My First Time

Last year was my first time seeing a therapist, a long overdue decision. I started to feel myself slipping away from myself. That was the deciding factor. I was living alone at the time, which has become my preference over the years and perhaps had/has a hand in my mental state. I slipped into a deep depression that felt unfamiliar and I felt unwell.

Talk sessions began. A psychiatrist recommended antidepressants and anxiety medication, which I was reluctant to agree to taking, along with talk therapy from my brand spanking new psychologist. But I didn’t give it a chance to “work”. I stopped taking the antidepressants and stopped going to my talk sessions. I got busy, I guess. When I’m busy, I don’t have time to slip into episodes.

Or so it always seems.

I couldn’t recognize that what I was feeling as child was anxiety. I recall laying awake at night, thinking about death. I was constantly worried and I always thought that someone was watching me. Fast forward to adulthood and it has manifested into more of the same, but with additional quirks. I’m easily startled, I go through bouts of irritability and anger. And lately, my breathing is affected… etcetera, etcetera. My anxiety feeds my depression until it finds it’s way to the surface. I’ve learned that it’s always lurking in the background. It’s cyclic. It isn’t a momentary sadness that can be alleviated with anecdotal Tumblr quotes.

I don’t talk to anyone about my sadness anymore, not in depth. I let it run its course for however long and tough it out. Subsequently wailing about loneliness and distancing myself from everyone. Thing is, I feel like I’ve reached the cap on complaints, so I don’t feel safe enough to really share with anyone anymore. It isn’t a reflection of my friends and family, but of me. I won’t allow myself to believe that anyone can understand my depths, so I share the surface. Even now I’m holding back…

I intend on going back to my psychologist. I want to be this amazing success story, despite and in spite of. Trying to get there feels like hiking up the steepest mountain while carrying a mountain. I’m writing this because I need to put it somewhere. While driving to Virginia last week, I did the same thing but as a voice recording, in hopes that one day soon I’ll revisit a place that feels foreign.

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