What's really going on?

It all started in high school when I first recognized signs of depression. I had recently left my first ever relationship. At the young age of 14 I was put through traumatic abuse of all sorts. But that story is for another time. After recognizing my intense sadness and the lasting effects it had on me and my school work, I worked up the courage and I went to my mom for help. I walked into her office one night, where she often is found during the late hours putting in overtime. I sat on the floor behind her chair in the dark with only her computer screen lighting up the room. I cried. She swiveled her chair around as I said to her, "Mom, I think I'm depressed." She looked down at me and said, "I know you are sweetie." I asked her if I could go see someone to talk about it. I felt alone. She replied with something along the lines of, "I don't want to take you anywhere because they will put you on medication. You're too young for that. It'll pass."

After the experience of being invalidated the first time I had ever opened up to someone, it took a while for me to seek help for my mental health concerns again. I always knew something was up, but never felt the need to talk to someone about it. After all, I had been living like this for so long that I seemed to forget what it was like not to be constantly sad or worried about something, even if I had no reason to be.

The depression and anxiety were a constant reoccurrence. At this point, these feelings felt like a personality trait. I was known for bringing an "anxious energy" in the room. My friends were always telling me to "chill out" and to "stop being so negative". It was hard to make friends when these things were getting in the way. But to be fair, who would want to hang around someone who couldn't relax and have fun? I just accepted it as an inherent part of me and that nothing could be done to fix it.

Going to a community college, I was able to manage the symptoms. I kept busy and my eye was on the prize - to transfer to a prestigious university. I worked hard and filled my time up with dancing, teaching, and studying. I also entered another serious long term relationship where I poured my attention into his life and getting him on track. When you're distracted, you don't seem to notice that you haven't felt truly happy in years.

After I transferred to my dream school, things changed. The stress culture took a toll on me. Anxiety was normalized, so I never really knew how my panic attacks before tests, inability to sleep, and strong negative emotions were actually debilitating and out of the norm for most people at my school. The closer I got with friends at school, the more I realized my experience was different than others and one to be concerned about. One friend in particular changed my whole perspective on my experience with anxiety and depression. This friend told me that they couldn't hang around me as much anymore, because my constant negativity and stress was exhausting and draining. I couldn't believe that the way I was moving through the world was being perceived as a burden. Was there something really wrong with me?

During my senior year at my undergraduate institution, I finally worked up the courage to meet with a therapist one day when I was walking home from my internship. I just happened to pass by the building where counseling services were. I walked by it, stopping dead in my tracks, and proceeded to turn around and walk through the door. I set up an appointment to come back the next week to start therapy, or so I thought.

Upon my arrival for my appointment, I had to fill out a lengthy form describing all of my symptoms. Rating my own emotions was hard and I was constantly thinking about how the therapist would view me depending on how my answers changed. Once I finally was called back to the office of a PsyD, the questions continued. I had to clarify my symptoms and talk about my experiences with trauma. Basically, why am I seeking treatment today? I was eager to figure out next steps. But to my dismay, the next thing I heard from the psychologist would change my outlook on my own mental state. They said, "You need long term therapy, and we can't help you here."

I left feeling defeated and unsure of where to go from there. The therapist referred me out to other psychologists in the city I was living in almost a month after my intake appointment. I didn't even receive any clear diagnosis during that original meeting, so I wasn't sure of how to move forward in choosing a psychologist. Also with the pressure of finals, graduation, graduate school applications, a recent breakup, and other life stressors, I just decided to put it off. I thought that since I was unsure of where I was going to end up within the next year, I might as well wait. But I made a promise to myself that when I enrolled in grad school, I would make an appointment to begin mental health treatment.

Fast forward, I move to Chicago about 9 months later. I enter the social work program and during orientation, I hear about how important it is to take care of yourself. I remember my promise to myself and call the counseling services to set up another intake appointment. The intake appointment went well (much better than the one I had during undergrad) and I received referrals that day of therapists and psychiatrists (a whole other story) close to where I live and made an appointment with my current therapist. We talked on the phone for about 20 minutes to get to know each other before the first appointment. It was scary to finally get started with therapy. I love opening up about myself, but this seemed different. Even though it was the 3rd time in the past year that I have had to give my speech about my symptoms and life experiences that have led me to seek mental health treatment, I was nervous to hear what my therapist had to say about me once I told them everything that has been going on, especially since I would be working with them for a long time. So, on that first appointment I got what I have been looking for all along - my diagnoses. So what is going on, anyway?

Essentially, my mind is fucked. I have been diagnosed with major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, and post traumatic stress disorder. Getting these diagnoses was a relief, but I still struggle to comprehend what my life will be like moving forward now that I know what is really going on in my head and how it is affecting my behaviors, personality, and relationships. Looking back, it all makes sense now why I have a hard time making friends, why I idolize romantic relationships, and why I have chosen this particular career path but also struggle with daily activities. I'm connecting the pieces as the days go on and learning that healing is not linear. Some days I take 2 steps forward and then 3 steps back the next. But, I'm learning to be kind to myself and remain patient. These things take time, and with that, I'm beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

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