it anymore. I never admitted that I had depression. I think that maybe it’s because of the church, and the constant sentiment of “you get to choose how you feel” and “you are not the victim of your circumstance.” I was convinced to believe that I was just a negative minded young woman, afflicted by hardships in childhood, and that was the reason I was so pessimistic. So after years of effort, I overcame the negative thinking, the self harm, the public emotional outbursts. So many people had told me that I had changed and become a different person. And I LOVED that. I was the poster child of how positive thinking makes all the difference. I was a living example of how choosing your emotions could change your life. That’s who I wanted to be. And I grew to love myself.

Lots of things happened over the next few years. I experienced some severe lows and some euphoric highs. I graduated high school, I got my first jobs, I went to college, I served an LDS mission, I came home, got my associates degree, had a good life, for the most part. I was still in the choice mentality. I was having some issues, dad being in the hospital, car issues, money issues, and then a break up which was the final event in a chain that sent me reeling. I tried to not let it get to me. I tried to choose to be okay. I threw myself into things like the temple, ward involvement, family stuff, road trips, all of the things they say to get your life back. I reconnected with old friends, I tried so. hard. I felt like I spanned the entire spectrum of human emotion every day but always ended up at the bottom. I told my best friend about all of it, and she made suggestions. I got priesthood blessings that made things wonderful for a few days, but within the week things would sink back to being terrible. I talked to my bishop and his wife, individually and they both expressed their concern that I had depression. I refused to acknowledge that suggestion. I was just a person having a hard time looking for a solution. I knew there was one, I just hadn’t found it yet. Or so I thought.

In a final decision of needing to get away, I made the quick decision to move to the neighboring state. I had $200 in my bank account and no job secured. Well, I made it. I was so happy the first week. I thought all my troubles were gone. I had gotten a job and in the meantime before that job started, I found temp work. It was working out. But though I could get a new routine, move to a new place, have a new scenery, interact with different people and all of that, my demons followed me. I was still trapped inside myself and nowhere I went could get me far enough away from myself. I had a lot of friends in my new location, so for a month I drew on them for support. I made some spontaneous road trips with new friends. But eventually I spiraled. I was under my roommates bed at midnight sobbing uncontrollably on the phone to my parents about how I didn’t feel like I had any future  and I wished I was dead. It got to the point where I could only get out of bed to go to work and home. I didn’t talk to anybody unless it was my roommates or my coworkers who I had to be around. All of my commitments I immediately regretted because it meant going to things and trying to be my old self—the one I had lost in all the emotion. One day I was just sitting at work answering phones, wondering how I was going to make it, when the only quote I could hold on to was Holland’s “do not vote against the preciousness of life by ending it.” I repeated that over and over in my head as silent tears rolled down my cheeks. My friend finally said needed to seek professional help.

It took a while. And since I couldn’t handle any responsibility, she was the one who ended up calling making appointments for me while I lay there curled up on the couch. It’s been five months since then and waking up every day is still a struggle. I don’t know what to do…but I feel like getting it out written down somewhere so it’s not just festering inside me is good.

It’s been …

Humiliating.

Frustrating.

Problematic.

Hopeful.

and Emotional.

And I’m not going to lie and say it’s been okay. And I’m also not going to lie that it’s okay now. But I know that someday everything will be absolutely perfect; and that’s going to have to be okay for now.