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“Well, Rachel, it’s pretty clear what’s going on here,” she said, putting down the pad of paper she had been scribbling on and finally glancing up.
I felt her gaze sweep over me as I stared, hunched over, at my clammy, intertwined hands. It had been six months, officially, since I started going to therapy. Once or twice a week I’d come to this little house, go into this little room, sit on this green couch, and try to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me. I had spent hundreds, maybe thousands, to come into this woman’s office, cry for an hour, and then leave, hoping she’d give me some answers.
And now, here we were. Now we were getting somewhere.
“You have clinical depression and Generalized Anxiety Disorder.”
I heard her say it, but it didn’t make sense. The anxiety, sure. That was old news. That was what brought me to her in the first place. The panic attacks, the neverending worry, and the constant nagging feeling that something was wrong — those had been a part of my daily life for a long as I could remember. It wasn’t until the unexplained fear of my loved ones dying kept me up at night, that anytime a call went unanswered I started hyperventilating, sure something bad had happened, or the gradual avoidance of situations out of fear kept me from doing the things I loved, that I knew it was getting out of control. Add to that pressing family problems and bam! You get the perfect combination for one long, panic-riddled anxiety attack. So, I made the appointment. I started seeing her.
But that didn’t fix things.
Sure, coming in and talking was helpful. Crying about everything. Screaming about the things I couldn’t change. Asking the hard questions and getting the answers that would help me go to sleep at night and wake up in the morning feeling a little less helpless. A little less out of control. Those were all positives. But those didn’t make me feel like “me.” Because that’s truly what this was all about. I had lost myself. Somewhere, somehow. I felt like a stranger in my body. Like a robot going through the motions. Like I was on autopilot, just waiting until the day someone shut me off.
Because the truth is, I didn’t even realize how bad things had gotten. Sure, I could say, “hey I’m worrying a lot” and call it a day, but that’s not how therapy works. They take what you say with a grain of salt and dig deeper. And sometimes it fucking hurts. Sometimes it opens wounds you didn’t know you had and realize that the world and the life that you thought you were living in isn’t your reality. That things aren’t what you think they are.
Over the past two years, I gained close to forty pounds. FORTY POUNDS. As someone who had a cliché battle with anorexia and bulimia in high school and college, that was a big fucking deal. But I didn’t even see it. As the weeks went on and we dug deeper into my issues, things started becoming clearer. I was avoiding social situations. I hated leaving my apartment. I needed plenty of warning before activities and even then, I’d be anxious about it all day, usually resulting in canceling the plans. I slept 11, 12, 13 hours a day and by 1 p.m. I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. I was constantly tired. Constantly avoiding the things I loved. Constantly avoiding the people I loved.
But I saw none of it.
That’s the tricky thing about depression. That’s what I didn’t understand. Because, while I would get tons of sleep and go through my day exhausted, I still woke up when my alarm went off. I still got up and took a shower and had some coffee. I still pushed myself through all of my work. I still touched base with my family and I still saw my friends for important events. I didn’t seriously contemplate suicide, and I didn’t start cutting my wrists like I had once done in high school. I wasn’t praying for death or giving away my possessions. I seemed fine. Okay. Just whatever. I went through all of the motions, but instead of living, I was on autopilot. I was running on fumes. Every task I did depleted me of energy. Every moment I was awake I was just counting down until I could go to sleep and fall into the sweet comfort of blackness. Of nothingness.
For high-functioning people, noticing you have depression is extremely hard. Hell, odds are you have no idea. You just know something is off. You just know you’re off. And it might take you years to figure it out. It might take years for the fog to lift.
But eventually, it can. That’s what you need to know.
Once I learned what was going on, it was a literal breakthrough. I got on Prozac. Then they upped my dose. Then they upped my dose again. I started tracking my sleep, eating better, and learning how to compartmentalize my anxiety. I took up fucking yoga. I started putting activities on my schedule and then I started to look forward to them. It wasn’t overnight. I’m still not even fully there. But I can feel the shift. I can feel the change. The old me is coming back, breaking through the surface.
Somedays are better than others. I still get exhausted easily and sometimes the weight of the world feels too heavy. The panic attacks still happen and sometimes when my guard is down, the old fears come for me at night, pulling me back down and engulfing me with the fog. But between getting a diagnosis, learning more, continuing talk therapy, and getting on a solid medication schedule, things are starting to fall back into place. It’s crazy how much work it can take to feel normal. But once you’ve been in a place where you don’t even recognize yourself, sometimes all you need is answers. Sometimes all you crave is normal. To anyone out there who feels a little lost, a little helpless, and a little hopeless, just know that it’s not forever. It’s not permanent. You’re still in there, you just need the fog to lift..
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Rachel Varina
if it doesn't have snack or seats, i'm not there. hate mail/Sunny references can be sent to itsrachelvarina@gmail.com
@rachelvarina
@rachelvarina
It takes a lot of cahones to admit something like this, and grapefruit sized ones to admit it to the internet. Good for you Rachel. I hope things continue to improve
Dang, Rachel, this hits close. Got the same diagnosis this summer after a similar experience with therapy, went on anxiety meds about a month ago. Here’s to hoping it all works out.
Just started a few weeks ago. It’s amazing to me how many people are in the same boat and never acknowledge it or talk about it.
Hey, as someone who has struggled with this, I (and I’m sure the entire PGP community) hope for nothing but happiness for you. My only advice would be don’t let some doctor turn you into a zombie with medicine. Allow doctors, therapist, and most importantly friends and family help/support you
Well said, 19th. For those of you struggling understand that telling family and friends what you’re dealing with isn’t a burden on them or a reason for them to be disappointed in, or let down by, you. All they want is for you to be happy, and they’re happy to help.
Hang in there, it gets better. I’ve been there and fully empathize with you. I hope that your therapist is teaching you to deal with the anxiety and depression and keeping them manageable; Prozac is good for the short time but you probably don’t want to be reliant on it forever.
I’ve mentioned this on PGP before, but look into getting EMDR treatment. It works wonders and I would probably still be dealing with my issues today if I hadn’t gotten it.
EMDR is the real deal. Can eliminate PTSD in some patients.
Here’s hoping things work out. Been there.
This may be the most relatable thing I’ve read on this site. Just started meds last week and an working on scheduling therapy now. Best of luck moving forward.
Stay strong Rachel. Depression is a tough beast to slay, but we all believe in you.
Rachel, thank you so much for this. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
As said above, it takes a lot of courage to share something so personal to a bunch of strangers behind keyboards, but this gave me goosebumps.
I’m struggling with depression and anxiety, too. Been in therapy a little under a year, and as the weather changes, I’m going through a funk. I needed this reminder today, yesterday, this week, this month. Thank you.
I’m not expert and this may be off topic, and before I dive in, I really hope things continue trending upward for you Rachel and I think many people here on this site will be constantly rooting for you.
My thought is that recently there has been an uptick of general anxiety and clinical depression for us who fall into the Millennial curve as many of us (Including myself) are finally getting the courage to go and speak with a professional. I wonder how much of that is because of technology? Could the constant barrage of photos and ‘status updates’ we see of friends and acquaintances living the ‘perfect life’ start sanding us down to where we think that we aren’t good enough? I can’t help but to think that because our generation is so hyper competitive in every facet, to the clothes we wear, the job we have, that has some how altered the way we think and perceive the world around us to the point that we can’t turn it off. I really hope and pray that in the coming years our generation is able to lead a better fight for mental health awareness and that we start to explore the damages that social media does to us. It may not solve all the issues, but it could be a good start.
I did a research thesis on Facebook’s correlation with Depression in college especially in our age group and the adverse effects it has in our future in accordance with pharmaceutical companies facilitating and profiting off the need. Since facebook’s adoption into young people’s lives, Depression has skyrocketed and so has the value of Depression/anxiety med companies. The suicide rate has also increased but other variables account for that too. Instead of solving the actual problem at the source, they put a veneer over it, repackage it with social marketing type tactics, and pretend that they’re helping when they’re really just further perpetuating the cycle and gathering valuable personal data about you so that a quicker diagnosis can be reached in the not so distant future.
It’s definitely due to technology in general and social media in particular. Find me a 25 year-old at home on a Saturday night scrolling through Instagram and Facebook and I’ll bet you money he/she is feeling anxious and depressed. For the first time in the history of humankind, we are exposed to large portions of the population and only see their positive experiences, but not their negative ones. This leads us to conclude that most people only have good things going on in their lives and makes us even more upset about the negatives that we experience.
Good for you Rachel! It’s a tough and long process to get better and you may not always have the best of days. But it’s good to take it day by day and enjoy the highs and understand that you’ll always get through the lows.
Keep doing what you’re doing!