Try, try again

I experienced PPD after my son was born. It went untreated until my daughter came along 18 months later. I was put on anti-depressants for a short while. They seemed to do the trick. Fast forward almost 10 years and I found myself in the depths of depression again.

This time it was different.

My mind literally felt like it disconnected.

I was in such a dark place, and while with PPD I had the same feelings of being overwhelmed and not good enough, this time differed in that I really wanted to die. I could not see any other way to end the pain and sheer torment I was experiencing. I reached my breaking point one afternoon in my office. My mind literally felt like it disconnected. It shut down and to this day I still don’t know how I was able to call my sister and say “I need help.”

But I did.

My sister came to my office, gathered me up in her arms and took me to the hospital. I vaguely remember going through the paces there but I do remember being locked in a stark, white room by myself for what seemed like hours. It was during this time of solitude that my brain seemed to kick back in and I realized where I was and what was happening. For some reason I decided that there was no way I was staying and so I gathered my thoughts and gave the doctor all the “right” answers and shortly thereafter was discharged.

I remember thinking how easy it was to fool them. 

I called my family doctor once I got home and made an appointment with him and that lead to another and another and prescription after prescription.  Try this, and then try this, and if that doesn’t work try this and oh yeah, this one might help. It wasn’t long before I was sleeping 24-7. My mom had come to help out as I had two step daughters and a husband that really had no idea what was happening.

I don’t remember much about the time my mom spent with me other than her waking me up to take my meds and urging me to eat a slice of toast.  After a few weeks, my body adjusted to the medication and  I was up on my feet and back to work. I would go to see my doctor almost daily and I would cry and he would listen and then send me on my way. This went on for months.

Finally I was able to get into a program at a local hospital – it was an Adult Day Treatment Program for people with mental health issues – mostly depression and anxiety. It was somewhere I went Mon-Friday for I think about 12 weeks. I loved it. Met people who were just like me – depressed, afraid, at their wits end about what to do and we quickly became close friends. Problem was  just like I had been discharged at the hospital months earlier, I was sent on my way albeit with a shitload of information and notes.

I felt like I was a puppy that someone had just dropped off at the side of the road. I had become so dependent and reliant on my new found friends and the support that the program offered (daily chats with a psychologist, oversight by a Psychiatrist, group therapy etc) that when it was over and although I was proud that I had completed it, my wings were clipped and I fell – fast.

I’ve learned that tomorrow is a new day.

It was then that I decided that there was no real, long-term help for me. The meds weren’t working, I couldn’t afford therapy, I had people relying on me to keep our home operating and I had a company I had to return to. So that’s what I did. Not long after that brilliant decision, I closed my company, hunkered down at home and slowly tried building myself back up again. It has been an incredible life style change for my husband and I – going from 2 lucrative paying jobs to 1 –  but we are doing it and it’s getting easier.

As for me, well, there’s good days and not so good days. And that’s putting it mildly. I found a new doctor so I have some hope that perhaps he can help me find the right medication(s). It’s a battle every day as I’m sure you are all well aware. I set small goals for myself every day – some I achieve and some I don’t. And that’s OK. Because throughout all of this I’ve learned that tomorrow is a new day and I shall try again.