Letting It Out

I didn't really want to talk about my depression because only 1 other person knows that I go through it and that i'm not pretending. But I think that it's time that I let this thing out of the bag. I can tell you first hand why people who suffer from depression don't want people to know. They do it because people can be cruel. When people find out, they think that you are "crazy" or something worse. People look at you differently. They think that they have to talk to you in a soft voice or touch you on the shoulder when they talk to you. Basically, they judge you.

When I was in college, I went to see a psychiatrist because I was severely depressed. It got to a point where I didn't want to go to work, go to class, or interact with anyone. Since I had been in my teens, I would go through these periods where this would happen. I had no idea that it was depression. Like most black people, I thought that it was just "the blues" and that "the Lord" could make it better.

One day, during one of these depressive periods, I decided that I had had enough and I actually thought about driving off a bridge that I was about to go across. Just before I was about to make a decision whether or not to do it, my phone rang and it interrupted my thoughts. I didn't do it. But because that was not my first time having suicidal thoughts I decided that it was time to seek professional help because I knew that I really didn't want to die.

I also had been having panic attacks at least twice a week. If you have never had a panic attack, you don't want to ever have one. If you remember when Terri Joseph on Showtime's Soul Food was having them, that 's what it's like. Shortness of breath, profuse sweating, a perceived rise in body temperature, and extreme thirst. Your heart feels like it's about to stop or has stopped and you feel like you are about to die. The bad part about it is that there is nothing that you can do about it. The only thing that made me feel better was cold air and cold water.

The panic attacks would happen anywhere at any time. I once had one in class and had to grab my stuff and run to my car. When I got to my car, I turned that air on high and sat there until it subsided. Another time, I was in the mall shopping with my ex-boyfriend and it started. Once again, I ran to my car and turned the air on high.

I started seeing a psychiatrist in February of 2000 right after the incident on the bridge. Of course we started with the usual "why do you feel that way", "what made you react in that manner" type of questions. But he did delve into my childhood as I expected. He helped me to realize that some of the things that my parents did were not meant to hurt me and may have even been to protect me from harm Although he did agree with me that their methods may not have been the best. He helped me to let go of some of the resentment that I had for my parents AND my sibling.

I also told him about the fact that I was adopted and just never felt fully connected to and accepted by my family. I always believed that I was treated differently (I was) from the other children. The therapist helped me to just let some of that go (not all of it).

All in all, I was helped. But I couldn't afford to keep going because the ish was expensive and I didn't have insurance. But I think that it's time that I start seeing a therapist again. For a while, I thought that I was over the depression and panic attacks. But over the last year, it's started back. I have only a few panic attacks this year, but the depressive episodes have become more frequent.

So now, it's time for me to review my insurance and get a referral to a psychiatrist here in Atlanta. Yet Another Black Guy said it best when he said that "nobody should go have to go it alone".