OK, here goes...
Posted: Tue Mar 03, 2009 12:04 pm
As those of you know who have already done this, writing about one’s experience is a pretty daunting task. While I carry all this stuff around with me, I try not to look at things closely very often. I’m afraid this is going to be lengthy, but then I’m an old lady so I’ve got lots of history!
I’ve had clinical depression for a loooong time, over 40 years, although I managed to function “normally” until about 15 years ago. Other than a genetic tendency towards depression I can find few clues to why I am the way I am. I had wonderful, supportive parents and a secure home environment despite the fact that we moved around a lot due to my dad’s job. (I attended 9 different schools) With all that moving around (and constantly being the “new kid”) I found stability in the company of my pets and in doing art work. I also discovered that I was more comfortable being solitary rather than dealing with other people. I think the seeds of my depression took root during this time.
While I hated high school I loved college life and actually found I liked being with people and could be quite outgoing! I was a good student and absolutely single-minded in my pursuit of a career in the arts. Then in the fall of my senior year I was raped. I went home to my parents for the remainder of the semester. During that break at home my parents never mentioned the assault. In true WASP fashion upsetting things were never discussed. In January I returned to classes as though nothing had ever happened. In the meantime the police had caught the rapist. The trial was the following summer. When it was over I felt I’d been raped all over again because the jury’s verdict was Not Guilty. So much for justice and our impartial judicial system and the naïve and trusting person I had once been. Later that summer I made a half-hearted attempt at killing myself and then managed to get on with my life.
I attended a high powered Ivy League graduate school and embarked on a 25 year career that I loved. During grad school I started having panic attacks and what I realize now where brief bouts of depression, but I still managed to function at a high level. In my early 30’s I developed agoraphobia in addition to the panic attacks and for the first time I sought professional help. Unfortunately, 30 years ago depression was a little-understood disease. I wasn’t even diagnosed with depression and instead was given all sorts of inappropriate meds: anti-psychotics, sedatives, etc. What pulled me out of the agoraphobia was my desire to get a horse and the need to meet new people who could help me make my long time dream come true. I’d had horses as a kid and always found their company comforting and inspiring.
Fast forward 10 years: I’d advanced in my career, bought my first house, done some foreign travel, but the depression was advancing as well. By now I’d seen a string of doctors, one of whom finally identified my problem as depression and prescribed a med that was new on the market, Prozac. It was like a miracle! The depression was gone. Life was good. Unfortunately he had to keep increasing the dose to keep those positive effects and eventually no amount of Prozac was effective. Then we started a trial and error routine with the meds. Lots of errors. I even had ECT (shock therapy) but all that did was wipe my short-term memory. In the meantime the depression was getting much worse, interfering with my job performance and gradually destroying my life. I spent 2 years basically bedridden staring at the ceiling. Fourteen years ago I had to give up my job and go on disability.
At present I’m on a cocktail of meds that literally keeps me alive, although recently we’ve had to add a new med to the mix because I was starting to bottom out again.
So that’s basically my story. Not very uplifting, I’m afraid. Depression has nearly destroyed me: professionally, financially, physically and mentally. I don’t dwell on the causes of my depression because what’s past is past. While the rape was certainly a trigger I believe that I’m genetically predisposed to the disease because several family members were also affected, though not as severely.
On a more positive note, once things got fairly stabilized with the meds I’ve been able to live a reasonably productive life. My critters motivate me to get up each morning and bring me great joy. I’m constantly grateful for their presence in my life. For several years I was incapable of any creative work – for 40 years I had drawn EVERY day and suddenly it just stopped. But gradually I started again and am producing the best work I’ve ever done. I’ve managed to write a book and had my writing and illustrations published in several publications.
I’ve accepted the fact that I will be on medication for the rest of my life. I live by the adage “One day at a time” while hoping that tomorrow will be better.
I’ve had clinical depression for a loooong time, over 40 years, although I managed to function “normally” until about 15 years ago. Other than a genetic tendency towards depression I can find few clues to why I am the way I am. I had wonderful, supportive parents and a secure home environment despite the fact that we moved around a lot due to my dad’s job. (I attended 9 different schools) With all that moving around (and constantly being the “new kid”) I found stability in the company of my pets and in doing art work. I also discovered that I was more comfortable being solitary rather than dealing with other people. I think the seeds of my depression took root during this time.
While I hated high school I loved college life and actually found I liked being with people and could be quite outgoing! I was a good student and absolutely single-minded in my pursuit of a career in the arts. Then in the fall of my senior year I was raped. I went home to my parents for the remainder of the semester. During that break at home my parents never mentioned the assault. In true WASP fashion upsetting things were never discussed. In January I returned to classes as though nothing had ever happened. In the meantime the police had caught the rapist. The trial was the following summer. When it was over I felt I’d been raped all over again because the jury’s verdict was Not Guilty. So much for justice and our impartial judicial system and the naïve and trusting person I had once been. Later that summer I made a half-hearted attempt at killing myself and then managed to get on with my life.
I attended a high powered Ivy League graduate school and embarked on a 25 year career that I loved. During grad school I started having panic attacks and what I realize now where brief bouts of depression, but I still managed to function at a high level. In my early 30’s I developed agoraphobia in addition to the panic attacks and for the first time I sought professional help. Unfortunately, 30 years ago depression was a little-understood disease. I wasn’t even diagnosed with depression and instead was given all sorts of inappropriate meds: anti-psychotics, sedatives, etc. What pulled me out of the agoraphobia was my desire to get a horse and the need to meet new people who could help me make my long time dream come true. I’d had horses as a kid and always found their company comforting and inspiring.
Fast forward 10 years: I’d advanced in my career, bought my first house, done some foreign travel, but the depression was advancing as well. By now I’d seen a string of doctors, one of whom finally identified my problem as depression and prescribed a med that was new on the market, Prozac. It was like a miracle! The depression was gone. Life was good. Unfortunately he had to keep increasing the dose to keep those positive effects and eventually no amount of Prozac was effective. Then we started a trial and error routine with the meds. Lots of errors. I even had ECT (shock therapy) but all that did was wipe my short-term memory. In the meantime the depression was getting much worse, interfering with my job performance and gradually destroying my life. I spent 2 years basically bedridden staring at the ceiling. Fourteen years ago I had to give up my job and go on disability.
At present I’m on a cocktail of meds that literally keeps me alive, although recently we’ve had to add a new med to the mix because I was starting to bottom out again.
So that’s basically my story. Not very uplifting, I’m afraid. Depression has nearly destroyed me: professionally, financially, physically and mentally. I don’t dwell on the causes of my depression because what’s past is past. While the rape was certainly a trigger I believe that I’m genetically predisposed to the disease because several family members were also affected, though not as severely.
On a more positive note, once things got fairly stabilized with the meds I’ve been able to live a reasonably productive life. My critters motivate me to get up each morning and bring me great joy. I’m constantly grateful for their presence in my life. For several years I was incapable of any creative work – for 40 years I had drawn EVERY day and suddenly it just stopped. But gradually I started again and am producing the best work I’ve ever done. I’ve managed to write a book and had my writing and illustrations published in several publications.
I’ve accepted the fact that I will be on medication for the rest of my life. I live by the adage “One day at a time” while hoping that tomorrow will be better.