So my mental health is serious enough that I have to have regular visits with a psychiatrist. Imagine this, a creepy old bluestone villa that smells musty and damp with old 80’s décor in a deafeningly silent waiting room, yes this is where my psychiatrist practices. At these appointments it is a review of the medication that I have to take and regular assessments of my mental health are made. I’m pleased to report that I have been doing well since my medication started working almost over a year ago, there was that final puzzle piece that I needed plus I started to see a brilliant Social Worker who provides me with outstanding counselling and the emotional pain that I was in subsided. It was like a miracle to me, after years of seeing a psychologist and making no progress, I switched to a Social Worker who understood the impact of trauma and who understood me and I received results that I never had dreamed of. ( Please note: I made the decision to change health professionals with my family and my doctor being consulted too)
Depression must feel different to everyone I imagine. For me I felt emotional pain, like that feeling in your throat when you are about to have a cry. I felt like that all the time. I can remember days of despair, days when I just wanted the pain to end, I didn’t know how to put one foot in front of the other. Anxiety was a stage I went through for approximately six months, so anxious without knowing why. I’d wake up in a panic over simple decisions that needed to be made, every night a nightmare. Thank goodness for my Mother and my Husband being able to help me. I’d drive my husband to the bus stop for his early morning commute, once I’d calmed but I’d cry ‘ Why is this happening to me?’. I was at a loss, I thought I was a good person, I was a mother, a wife, I had a fantastic career as a Senior Social Worker and I worked with youth at my local church. What on earth had I done to deserve this hell that I was now living in. Looking back I can’t believe I survived those days, those early days which turned into years of suffering depression. I think I resorted to sleep as an escape, I couldn’t stand the pain, waking only to speak to my husband and daughter or for my meals. It was a cruel existence. I would not wish it on anyone, not anyone at all.