Mental & Emotional Health

So, you know way more about me than a lot of people I know in real life.  But, as one would guess, you are probably wondering if I am just a clown that has had many mental and emotional issues and I’m going to try to urge you to go get medicated.  That is simply not the case.  I do believe that medication has its place and we will explore that more in depth later, but for now, I’m just going to give you a few credentials.

My personal thoughts on  my own mental and emotional health are that without the interventions of modern medication and later some therapy, I would not have been able to accomplish much.  So, with that, I’m sure you are wondering just what it is that I’ve done that makes me think I can write a blog here and help anyone.

For starters, did you read the two part introduction.  That alone should tell you that I’ve been the mental and emotional health genre for half of my life.  I was 19 when my father died and that depressive cycle began.  I will be 40 in a couple of weeks.  But, if you read those, you know, I suffered well before the age of 19, it was just then it became apparent to everyone because they could see the issues on the outside.

So, what did I do with myself?  I did what my father always dreamed of, I graduated with a Bachelors degree.  That was in 1991, in physical education.  I used that to teach physical education two and a half years.  My dad tried to tell me not to be a teacher.  I don’t think he knew that I was simply not going to be good at it, (which I wasn’t), he just wanted me to choose a career that wasn’t so difficult to endure (and it is very difficult). 

Either way, I graduated.  I also had a minor in chemistry so I was able to teach Earth and Life Science on year and again, it was awful and I wasn’t very good at it.   Later I taught Pre-K and…again, it was a horrible experience and I wasn’t very good at it in the first place. 

I let my certificate expire and thus was unable to teach after 2001.  In 2005, I decided I should try teaching again, I was older, my temperament was different and maybe…just maybe…

That’s when I realized my certificate had expired.  So, that meant I had to return to school.  So, why  not get my Masters in something that I could use outside the school system or inside if I chose.  I taught Biology while I was in school and just as before, I hated it and I was not good at it either. 

I got my Masters in Counseling last winter while I was busy running my own daycare.  It came in handy and even though it is not my nature to brag, I was able to pick employees strong points as far as what age they would be best working with.  At first they would balk on me, but later, people came to realize that I had a little education and I was good at reading people.

Personalities come easy for me it seems.  I can talk to someone for a short time and tell you way more about them than most of them know themselves.  No, I’m not psychic, I learned a little when I pursued that last degree and it is paying off for me now.

I knew my husband had ADD (attention deficit disorder).  It was very apparent to me.  He had suffered his entire life but didn’t grow up in a home with educated parents who knew what to look for.  I got him an appointment, they did the intake, they gave him a couple of written tests and then the doctor spent about 45 minutes with him.  Diagnosis?  ADD.  I knew it, I’d lived with him too long not to know it.  I knew the symptoms and with my husband, they were terribly obvious.

In recent months I came to realize that my husband was depressed.  Again, he didn’t see what I saw.  I had the education (and I don’t mean that in a smart-alec way, I mean, I read the books, I listened to my professors and I learned so much from them) and I knew that he was depressed.  I encouraged him to tell our psychiatrist that treats his ADD.  He didn’t.  I mentioned it at one of my visits but only briefly and only in the manner in which it was affecting our marriage.  I asked my husband the next month if he would please tell the doctor how he felt.  He said yes, but he didn’t do it.  The next month he suggested I come with him.  I did but the doctor talked to him alone.  My husband managed to pull off the ol’ "it’s just the stress of this one project at work and when it is over, I’ll be fine.).

Not only was I mad at this point, I was ready to do something drastic.  His behavior was affecting our marriage and especially affected his parenting skills.  So, at my next appointment with the doc, I asked if we could come together.  He said if it was ok with my husband, then of course it was ok with him.  We went together.  They gave him a depression test. 

I don’t know much about the depression test because I didn’t see it so I don’t know which test they gave him. However, after the doctor looked at it, he said, "you definitely appear to be depressed, a score of anything above 8 on this test would mean you might benefit from medication and therapy and you (meaning my husband) scored a 24"

Ok, see, I’ve been around the block.  I’ve had the emotional problems, I’ve had the mental fatigue, I’ve dealt with the problems and I’ve been trained to recognize them. 

So, with that, I give you my credentials.  Do you trust me yet?

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I have OCD and it was apparent before the age of 8. How do I know this? Because the nurse for my psychiatrist did my intake. Half way through the intake, he stops and says, "Do you still count things?" I was totally baffled as to how he would know this. I had not been around this man since I was at least 8. My OCD manifested itself in counting way back then. So, why didn’t anyone see this 31 years ago?

I suffer from anxiety. I didn’t do this too bad until I reached college. I was the teacher’s kid. I got special treatment. People knew I was a "good kid" who made "good grades" because my father was well-known in the teaching community. Thus, I was given many a privilege just by my name alone. When I entered college, reality slapped me cold in the face. I had no clue that the world was so cruel. And, anxieties set in that to this day I haven’t over-come. Medication helps. Medication helps a lot. Medication helps A WHOLE LOT. Get me. I simply don’t back down on these issues. I’m passionate. Period.

I suffer from depression. I suspect my family situation lent itself to my depressive behavior, I didn’t have a very happy childhood. I suspect genetics lends itself everyday to my depressive behaviors. My mom is depressed and has been most of my life. My father was more of a manic person. Happy as a lark one day, a terribly unhappy sap the next. I am a clone of my father. It isn’t bi-polar, it is simply, depression. My maternal grandfather, my paternal grandmother and grandfather all suffer/suffered from depression. All of my mother’s siblings and one of my father’s siblings suffer/suffered from depression. People, it is in my genes. Just like cancer. Just like diabetes. Just like thyroid disorders. I could go on forever.

My father died when I was 19. I entered a state of depression that would have likely took down most folks. I say that because I’m telling you, my childhood was rough. Let’s just leave it at that. If someone out there wants to challenge me on this, a private email will do, I can settle it. No, I was not homeless or abandoned. It was a plethora of minor offenses that led to depression with me.

Anyway, my father died when I was 19. I’ve already mentioned that my father was important to me. I lived with my father from age 13 to 19. He and my mother divorced when I was 4. He taught me everything I know. I can’t think of anything I learned between the ages of 4 and 13 that was good. I see you rolling your eyes. Just listen.

Two years after his death and I was failing at a major university. My father’s one and only goal was to see that I got my Bachelor’s Degree in something. I chose teaching. He didn’t approve necessarily. I got my degree and I couldn’t care less about it. I still don’t except for the fact that it led to a Masters that I just got last year. So, even still, I give my father credit for that.

So, two years and I’m failing at the very of event of living. I sought help. I got it. I didn’t however get a good doctor. The one I got said, "I believe you are depressed, wrote me a prescription for Prozac and waived her magic wand." It was years later before I hunted a doctor that knew something about my problem. Family doctors simply weren’t getting it. They were writing and re-writing a script that a neurologist years before had started because she had no explanation for my body’s behavior…except depression.

This would get real long if I went into "my body’s behavior" so just trust me again on this one.

When I was 34 I met my present husband. Having tried out three others that didn’t fit me, I found a man who is 100% meant to be my husband. The depression started to fade. I continued my medication. I got pregnant and decided that it was best that I not take the anti-depressants. My doctor convinced me otherwise. I am quoting Kristen over at Motherhood Uncensored here but basically this is exactly what my OB said to me:

But the truth of the matter is, if we don’t take care of ourselves, then we won’t be around to take care of our kids.

Yes, I purposefully sought out a female OB. She got it. She understood. She put me on a different medication. Which family doctors continued to write without asking any questions after we moved a state away when I was 38 weeks pregnant.

We moved home and I found a psychiatrist who KNOWS HIS STUFF. It took a while. He didn’t automatically find the write medications and the right doses immediately. I would say it took close to 7 or 8 months. No, really it did. Now, I exist on a small dose of 2 different medications. One specifically to treat depression; one specifically for anxiety. And they work. Both are long term drugs. Neither are of the "let me go get a pill for before I go crazy" variety. I have those. I rarely need them. I rarely need them because………..I TAKE MY MEDICATION THAT WORKS ON THE IMBALANCE. Simple.

People who don’t know…simply don’t know. I don’t mean to sound like I’m preaching, I’m simply trying to help you understand. Notice I didn’t say I was trying to MAKE you understand, I can’t make you. I simply want you to try.

I will hang on tight to the following statement and I’ll tell you again that it is a direct quote from Kristen AND an OB in Gainesville Florida…..

But the truth of the matter is, if we don’t take care of ourselves, then we won’t be around to take care of our kids.

How does that old saying go…….walk a mile in my shoes

A Little About the Author:
- she never thought she’d actually be an author
- she is in her middle 20’s … which scares her
- she lives with moderate-to-severe depression, GAD, migraines, ovarian cysts, an eating disorder “not-otherwise specified”, chronic pain and divorce, none of which scare her (anymore)
- she works full time in hospital billing
- she is applying for graduate school in public health because she loves to be a student
- she wants to save the world one person at a time
- she votes liberally most of the time
- she is a friend, a daughter, a sister, and a somewhat eccentric woman
- she loves music, television, books (paper and on CD), and podcasts
- she is nervous about writing a blog on a specific subject, but knows she can do it because she has passion for the subjects involved, and
- she looks forward to getting to know her readers, please make yourself known.

Welcome - I promised myself, and my contract, 10 posts a week, and I will meet that - even though I’ve been down this week, this weekend I plan on not letting my depression get the best of me. Psychology.com reminds me that depression doesn’t just affect me; my friends and loved ones are also at risk for the side effects of my moods. This has been one of the changes I put into place as a 2006 resolution; stop canceling my plans with my friends (unless I’m actually dying), and so even though I’m down this week, I plan on spending my weekend with Weener, Beano and Kiwi*. We plan baking cookies (something I love), watching newly released movies (something I love even more), and laughing so hard my stomach hurts (which can be dangerous with a full bladder).

The time leading up to the three actually getting to my house are the hardest … I have so much to do … I’m a perfectionist … I want everything spotless … what happens if I start feeling even worse … but once they get there, I never fail to be so distracted by their friendship and support that I am “whelmed” (neither over nor under) by their love for me. I truly do have great girlfriends.

*names edited to protect the not-so-innocent