I’ve been fairly candid on this blog about my past struggles with depression and anxiety. My confessionals have always been based on events from more than a decade ago. I was fortunate to enjoy a very long stretch completely void of any issues whatsoever. However, as anyone who has struggled similarly knows, the “cure” is rarely permanent.
I started recognizing early signs last summer. My agoraphobia was starting to make decisions for me. I hadn’t seen many friends in months. Other than trips to the family cottage on the weekends, I rarely left my house. I wasn’t even making short trips to the grocery store anymore. Christmas, with all of its demands, was a full 3 week meltdown. By February, I was being questioned about my health and whereabouts. It was time to do something.
Included in my list of anxieties, white coat syndrome. Not wanting to leave my house, and REALLY not wanting to see a physician were fairly large obstacles to overcome. It turns out that my new doctor is incredibly amazing. The whole office is wonderful. It felt good to find people who truly want to help.
I was prescribed a temporary medication (6-12 months) that should “reboot” my serotonin levels again. That would be great if the meds didn’t first involve a month-long adjustment period. I went from not leaving the house because I was mentally ill, to not leaving the house because I was physically ill. I couldn’t write a word for 3 weeks.
Happily, I have now adjusted. While my blog is still suffering from my absence, at least I’m getting Mayhem Genesis back on track. I also managed to get out a few times in March. I saw Patton Oswalt perform, had dinner with friends I was missing, and even got to enjoy some live music. For my birthday a few weeks ago, my husband gave me a new camera. I cannot wait to get out some more and play with my new toy. The weather is heading in the right direction, and so am I.
Ironically, the very first picture I took with my beautiful gift was the featured photo of my cat, who adamantly did not want to come out of his box. I can totally relate, little dude.