The Black Hole By Anonymous
Have you ever felt like your blood was heavy, so heavy you could not make yourself get out of bed? Let me tell you my story of recovery from a major depression a couple of years ago. First of all, depression probably has a genetic component, as well as being triggered by stress or other environmental forces, such as seasonal affective disorder. If anyone in your family has experienced depression, you are more likely to do so as well.
My mother had a complete nervous breakdown, back about 25 years ago when she divorced her abusive alcoholic husband (& my dad), while trying to provide for 3 small children on less than $7,000 a year. So did my paternal grandfather, during the Great Depression. Later, I would experience a similar major depressive episode that almost cost me my life and resulted in a huge career shift from a corporate lawyer to a solo practitioner.
A decade ago I actually was encouraged by my counselor to try some new antidepressant medications for situational depression following a divorce and relocation. The antidepressants seemed to help, but some had significant side effects. A few years later my physician prescribed Ambien for chronic insomnia. Despite every medical provider’s reassurances that the drug was not addictive, I ended up taking Ambien on almost a nightly basis for about 10 years.
I was desperate to get some natural sleep, but nothing seemed to help. I ended up taking a low dose of Trazodone, until that drug’s side effects became too unbearable. Not realizing the drug Trazodone was also an antidepressant, I quit taking it and tried to get off all of my other medications at the same time. Unfortunately, rather than prescribing an antidepressant, my psychiatrist at the time (who was the head of addiction medicine for a large hospital) told me to take Xanax, which I did not realize was highly addictive and has a short half life, which means it wears off quickly, sometimes leaving you feeling even more anxious.
I took Xanax for a few days of those to get me through a very stressful event before chunking them all, and became increasingly despondent with no energy, no interest in my usual hobbies, and felt so terrible physically that I kept thinking about how suicide might be the only answer to end the pain. Unfortunately, my psychiatrist flat out refused to prescribe any antidepressants. When the pain became overwhelming, I called his emergency phone number one Friday afternoon only to learn that I was no longer his patient. His nurse referred me to the nearest emergency room. I got his letter firing me as a patient the next week after I was discharged from the hospital. There was no explanation for the reason, but I later learned that he was upset that I did not change psychologists to the one in his office. (Yes, I probably should have filed a complaint with the Board of Medical Advisors, but no, I was not capable of doing so.)
I didn’t go to the Emergency Room, of course, on a Friday night, but called in some friends and relatives to take all dangerous objects and my handgun out of house. I even called the Suicide Prevention Hotline, but got no helpful information. I checked into Parthenon Pavilion the next Monday, as that apparently was the only way to get access to the care I needed and a fabulous and caring new psychiatrist.
The Road Back Home
The next five days in the psychiatric ward were both an enormous struggle and relief. Due to my drug interactions I was placed with the substance abusers, rather than just with patients who were “just depressed.” My fellow patients included a suicidal college student, a mother who was a “cutter” with a disabled young child, “Eight Ball,” a frequent admitted from the TennCare roster who had a history of significant drug use, along with a burned out young guy who had frequent meltdowns due to his mental instability and drug use, along with several other people in various stages of treatment.
Unfortunately, there is not much time for individual counseling, but the week was filled with various group activities, all carefully monitored by the staff. It was pretty much a lock-down state, but was designed to provide us with safety while the doctors tried to stabilize our medications.
Bouncing Back
First of all, there is no “bouncing back” from depression. It is a psychological & physiological illness and the recovery process that occurs over a significant period of time, depending on the severity of the illness.
I experienced many changes during the time that my depression increased and after my hospital stay. I had given away a beloved pet because I no longer felt able to care for her. Obviously my relationship with my family suffered. I lost a job as a corporate attorney and it took me a couple of months to get back on a routine. It took over a year before I could go back into private practice. Of course I was worried sick about potentially becoming homeless.
But there were some new opportunities that happened as a result of the crisis I experienced. I began to delve into other areas of interest to me, both in the law and in my personal life. I volunteered on some campaigns. I found that I could no longer read murder mysteries or watch television or movies with any sort of violence. So I began to use my time more creatively than was possible in the corporate world.
Recovering creativity brings shifts in taste and perception as our identity shifts. A clear sign of healthy recovering is “the impulse to weed out, sort through, and discard old clothes, papers and belongings.” The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron (p. 83). I, too, began to discard old unused items to make space for new surroundings.
Close friends were my saving grace as I slowly began to emerge from the depths of depression. I spent a lot of time outside hiking with them whenever I could. However, I found it amusing that some of my corporate friends, who were most disturbed by my recovery process have since experienced significant life-changing events themselves, and have finally begun to understand what I was going through. Sometimes it seemed better to see less of my more ambitious friends while I focused on my own personal growth. But definitely, being around other people is vital to recovery from depression
It has been two years of constant struggle and yes, I still rely on medication to help me from reaching the bottom. Hopefully I will eventually be able to get off antidepressants entirely, but at least I have a valuable support system around me in case I need them again. I am much happier than I have ever been in my adult life as a result of re-prioritizing my goals and work life balance.
The author is a member of the NBA. The NBA Health and Wellnes
