In 2001 I finally got real medical treatment for depression that had been with me for decades. What got me to do so was that it had gotten to the point where I was having such anxiety as well that it was difficult for me to go for a full day of work without having to go into the bathroom and cry. I was afraid ALL the time. One day when I came home I sat in the dark and cried for 3 hours. Over nothing.
I knew I was depressed, and had been trying all kinds of things – vitamins, iron, St. John’s wort. The latter had some effect, but not enough. I went to my doctor after the 3-hour anxiety attack, and she had me first stop the SJW, then start up with a small dose of Paxil, then increase to a larger dose. I had to check back with her weekly to discuss any effects or side effects, and go in to see her in a month. At that time, she asked me how I felt, and I was for the first time in decades able to say an honest “Great!” She said she thought so, that she could see a difference right away.
I don’t feel loopy, or pepped-up, or lethargic, or any of that stuff. It’s just the grey veil that used to be over everything is gone. All of the coping mechinisms for dealing with stressful situations now work. I can look at something beautiful and think, “Wow! That’s really nice!” and actually feel that, instead of an objective assessment that it is the kind of thing that might be expected to be thought pleasant.
Over the last 4 years I have also had a rather large number of stressful things to deal with, and have often felt that had this been pre-Paxil I would have – well, I don’t like to think about that. I have also been able to take control over certain things that were previously too depressing to deal with. The only regret I have is that I can’t drink any more. One martini and I’m dizzy and loopy. Two or more and I’d be on my butt. I found while on vacation that having just one drink every day for 3 days, the Paxil seems to stop working and I start feeling like I’m oozing back into that black pit again.
You can tell I am a strong believer in the idea that some “mental illnesses” are actually neurological disorders and are related to some sort of inborn brain chemistry in a lot of sufferers. I’m basing this not only on my own experience, but on that of other women in my family. My sister definitely has a depression problem, but I don’t know too many details because she does not like to discuss it, which is certainly her right. We have surmised, however, that our mother had similar problems, based on things we remember. Like the week or so when we were quite young when for an undisclosed reason we suddenly had to go stay with our grandmother. This was after a particularly stressful time in our parents’ life (my dad had nearly been killed in a car accident, in a coma for weeks, then got hepatitis in the hospital from a dirty needle).
Also, my daughter is a diagnosed bipolar sufferer. The work of striving to get balance on the meds is a neverending task. Interestingly, my sister’s daughter seems to have completely avoided the syndrome, which is excellent, since she has also had to struggle with a large number of personal problems.
