More about my therapy

As I mentioned in a previous post, I've recently started therapy again. Lemon Blossom kindly asked me for an update, and I thought I'd just dedicate an entire entry to depression/therapy experience.

It's no secret to any readers of my blog that I heart Dooce. Other than the fact that I believe she and I are total soul sisters, I so greatly admire how Dooce puts a human face to depression. She is living proof that depression does not discriminate based on race, religion, sex, upbringing, etc. It can happen to anyone, anywhere, I am SO glad to live in a generation where there is professional help readily available. I look at the way my father grew up and the way his father was, and it's clear he had depression too, but it wasn't widely talked about or treated back then.

I was first diagnosed with depression when I was 12. It was the weirdest thing-- I had a picture perfect childhood. I had siblings that I got along with, parents who provided all of my needs and most of my wants and gave me a lot of love, and opportunities to do anything I wanted to do. The biggest challenge of my childhood was the fact that my dad worked for the US government so we had to move between Utah and Germany a couple of times... but that wasn't much of a challenge. Yes it was difficult to say goodbye to friends and family for a few years, but the experiences I had living in a foreign country were well worth it and I always appreciated that. So here I am, 12 years old and in seventh grade, and suddenly feeling like I was taking up too much space and probably ought to jump off of a bridge. I mentioned this to my parents during dinner one night, and thank GOD they didn't take it lightly and got me into a therapist and a psychiatrist in lightning fast speed.

I was told that I had a chemical imbalance, which didn't make sense to me until many years later. I finally came to terms with the fact that depression is not just a mental thing, it's also a physical ailment. From agest 12-20 I was off an on several different types of anti-depressants. I probably should have continued on the meds after 20, but I didn't think I needed them, and after that I went through about 8 dark years. Of course this is all hindsight. By the time I was 28, I had finally adjusted well to my life and made several positve (although difficult!) changes, and was at last happy with the skin I was in. But it's kinda like changing a lightbulb. You can change it and it burns brightly for a period of time, but if you don't change it again when the light dims out, you're left in the dark.

I'm at a point in my life where I'm able to see the signs that tell me when I need to seek professional help. Sometimes, we just can't make it on our own. There's no shame in that. It's not that YOU did anything wrong, or even necessarily because someone wronged you. It's because sometimes shitty things happen, sometimes they don't. Sometimes there's absolutely no reason for you to be sad, sometimes there are. Regardless of the reasons, coping with life can be difficult.

I'm not saying that medication is for everyone, clearly it's not. I am saying that it can be very beneficial for anyone to talk to an unbiased, professional source. I didn't click with my first therapist, then clicked immediately and amazingly with my second. For me, the key to successful therapy is to be completely and brutally honest. They're not there to judge you, they're there to help. Anything you could possibly tell them, I can almost guarantee that they've heard worse. I had my second appoinment with my therapist today, and I went over the history of my last 10-15 years. She brought into light all that I've had to deal with, all the changes I've made, all that I've experienced, in a one hour session. She gave me some assigments before I see her again. I have to buy an artists book with a hardbound cover with a spiral attachment. I can use this to write in, draw in, scribble, do whatever I want. She gave me one artistic assigment (I'm not an artist, but she believes this task will uncover some of what's underneath) as well as 5 writing assigments. I told her "Oh, I blog! I blog! I write all the time" She thought that was great, but wants these writings to be so intensely private, that she won't even read them. It's all for me, in an effort to really discover myself.

There can't be any shame in the fact that I'm giddy with excitement over this. She is not only listening to me without judgment, but she understands me. She gets what I'm saying. She is giving me physical, not just mental suggestions. I am going to find myself, and I'm going to like it.

Now I know what to ask Santa for Christmas!

My dreams have come true today. Does anyone remember this post? Well Pete Dunn remembered, and emailed me a link to this today.

Thanks Pete, you're my new best friend!

I heart Dooce

I'm new to this blogging thing... can anyone tell me if I'm allowed to have two posts in one night? Anyone? Awww... to hell with it. I'm going to whether or not it's socially acceptable.

I heart Dooce. I've been reading her Blog for aobut 18 months now, I found it soon after I found the DAMU. I have loved her from the first post I read. In many ways, I feel like we are kindred spirits. She and I have so much in common, we are the same age, graduated the same year, we both loved the TV show Felicity and have dreams about Bono. I want a t-shirt that says "I heart Dooce" across my boobs. Even though I've never met her, she has a place in my heart.

My favorite Dooce posts are her monthly news letters to her daughter. I love reading about her daughter, and I think she's going to grow up and really cherish all of these posts her mother has made about her. This month it was her 32 month news letter. These monthly messagse are always HI-LARIOUS, and tie up in a very sweet, affectionate package that usually manages to bring a few tears to my eyes.

This month she ended her post with talk about depression. Apparently, Dooce is suffering pretty severely right now. As a sister in the agony of depression, she has all of my sympathy. I was diagnosed at age 12. I felt like a freak because it wasn't widely talked about at the time. I had a wonderful childhood filled with tremendous opportunities and a fun, loving family. I turned 12 and wanted to end my life. I spent the next several years on and off different medications. I have not taken anything in nearly 5 years (a few months after my babies were born), and I've been okay. But I know that at any given moment, I could find myself no longer able to cope.

I look at someone like Dooce, and part of me briefly wonders how she could be depressed. Here is a woman who has it all-- she's married to the man of her dreams, she has more intelligence and wit in the way she writes the word "is" than I have in an entire blog, she has a daughter she adores, is very close to her family, and makes a living doing what she loves, not to mention gorgeous. Then I quickly remembered, depression doesn't care about any of that. Many people don't realize that depression is not simply a mental condition, it's a physical condition as well. A person can seemingly have it all, but be torn up on the inside. I hate this ugly disease. I hate how it makes a person feel about themselves.

Now I'm trying to figure out how to end this post without being such a downer. Anyone know where I can get a t-shirt that says "I Heart Dooce" across the boobs?