At age 12, my life was coming to head and fast. The abuse had escalated and I felt as though I was no longer wanted. I remember this age well. My health, both mentally and physically. The physical part will be included in the Surviving Death and Physical Health section.
It was at this time that I spent tons of time in the counselor’s office at school. On Guam, they were actual counselor’s and were made available to students to help with any need. I didn’t know how to express myself when it came to the abusive problems I was going through, so I became depressed. I began to go through this cycle of being happy, then depressed, then suicidal and back around to the first. Looking back, the change from each was abrupt and for no reason. When I actually tried abuse, I was referred to a Naval psychologist who saw me once, then ignored me and began talking to my parents. In the ninth grade, the cycle continued and I started to going to the counselors there. Mom says they contacted her saying something wasn’t right with me and that was her clue to change something. After my parents became separated, they sent me to the states to stay with relatives. My mom soon followed and everything came out. The psychiatrist at that time diagnosed me with depression, but no medication.
Eventually I stopped going to her. Throughout the next 14 years, I was able to manage or self-medicate to get by. Smoking, alcohol, marijuana and prescription pain killers became an off and on again thing for me. Always able to stop. But then, picking them up again when things got bad.
I was thirty when things came to head. I became so depressed that I couldn’t stand to be around myself. A number of reasons were given at that time as to why the depression came on, but looking back, I believe it was pressure coming to boil. I was caring for a father who I believed didn’t love me, trying my hardest to juggle a full time job, nursing dad, being a single mom, cooking, cleaning and going to college. I bursted. I went to the local free clinic for help. They prescribed me Zoloft.
Things were fine for a while. I went off medication again after the move. Then pressure built again and that began the cycle of suicide again. I went to my primary doctor and he prescribed Lexapro. A few months later, while on medication, I fell to a new low. Suicide became a scary truth. I began running my car off the road hoping for a wreck. My ex-husband found me one day about drink bleach and down a bottle of medication. I don’t remember what it was. He had me go back to my doctor. Before the doctor even asked what I was there for, he said it might be time for me to considering taking a break in a hospital.
The results to the hospital stay will be discussed in Bipolar. As for the depression portion, that diagnosis still exists and is something I struggle with daily. At that time I was prescribed a large dose of Seroquel that later was switched to Wellbutrin. Seroquel made me feel like a zombie, just numb to the world and always groggy. Wellbutrin has done me very well.