I signed on to write a new blog and found this one, I don't think it got finished so it wasn't posted, but I decided to post it now...
It was January 2012, almost an entire year ago now, that I was hit head first with disabling bouts of panic attacks and depression. When I went to get help from my doctor, I thought I'd be better in a matter of a few weeks, maybe a couple months. I had no idea what was to still come.
I was put on an anti-depressant which I was hopeful would help but then I lost my job. I had been in that position for almost six months when I was let go. I loved my job. I was working with a group of people that I enjoyed. I was getting great reviews. I had just received my first raise. I had no warnings that I was at stake to lose my job, so needless to say, I was shocked when it happened. I was told by the people who called, that they care about me and want me to get better. How can you say something like that but take away someone's only income? Their health insurance? Hardly seems like someone who really cares. I thought this was rock bottom, things could only go up from here, right?
I had been working on getting myself better for almost seven months. I had been going to counseling weekly and increased the anti-depressants. I was working hard to keep the things closest to my heart in my life. No matter how hard I wanted things to work, nor how hard we tried, my relationship fell apart after almost two years. This man was so incredibly special to me, in fact he will always have a very special place in my heart. Hearing from people close to me those very dreadful words, it wasn't meant to be. Swallowing that was possibly the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life, so I thought.
At this point, I was frustrated. I was tired. I felt like I was losing everything. I lost hope. I gave up. I stopped taking my anti-depressant medication. It was only days or so after, I decided to take the entire bottle. I panicked and reached out, which ultimately saved my life. I was taken to the hospital, where I was treated for the overdose. I spent the next two and a half weeks in a psychiatric hospital under close observation. The doctor that was assigned to me decided to change my medication. He put me on a different type of anti-depressant. He also suggested ECT (electro-convulsive therapy) treatments. I was desperate for something to help get me out of this dark place, so I decided, with my families support, that I would give it a go.
