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Depression – the label.....
For the majority of my life I’ve lived with the belief that I struggle with depression, and while it’s true, depression is a feeling I’ve almost always felt, I’ve allowed that word to become a part of me. It’s attached itself to my being – like an additional appendage. I’ve allowed it to become another adjective to describe myself, like saying I’m 5’2, or that I am female.
At first I found relief in the diagnosis. I no longer had to suffer in secrecy, I had an actual reason for always feeling so shitty. And again, with a diagnosis usually comes a cure – so I had hope! Some doctor/therapist/shaman/guru/genie would be able to help me. But after decades of intense therapy and yet continuing to wish I’d never been born, that hope dissipated. And what was born in its place was a deeper feeling of shame, guilt and self-loathing.
I never realized, until recently, how this “diagnosis”, the one I thought would bring me closer to finding peace, has shaped me. I was recently talking to a healer I’ve been working with and he said something that sounds so simple, yet it resonated with me so deeply. He said that saying I’m depressed is like saying I’m a person. What does that really mean? Sure, we all know it means to feel sadness, unhappiness, but why? And what has that meant to me all these years, to say I’m depressed? After breaking it all down and pulling apart the layers, it comes down to the belief that I feel broken, like I don’t fit into this world, this life. What I’ve always felt is detached.
Accepting this label and subsequently subscribing to the attached self-beliefs was actually more detrimental for me – it made me feel weak, powerless, damaged, broken. So what I initially thought would help me find a path to happiness only made me feel worse about myself.
I’m not saying it was a mistake to accept this diagnosis – it did give me the strength to continue searching and fighting for happiness. If you don’t know the disease with which you’ve been afflicted, how can you determine the appropriate course of treatment? So without an actual diagnosis, I may have just lay down and given way to this disease. But instead, I had an actual term that I could defer to, something that would propel me to seek out any treatment I could find.
So yes, this diagnosis – belief – label, served its purpose – it directed my continued search for resolution and attainment of true inner peace. But it brought with it a multitude of other judgments and beliefs. Now I realize it’s not simply the depression I need to heal, or even the traumas I’ve experienced – it’s the false beliefs I hold about myself, the negative things I say to myself, and ways in which I harm myself as punishment that need to end. I need to stop perpetuating these additional forms of self-sabotage. So it’s time for me to bid farewell to this simple word and detach myself from the brokenness that I’ve always felt. It’s time to heal the cracks, the wounds, the damage; it’s time to learn to like, and maybe even love, myself.
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FO depression - the beginning.....
I've been told for years by so many of my friends that I should write a book about my life. I guess I have lived through a lot of craziness - more than most people I know. What's funny though, is growing up, I never saw it that way. I knew my experiences weren't usual, none of my friends were going through the same things I was, but I just figured that was life and that's how it was supposed to be. I realize now that if I had stepped outside of myself and looked at my life through the eyes of somebody else, I would have said write that book immediately!
I have considered doing so for a long time now, but for what reason? I don't want to simply spew the sordid details of my life, I'm not aiming to entertain anyone with the crazy that was my life. I certainly don't want any f****** pity, I know that I've endured a lot, but I have never pulled the "poor me" card, nor have I felt sorry for myself. And I'm not looking for a pat on the back for overcoming what I have.
So, the point of telling my story is to offer hope. It's to show that if I can get to the place where I am today, just about anyone can.
Extremely important to remember is that I am in no way qualified to dispense advice. I am not a professional and cannot recommend any treatment protocols. I am simply telling you what I have done to show that there are so many options for treatment. The ones that worked for me may not work for you, and ones that didn't help me just might help you. So please just read this to understand that there are many channels to explore when seeking help with your mental health - and to remember that not every channel is the correct one for you, so please, keep exploring and searching for that right one - the one that can bring you peace.
In order for my story to have true meaning, I have to delve into my darkest memories, the beliefs I held, the stories I told myself, the deplorable way I treated myself. I have to convey the dark despair that I have felt for most of my life for you to be able to compare it to where I am today, and then you can see why I believe there is hope for all of us.
Hope it's something I lost many, many, many, many years ago. Like I mentioned in my first post, I'm 55 years old now and have been in some sort of therapy for 39 years. The fun began when I was 16 years old after my first suicide attempt, but honestly I've been battling what's felt like an endless onslaught of demons, both internal and external, for as long as I can remember.
I felt like I had tried everything available - the typical talk therapy, hypnosis, acupuncture, music therapy, occupational therapy, naturopathic medicine, yoga practice which focused on the Mind Body Connection that would undoubtedly leave me in the fetal position hysterically crying, chakra cleansing and energy balancing, every medication (at least it feels that way) big Pharma had to offer, Electroconvulsive Therapy (yes, think "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest"), Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation, several methods of Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing Therapy for trauma, not to mention at least a dozen stays in various psychiatric facilities across the country, and my most recent exploration of the use of psychedelics.
When you do go through all these various treatments, and try with all your fucking might to get well, but just can't, that word "hope" just doesn't exist in your vocabulary.
Over my decades of therapy, it was determined that I suffer from Major Depressive Disorder, Treatment Resistant Depression, Bipolar II Disorder, and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. My initial diagnosis, at age 16, was Boderline Personality Disorder (a somewhat controversial diagnosis to assigned at my age).
No matter the diagnosis - it was a label. Sometimes it's nice to have an actual diagnosis - it helps to make sense of whatever symptoms we're experiencing. And it often feels that with a diagnosis comes a remedy.
That's true (most of the time) when it comes to strep throat, an ear infection, a broken ankle - these all have seemingly easy fixes. When it comes to mental health - those diagnoses just bring with them a plethora of additional burdens. Because now we have to really look deep into the dark recesses of our brains and determine why the hell we feel so fucked up.
Sure, we can turn to pharmacology and hope and pray that medication will help us snap out of our darkness and bring us back amongst the living. Unfortunately, it's rarely that easy. And based on your situation, age, and the doctors sought after for treatment, some people may be offered meds right away to help combat their depression and anxiety, while others encouraged to enter some form of therapy, and oftentimes, both are suggested.
Many of the therapies I underwent did truly help, while a few just caused more pain and trauma - namely the physical and emotional side effects of ECT and the unconscionable words of a few therapists, the so-called healers who were assigned to help me but only inflicted more shame and greater harm.
The sad thing is that I've only compounded those feelings of shame and guilt by my actions that occurred because of my original feelings of desperation.
So that means that not only have I had to work on healing the pain I've felt most of my life, but I've had to also face the pain that I inflicted on not only myself, but my family and friends. It's just one big, fucking, vicious cycle!
I'm finally at a place in my life where I'm ready to jump off that proverbial hamster wheel and catapult myself onto a level path - one that's surrounded by bright light, hope, peace, and not only a will to live, but excitement to see what the future holds for me.
So if you like, follow me and read my story, and, if you're struggling right now, maybe it'll offer you a bit of hope for a happy future!
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fuck off depression - I got this!
hey there everyone - my name is Amy and I'd like to talk about all things mental health.
I’m 55 years old and have been in some type of therapy for the majority of the last 39 years, but have battled what feels like an endless onslaught of demons, both internal and external, for as long as I can remember.
When I attach an image to my journey, it’s one of me climbing a mountain, a very tall, steep, mountain. There are many “mes”, each one a little taller than the last, struggling under a black sky, to reach the top. Until just recently, the image ended there. Now I finally see myself at the top of that mountain, greeted by beautiful rays of healing sunshine, standing tall and fierce.
I’m not saying my journey of healing has ended, I’m nowhere close to being done working towards peace. I actually feel like I’ve just concluded one chapter – one really long, really fucking painful and at times unbearable chapter- and I’m ready to begin the next.
You may be wondering why in the world you would want to listen to my story if it’s taken me so long to reach this point. I suppose you can look at it that way, it’s been very long, painful, and treacherous road - but I like to look at is as a story of hope, for now the road looks peaceful and beautiful and welcoming. I’m not sure I’ve ever truly felt that.
So I guess the point of this blog is to share with you my lifelong struggle with a myriad mental health diagnoses and treatments, the reasons I believe I've had these struggles, and how I have finally reached a place of calm - one which I had never been able to envision before now. My goal is to maybe reach someone else who has lost all hope - and that maybe my story can offer them proof that hope does exist - for all of us!
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