Yesterday was my anniversary. I am not married and I was not celebrating another year of sobriety.
April 27 is the anniversary of my last clinical depression. It was one of the worst days of my life. That was three years ago – April 27, 2006. I got up sometime between 4 and 5 am. I hadn’t slept much. I walked the dog to the park, sat on a picnic table and cried. I just wanted some relief. I slogged down to my gym, got on a stationery bike and rode until I foamed the mouth. Nothing. No endorphins.
I got dressed and went to work. I walked in and felt that I was not in my body. I sat at my desk with my back to the newsroom. I was weary. I could not stitch my thoughts together. I was barely eating or sleeping and smothered by anxiety and desperation. I walked out.
I went home and sent a text to my boss. I couldn’t talk to her. I didn’t know what to say. I called a friend who has depression. She told me I must see a doctor immediately – or go to a hospital emergency room. I found a nurse practitioner who specializes in working with addicts and alcoholics. She saw me that afternoon – probably saving me from relapse. She started me on antidepressants and a mild anti-psychotic to help me sleep.
After six weeks of hell and progress measured in little baby steps I returned to work. I gradually slid back into a new life – A.D. – After Depression. Nothing is the same. I can go weeks now – actually months – on terra firma. No crashes. No blasts offs. It is so amazing. I am still in awe of how stable my life is today – even when things around me fall apart. This is what it must feel like to have a healthy brain.
I used to wonder how long this would last. I don’t anymore. This is my new life. If I get sick again I will know what to expect and what to do. There is a floor beneath me now. It has been there since April 27, 2006 – my anniversary.
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Last reviewed: 28 Apr 2009