Darkness

Life before relief was difficult.  

Three years ago.

I had to breathe, but I didn't want to.  Each breath was an experiment in living that went beyond the desire to do so.   I only remember darkness and the feeling of being covered with several wet and heavy blankets, so breath was hard to get. There was no yesterday and no tomorrow, but the worst was there was no today either.  There was just this one bleak moment.  Life was without texture, color or meaning.  It was pointless.  I didn't understand why I continued to live in this dark place. It was abysmal. I considered suicide, but I am a chicken so I'm still here.  I fervently wished I would go into a coma-like state and wake up a year or two later.  Facing every moment of every day was a new experience in pain each time.

  I was depressed or more depressed, but crying was and is something that I could not do.  I eventually had to come out of the bedroom where I had sequestered myself because of another kind of pain.  Not depression kind of pain, but physical pain in my back.  I could barely walk it was so bad.  I somehow had the wherewithal to go to the doctor because the pain in my back was horrendous.  The doctor didn't do a damn thing for my back, but she did send me to the hospital psych unit.  I was so angry the depression moved into a secondary position in my mind, and I began to think a little.  Then, a young psychiatrist with the hospital put me on a new medication and from there it was one painful slow step up at a time.  The medication began to creep in and help me clear the dark fog from my head.  It wasn't fast, but it was there.  When I went home, I spent more time outside the bedroom and talking to my daughter and a friend on the phone.  I'm sure from their perspective our conversations were dismal, but they didn't quit on me.

Things didn't really start to clear up until I got rid of the idiot who sent me to the psych unit for back pain.  The new young primary care giver recognized that there was still a long way to go.  She gently increased my meds and would eventually help me find an add on medication that really helped get rid of the fog.  My new caregiver found a competent therapist for me to work with, and I was on the way to a new existence.  

That dark time is now a solid memory, but only a memory.  I have a competent doctor to thank for that.  I may never be rid of depression completely, but if it ever gets really bad again I have the memory of walking out of it the first time to spur me forward.

It took years to get me to this point.  I'm not completely free of the depression.  I probably never will be, but I can think and act and do things.  I don't have the money to do a lot, but still I am moving forward.  I get terrified every time someone suggests changing up my medication as the combination and doses I'm on now have taken me from complete darkness to the occasional sunshine of everyday life.  I don't want to mess with that.  I still have many of the problems depression carts along with it, but I can breathe and move and actually smile on occasion.  Life is hope now.