The First Step...So I'm Told

Well...the inevitable finally happened I suppose. I had what I can only describe as an emotional meltdown and I'm now in therapy.

A couple of weeks ago I was visiting K, she just had her second baby, and we started to talk a little bit about how I was feeling. She works in the industry (so to speak) so she recognizes my depression before I even realize I'm in one, but this time she also introduced me to the word dysthymia. She explained to me what it was and it struck me as being true; Chronic mild depression with sleep disturbances and fatigue. That pretty much sums up my existence. I had myself convinced that because I was not unhappy, I was happy. (I'm sure I could just skim some old posts as proof.) She opened my eyes to the fact that they are not exact opposites. I still laughed and took pleasure in small things here and there, but most of the time I just felt blah. About everything. A switch went off, but I didn't really know it until my Psychologist asked what brought me to her. She kept asking what happened to make me call for help. I kept saying I don't know, I just knew I had to come, I've known for a long time and I just finally got up the courage. She said something specific happened to spark it all. Then suddenly that conversation came back to me and I remembered thinking that I had to get over myself and ask for help or I'd be depressed and alone for the rest of my life.

I realized that I needed to finally admit that my attempt to fix myself all these years was not working. Watching that tiny newborn asleep on my chest didn't exactly start the biological clock ticking, but it did get the desire for a shared life into the fire.

I have actually only had three sessions so far, but after the first two and before the third I was incredibly anxious, had stomach aches and couldn't sleep. I cried almost to the point of hyperventilation the first session, slightly less the second and kind of just quietly cried the third. I suppose that's progress. Most of the time I couldn't even tell you why I was crying, I just couldn't stop myself. (I've since come to the conclusion that I've been burying all my emotions for so long, now that I've opened the well it just keeps flowing.) I feel less anxious now, but I wonder if it'll come back before my next session. She actually recommended I see a psychiatrist for a consultation for medication after my second session because apparently most people feel relief after opening up. I bee-lined in the opposite direction. I am not thrilled with the idea of drugs but if the Psychiatrist also recommends it I won't fight it. At this point I might just do anything for a decent night of sleep.

I don't like it. Talking about myself (out loud to corporeal people, as opposed to you my dear readers). For many different reasons it makes me uncomfortable but K keeps telling me it's supposed to be hard. My therapist says the same thing, go figure. I knew it would be I just didn't realize how hard. Your own emotional health is a hard thing to be objective about. But in so many words, they both tell me that I'm doing well. Like a good friend K promises it will get better and I have no choice but to believe her. She has been on both sides of this therapy thing. I just hope it's relatively soon, I'm so emotionally exhausted right now I don't know which way is up.