One day Jeff asked if I had ever considered going to a counselor. I didn’t really like the idea of it at first, and he didn’t expect anything to come of the suggestion either. However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that maybe that was just what I needed. Perhaps a therapist could validate my feelings, give me suggestions, or help me in some permanent way. I don’t know what I expected, but I decided that it might be a good idea.
I made an appointment to see the counselor in the University Wellness Center. The first time I went in, Jeff came with me for moral support, and to see what it was like. The counselor basically started by getting an idea of when my depression started, if it had happened before, and how bad it was now. In sessions after that, which I believe were every two weeks, I talked some about how it felt, I told him things I’d written about it, and he helped by giving feedback on how it sounded like I felt.
The counselor did help me in some ways. He pointed out a few things such as the immense guilt I was feeling for my depression. Everything I wrote contained some sort of apology to somebody, stating that it was completely my fault and that I felt bad for the people around me. He showed me that in certain areas of my life I was so afraid of what others wanted or expected me to do that I wasn’t letting myself do what I wanted to do. I’m sure all these things contributed to the depression, and it was good to know that at least some of the negative thoughts I was having were not true.
Eventually, we decided that since there really wasn’t any traumatic experience in either my recent or distant past that would have caused my depression, and since others in my family had it, there might not be much I could ever do about it as far as therapy went. He recommended that I get a prescription for an anti-depressant, and sent me to a nurse who prescribed me with Zoloft. I was extremely grateful when I started to take it. It worked very well and I hardly ever felt bad. On the days I’d feel depressed, Jeff would again have to remind me that it was normal; we all have our days.
The Zoloft had a few side effects on me. I often had bad dreams, angry dreams. It was as if all of my negative emotions came out in my sleep; I’d be screaming and yelling at people, and they may have been violent at times. During the day I could feel when the medicine was suppressing negative feelings. While watching sad movies I didn’t feel like I could cry like I normally would, and sometimes I wanted to. There were only a couple of physical side effects, such as yawning over and over when I wasn’t even tired, and a little bit of nausea in the beginning.
Sometimes I felt a little embarrassed or guilty for taking the medicine—I certainly didn’t want to tell anybody—but for the most part, I was grateful. I was so grateful to feel happy and normal. I was grateful to see the world in a positive light again. I was grateful to feel like I was a part of the world, that I had a place and I belonged with other people. I felt that I had gotten my life back, and that I finally was seeing the morning dawn after a very dark, very long night.
I will now always have the ability to be grateful for things like that. I can honestly thank my Heavenly Father every day that I am feeling happy. I can be thankful for the world, for my happy feelings, for my ability to even be grateful. This may be the greatest gift that depression has given me. One day will be rough, but the next day I can be so happy that those bad feelings are gone again. I understand so much more keenly than ever before the concept of opposition in all things. The sweet is now so much sweeter.
Since then, I have focused a lot of scripture study on finding out just how I can look at depression from a gospel point of view. I always know depression will come back, and I want to be ready for it. I also want to know what to say to other people who are depressed. I want to arm myself with knowledge and the Spirit, so that next time, perhaps I won’t have to go to a counselor or take medication. Maybe the gospel can be enough.
I made an appointment to see the counselor in the University Wellness Center. The first time I went in, Jeff came with me for moral support, and to see what it was like. The counselor basically started by getting an idea of when my depression started, if it had happened before, and how bad it was now. In sessions after that, which I believe were every two weeks, I talked some about how it felt, I told him things I’d written about it, and he helped by giving feedback on how it sounded like I felt.
The counselor did help me in some ways. He pointed out a few things such as the immense guilt I was feeling for my depression. Everything I wrote contained some sort of apology to somebody, stating that it was completely my fault and that I felt bad for the people around me. He showed me that in certain areas of my life I was so afraid of what others wanted or expected me to do that I wasn’t letting myself do what I wanted to do. I’m sure all these things contributed to the depression, and it was good to know that at least some of the negative thoughts I was having were not true.
Eventually, we decided that since there really wasn’t any traumatic experience in either my recent or distant past that would have caused my depression, and since others in my family had it, there might not be much I could ever do about it as far as therapy went. He recommended that I get a prescription for an anti-depressant, and sent me to a nurse who prescribed me with Zoloft. I was extremely grateful when I started to take it. It worked very well and I hardly ever felt bad. On the days I’d feel depressed, Jeff would again have to remind me that it was normal; we all have our days.
The Zoloft had a few side effects on me. I often had bad dreams, angry dreams. It was as if all of my negative emotions came out in my sleep; I’d be screaming and yelling at people, and they may have been violent at times. During the day I could feel when the medicine was suppressing negative feelings. While watching sad movies I didn’t feel like I could cry like I normally would, and sometimes I wanted to. There were only a couple of physical side effects, such as yawning over and over when I wasn’t even tired, and a little bit of nausea in the beginning.
Sometimes I felt a little embarrassed or guilty for taking the medicine—I certainly didn’t want to tell anybody—but for the most part, I was grateful. I was so grateful to feel happy and normal. I was grateful to see the world in a positive light again. I was grateful to feel like I was a part of the world, that I had a place and I belonged with other people. I felt that I had gotten my life back, and that I finally was seeing the morning dawn after a very dark, very long night.
I will now always have the ability to be grateful for things like that. I can honestly thank my Heavenly Father every day that I am feeling happy. I can be thankful for the world, for my happy feelings, for my ability to even be grateful. This may be the greatest gift that depression has given me. One day will be rough, but the next day I can be so happy that those bad feelings are gone again. I understand so much more keenly than ever before the concept of opposition in all things. The sweet is now so much sweeter.
Since then, I have focused a lot of scripture study on finding out just how I can look at depression from a gospel point of view. I always know depression will come back, and I want to be ready for it. I also want to know what to say to other people who are depressed. I want to arm myself with knowledge and the Spirit, so that next time, perhaps I won’t have to go to a counselor or take medication. Maybe the gospel can be enough.
No comments:
Post a Comment