It’s been over a year since I posted.
I haven’t accomplished much. I finished my poppy rail fence quilt, and a small quilt for Ruby; I made an easy Trip Around the World quilt for my mom for Christmas; I finished the top of a green quilt I was making for myself; My bff commissioned me to make her a quilt (and I’m ashamed to say, nearly a year later, it’s still a WIP).
Depression hit me like a fucking train. Until recently, when I revisited my last post, I didn’t even realize just how long the feelings of hopelessness had been with me. (By my estimates, it’s been two and a half years, and it breaks my heart to realize Ruby hasn’t really ever had a sane mother.)
I thought I could fight this alone. I’d been to therapists before. I knew what to do.
Nope.
I tried going to therapy again. The therapist I ended up with was a Trump supporter, and in my eyes, while not a bad person, definitely someone who views the world and other people differently than me. In the end, he was pretty useless.
I told myself there was something wrong with me. That therapy wouldn’t work, and I’d just have to force myself out of the depression on my own.
And then it all got so much worse.
I started to lose the ability to connect with the things that brought me joy. Like quilting. Quilting definitely went first. But then so did cooking. And reading books, watching movies, playing games. I was down to “dinner with BFF” and “playing with Ruby” as the last two things that I could actually consistently squeeze some enjoyment/joy out of, and I got scared. What if I lost those things too? I couldn’t deal with that. (Yeah. What you’re thinking? That’s exactly how I mean it.)
I tried going back to therapy. Except the therapists in this area were either completely booked, never called me back, or stood me up. A friend recommended doing 100% teletherapy with an office two hours away. I was desperate enough that I tried it.
Let me tell you – this therapist is magical.
She listened to me for 20 minutes, and then was like, “You need to go to a doctor and get X, Y, Z tests run. I’m convinced this is not 100% mental for you. If it ends up being 100% mental, we will battle it together. But we should eliminate these other things first.”
I hadn’t been to a doctor in a really long time because whenever I do go for something, they just blame my problem on my weight. So why bother going?
Therapist said I could respectfully tell any stupid doctor off and try going to different ones until I found one I liked.
Which. Okay. I could try this. For Ruby.
I lucked out on the first try. I made an appointment at a small office that was staffed only by women (because I could just not take another stupid man blaming all my problems on my weight and not taking me seriously). Woman doctor listened to me explain my symptoms and what my therapist recommended. I bawled the whole time I was explaining it because I was convinced I was going to have to prove there was something wrong with me. That it wasn’t my weight. That I really just felt like life was nothing but hopeless bullshit.
But when I stopped explaining, she just smiled and said, “You have PMDD. We can prescribe an anti-depressant to manage your symptoms. It’s going to work differently for you, since this is technically different than depression, but this is a good thing, because you’re going to have almost immediate results.”
I was doubtful. Because how could some stupid little pill make all the hopeless bullshit go away?
(It might be worth noting at this point that tests were also run to confirm nothing else was going on – I’m actually really healthy except for a vitamin D deficiency, which is an easy fix with a vitamin.)
So a week and a half after talking to Magical Therapist Woman for the first time and a few days after talking to Super Doctor Woman I started on the antidepressants (and vitamin D). Within two days, I felt like a completely different person. It was like someone flipped a switch inside my brain and was like, “HERE YOU GO! GO BE HAPPY!” and I actually could be happy?
I didn’t realize how horrible I had felt until I was slapped in the face with how wonderful it felt to not feel like hopeless garbage.
I feel like doing things again – and I can actually enjoy doing the things? It’s not like I’m forcing myself to sit down and do something to try and not be depressed. I’m excited to sit down and freaking make something. I have more patience. I feel like my empathy is returning. I don’t constantly feel like a burden to everyone. I can sit down and concentrate on things again. (It’s kind of amazing?)
I have my sanity back. And I can’t wait to catch up with all the things I’ve missed. <3
