I've been struggling a lot this past year. I'm pretty sure I've always suffered from depression and anxiety; at least, I have ever since I can remember. I'm not sure when it started. There was the summer I went to three funerals. I think I was eight or nine, and within a month, three people I knew died: my uncle, my grandfather, and my sister's friend. I don't remember my parents talking to me or trying to help guide me that summer. I had never been to a funeral before, and all this death made me feel odd. I remember going back to school feeling different. Kids would play at recess, and I would sit there on the sidelines by myself. I wanted to be left alone.
I remember always hating recess. There was too much pressure. Find a friend. Play an activity. Be fun and friendly! Even in elementary school, these things didn't come to me naturally as they seemed to with other kids. I didn't have a group of friends. Playing kickball or any type of "sport" made me anxious because I feared I would be terrible. If there was an academic activity during lunch, I signed up for it because it gave me something structured to do. Sadly, I never learned the art of making a fool out of myself in front of others without care. I've never been good at just letting go. That is one quality I wish I could gain from my husband. He rarely cares of what others think of him. I imagine its wonderful.
Perhaps it started there, but I'm not sure. The only other defining time that comes up in when I hit puberty. My body went through changes rapidly. Not only had I always been the tallest kid in class, but now I also had size B breasts in fifth grade. It was impossible not to notice me. Becoming a woman was not a beautiful process. I had terrible acne all through adolescence, and my period was the most painful thing I had ever gone through at that time. I used to joke with my friends that I would rather have the stomach flu because the sensations were similar. Nausea? Check. Bodily pain from head to toes? Check. Exhausted and wanting to die? Check.
Outside of physical symptoms, I remember feeling down more and more often, lost in thought that had no purpose. I spent a lot of time alone, and during outside recesses, I would walk by myself around the track. Around and around I slowly went until the whistle rang, signalling us to line up to return to class.
This is what I think was the beginning of my mental illness. I am not a professional, but when I look back, I can see the glimmers of my depression and anxiety, and over time, it only got worse, manifesting into self-harm, vomiting, and a range of other symptoms. I've never slept well at any age. The smallest sound wakes me up in the middle of the night even now. I'm always afraid something bad is going to happen, so I stay vigilant even in my sleep.
Recently, I restarted therapy. Since October, my mild ongoing depression worsened, making work feel impossible, and even worse, my anxiety skyrocketed. For weeks before Christmas, my heart raced each day; my head ached, and I felt like I couldn't gain control of my symptoms no matter how hard I tried. There are a lot of triggers around that time of year, as I mentioned in a previous post about my father. That is also the time of year our infertility trials really began.
I'm not sure how much therapy is helping. The lady is nice enough, but I hate guiding the conversation myself. I wish she would guide it a bit more. I'm not sure what I want out of it, and that is probably part of the problem. Feeling better is a bit vague as far as goals go. Due to this aimless feeling, I asked my therapist if I we could talk about medications. I've thought about trying antidepressants for nearly a decade now, wondering if they would help my symptoms. But really, how much time do I have to waste until I try something new?
My appointment with the psychiatric nurse practitioner was last week, and I really liked her. She was clear, nonjudgmental, and listened to me. She asked me a lot of questions, and I answered honestly. It's nice to describe my family to someone who doesn't know them. It's also nice to be honest about how I feel. That opportunity is rare. She decided after speaking with her boss for me to try Zoloft, also known as sertraline. It's supposed to be one of the more tolerable medications, and it should interfere the least with my fertility stuff.
The first week hasn't been terrible, but I've definitely been off my diet. A lot of things do not sound good nor taste good, and there has been a little bit of nausea, but it could be worse. It isn't any worse than when I started taking Metformin. It comes in waves. It's mostly my appetite and gut where I am noticing changes. I'd say my head feels a little less heavy, but I'm still foggy and tired. Tonight, my dosage goes up from 25mg to 50mg. Each week it will go up until I hit 100mg, and then, we will assess how I feel from there. I do hope the nausea passes over time as my body gets used to the medications. I really do want to feel better. Hopefully, I can define what that means soon.
I remember always hating recess. There was too much pressure. Find a friend. Play an activity. Be fun and friendly! Even in elementary school, these things didn't come to me naturally as they seemed to with other kids. I didn't have a group of friends. Playing kickball or any type of "sport" made me anxious because I feared I would be terrible. If there was an academic activity during lunch, I signed up for it because it gave me something structured to do. Sadly, I never learned the art of making a fool out of myself in front of others without care. I've never been good at just letting go. That is one quality I wish I could gain from my husband. He rarely cares of what others think of him. I imagine its wonderful.
Perhaps it started there, but I'm not sure. The only other defining time that comes up in when I hit puberty. My body went through changes rapidly. Not only had I always been the tallest kid in class, but now I also had size B breasts in fifth grade. It was impossible not to notice me. Becoming a woman was not a beautiful process. I had terrible acne all through adolescence, and my period was the most painful thing I had ever gone through at that time. I used to joke with my friends that I would rather have the stomach flu because the sensations were similar. Nausea? Check. Bodily pain from head to toes? Check. Exhausted and wanting to die? Check.
Outside of physical symptoms, I remember feeling down more and more often, lost in thought that had no purpose. I spent a lot of time alone, and during outside recesses, I would walk by myself around the track. Around and around I slowly went until the whistle rang, signalling us to line up to return to class.
This is what I think was the beginning of my mental illness. I am not a professional, but when I look back, I can see the glimmers of my depression and anxiety, and over time, it only got worse, manifesting into self-harm, vomiting, and a range of other symptoms. I've never slept well at any age. The smallest sound wakes me up in the middle of the night even now. I'm always afraid something bad is going to happen, so I stay vigilant even in my sleep.
Recently, I restarted therapy. Since October, my mild ongoing depression worsened, making work feel impossible, and even worse, my anxiety skyrocketed. For weeks before Christmas, my heart raced each day; my head ached, and I felt like I couldn't gain control of my symptoms no matter how hard I tried. There are a lot of triggers around that time of year, as I mentioned in a previous post about my father. That is also the time of year our infertility trials really began.
I'm not sure how much therapy is helping. The lady is nice enough, but I hate guiding the conversation myself. I wish she would guide it a bit more. I'm not sure what I want out of it, and that is probably part of the problem. Feeling better is a bit vague as far as goals go. Due to this aimless feeling, I asked my therapist if I we could talk about medications. I've thought about trying antidepressants for nearly a decade now, wondering if they would help my symptoms. But really, how much time do I have to waste until I try something new?
My appointment with the psychiatric nurse practitioner was last week, and I really liked her. She was clear, nonjudgmental, and listened to me. She asked me a lot of questions, and I answered honestly. It's nice to describe my family to someone who doesn't know them. It's also nice to be honest about how I feel. That opportunity is rare. She decided after speaking with her boss for me to try Zoloft, also known as sertraline. It's supposed to be one of the more tolerable medications, and it should interfere the least with my fertility stuff.
The first week hasn't been terrible, but I've definitely been off my diet. A lot of things do not sound good nor taste good, and there has been a little bit of nausea, but it could be worse. It isn't any worse than when I started taking Metformin. It comes in waves. It's mostly my appetite and gut where I am noticing changes. I'd say my head feels a little less heavy, but I'm still foggy and tired. Tonight, my dosage goes up from 25mg to 50mg. Each week it will go up until I hit 100mg, and then, we will assess how I feel from there. I do hope the nausea passes over time as my body gets used to the medications. I really do want to feel better. Hopefully, I can define what that means soon.
Comments
Post a Comment