Dysthymia

I’ve struggled with “depression” for most of my life. As a teenager, when I first became aware that “something was wrong,” I hadn’t a clue and wrote it off as just low self-esteem, or merely teenage angst. In fact, what I most remember about my middle and high school days was not liking myself really at all and wondering what the hell was wrong with me. But I functioned. I had friends and had fun and did normal teenage things. And because of that, I didn’t think I was “sick”.

It wasn’t until I was nearing the end of my time in college that I knew there was something wrong. But I had been triggered by events that shoved me into (what I consider) full-blown depression. I still have vivid memories of not leaving my bed for the better part of a week. In the first half of my last year, I stopped attending classes. My grades tanked and I was at risk of failing out.

I don’t recall going to a therapist, though I might have visited the campus health center. I do recall at least one conversation with an aunt who is a psychologist.

I managed to graduate, but my GPA was irrevocably damaged and the damage to my psyche would remain for years to come.

I moved to Hawaii, in part, to force a hard reset on my life. I knew only one person here and arrived with no job prospects. Just some savings and a vague plan to “sort myself out.”

Treatment

Early on, without a job or health insurance, I visited a state health center in the hopes of beginning therapy. It didn’t go quite to plan (though I can’t now recall why), but I did meet with a doctor who, after a “test” diagnosed me with Dysthymia. Until that day, I’d never heard of it.

Even with a diagnosis in hand, it would be another year or two until I finally started therapy. I abhorred the idea of “shopping for a shrink” and only began therapy when I received a referral from a friend. That was incredibly lucky; the therapist turned out to be fantastic. It changed my life and I saw him fairly regularly for at least a decade until he retired in 2019.

As my work with the psychologist began, he suggested medication. Something I had been pretty staunchly opposed to to that point. Despite my relative misery, I didn’t like the idea of a drug altering my personality. But my need to get better overrode my hesitation. I tried Wellbutrin until it became apparent it wasn’t doing much good. We agreed to nix the drugs and just focus on talking. It turned out to be for the best. Recognizing the harmful impact of drugs, it becomes essential to emphasize that home drug detox is a crucial step for those looking to break free from addiction and reclaim a healthier, drug-free life.

After years of working on my myriad of issues, I was better. Not fixed, per se, but better. At the core, I learned how to be “ok” with myself, my minor peccadillos, and gained confidence as a result.

I’d stop therapy occasionally when I was doing “well,” but would always go back for a stint here and there for what I called “maintenance therapy.” When my doctor told me he was retiring, I was a bit crushed, but understood. He gave me a couple of referrals for doctors he thought I’d like, but I never followed up.

I’m Still Struggling

Now, two years later, I’m at probably the lowest point I’ve been in… I don’t know how long and it seems I’ve lost the names he gave me.

Since my doctor retired in 2019, I haven’t really felt the need to go back to therapy. That is, until recently. The last couple of months and even more so the last couple weeks, have been… challenging, but I have gotten to get approved for medical cannabis for natural treatment. I’ve been struggling to do work, finding energy to do anything but the bare minimum required, and finding much joy in life. For me, and I’m not sure this is a common symptom or not, but the ability to make decisions has also proved difficult.

Nothing seems to matter much. And it’s not good. I’ve been smoking more, putting on weight, and sleeping more. All more than normal. This is easily my lowest point in recent memory and its becoming a bit scary. Unsettling.

I had hoped a recent trip to visit my father and step-mother would provide a bit of a boost. Alas, it didn’t. After some crippling indecision, I finally have a plane ticket and similar hopes for a visit to my hometown for Thanksgiving. But the prospects aren’t looking good.

For no reason (other than feeling overwhelmed), I very nearly broke down into tears earlier this week. The feeling of being adrift, or of drowning is terrible. Or the unshakable feeling of being stuck. It really scares me.

I don’t have thoughts of suicide, which I guess is the only upside. Though I will say that short of that, my brain is plagued with a sense of worthlessness. Thoughts of “what’s the fucking point” are persistent.

What The Hell To Do

Having lost the referrals my former doctor gave to me, I called the office in a desperate attempt to maybe retrieve them. Though he’s long-gone now, maybe the office kept records? Maybe they have some list somewhere of referrals he made in the past? Or even just a list they have from current doctors?

The idea of starting from scratch with someone new only adds to my depressed mood and moderate level of anxiety. If I have to go “shopping for a shrink,” I’m not sure at this point I’ll ever go back to therapy again.

It’s all just too much weighing down on me all at once. And the tears well up again.

As I write this, I’m not sure it will actually get posted for sharing. This blog has always been an outlet of sorts, but I don’t want pity. It’s not helpful and only magnifies my depressed mindset. But those who know me and interact with me on a regular basis are beginning to ask “how I’m doing,” so it’s clear my stoicism is cracking a bit and this post would mainly serve as a notice. An FYI of sorts. Not for pity, certainly. But as a, “here’s what’s up with me.”