Kleenex, but make it fashion

It was my very first time at a psychiatrist’s office, and I was stuck in the bathroom. Literally. I couldn’t open the door. I had found a private doctor who seemed to be living in the back of her Upper West Side brown stone office. It was clear that, as her first patient of the day, I had gotten there after someone had just taken a shower- the clear shower doors were still wet. The dampness must have made the wooden door swell…either that, or this was some elaborate psychological experiment that the doctor does with new patients. I decided to stay calm and not scream. (I mentally awarded myself a gold star for that one.) After several labored tugs, spaced out with calm, deep breaths, I managed to yank the door open, practically propelling myself backwards onto the toilet. No one saw that. I sauntered back into the waiting room nonchalantly. That particular doctor was a no-nonsense Russian lady who didn’t understand why I was emptying her entire Kleenex box, and why I couldn’t have been smoother during some recent social situations (situations where a box of Kleenex was unfortunately not around.) However, she gave me my first dosage of Prozac and (*gasp) Klonopin. Woo! I felt much better! (Oh, sorry I should have mentioned, I have depression and anxiety. I’m usually feeling something strongly… if I’m really depressed, my anxiety tries to compete for the attention, and vice versa. It’s fun.). I stopped seeing that doctor because her office was incredibly disorganized, and they were making it hard for me to get a refill; and getting medication from her was literally why I was seeing her.

I found a new psychiatrist through the counseling center where I was going for therapy. He was a doctor that reminded me of my music professors in college and maybe a little bit of my High School Geometry teacher. He looked smart, and serious, but was really kind- he didn’t glare at me once while I went through HIS Kleenex. He eventually retired, but told me that “I was a really pleasant person”, which is as much of a compliment as I know he was supposed to give me, and I still treasure that complement to this day.

I went through a series of other psychiatrists and medication because the Prozac and Klonopin stopped working. Wellbutrin made me feel like I wanted to rip out every single hair follicle on my body and everyone else’s body, which I discovered is painful and people don’t like you very much when you try it. I switched to Zoloft and that was better, but I couldn’t take too much of it because I started noticing that absolutely nothing was fazing me….Car speeding towards me? Whatever. A cockroach crawling into my blender in the morning? Eh, just rinse it out with water, no need for soap, and make that smoothie anyway… Ironically it was a similar scenario that told me I needed to get help in the first place… a bug was in my smoothie and I just plucked it out and drank the rest. If cockroaches didn’t exist, how else would I gauge my depression? Anyway, if the Zoloft was pretty much numbing me in a way that was like a depressive episode then that was a “no-go”. My doctor decreased that Zoloft dosage.

It was a year ago that I noticed certain times of the month were worse than other times. Meaning that I got 10 good days and the rest of the days of the month weren’t fun. It was because of hormones, man. They’re awful. I started tracking symptoms and was diagnosed with PMDD. If you haven’t heard of it, look it up! It’s pretty much PMS on steroids, and for a longer period of time. (My symptoms last for almost 3 weeks out of the month.) So, I just recently added Abilify to the Zoloft. The jury is still out on Abilify, but I’m feeling better for the moment.

I’ll never forget when I was at my general practitioner’s office for a regular check-up appointment, and the nurse asked me if I had any health conditions. I said asthma. Then she asked if I was taking medication. I told her I was, and told her what they were, and what I was taking them for (Zoloft, for anxiety and depression). She sternly told me that anxiety and depression were health conditions and, irritated, scratched out what she had previously written. Oh. Right, I guess they are. Part of my mind was still telling me that I was over-reacting… something that my therapist is STILL guiding me through.

I’m currently applying for new jobs and saw that anxiety and depression, if they affect your day-to-day life, is listed as a disability. I checked that box for the first time in my life.

I’m getting much better about understanding my symptoms and I’ve stopped blaming myself for them. I still need to have Kleenex with me since there are moments when I just can’t stop the crying. (Hey hormones.) But hey, Kleenex is so CUTE these days! You can get all sorts of printed designs! And you can get little Kleenex HOLDERS too! That way, you’ll be adorable AND prepared. There’s a great website called “Self-Care is for Everyone”, and they have a shirt that says, “I may cry, but I get things done.” YES.

I hope if you’re reading this (thank you!) and you’re struggling with anxiety, depression, and/or PMDD, you’re in good company. The more vocal I am about it, the more I find how NOT alone I am. I recommend Facebook support groups, a good therapist, and if needed, some chemical help from medication. Ain’t no shame. You’ll want to find a good psychiatrist for that, one who listens to you and has lots of Kleenex. Just make sure you can get out of the bathroom.