My Descent Into Hell
by Arwen
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I had been suffering with
depression since I was eighteen. Then it manifested itself in the form
of anorexia nervosa. My parents sent me to see my mother's pdoc. He
put me on prolixin, valium and dalmane (for sleep) and none of it
helped. I still managed to beat myself up with frantic calisthenics
and continuous small portion eating. I cut out all starches and I was
even to the point of seeing bugs in my food and that alone kept me
from eating. I remember Thanksgiving that year was a nightmare, I had
dreaded it since the beginning of October. As soon as we left my
grandmother's house full of the big meal, my mind was spinning with
the task that I would have to do when I got home. The college race
track had 3 inches of snow on it and I tugged on my heavy boots and I
went out jogging. I jogged till I dropped, I wasn't going to let those
calories go anywhere on me. Not long after this I noticed that my
moods were beginning to cycle and I couldn't control them like I
wanted too, that and I noticed I could stay up all night without any
deprivation side effects. I thought it was the meds so I refused to
take them anymore right after Christmas. I quit the pdoc, I thought no
one could help me and that this was just the way I was.
Fast forward to December 1988. I was living in Phoenix, Arizona. My
ex-husband had been seeing a pdoc for panic attacks. One day in that
month my ex asked me to go with him to see the pdoc because for one
his pdoc had requested to meet me, and second the pdoc wanted to put
my ex on tegretol for the attacks and frontal lobe seizure problems.
We sat in the pdoc's dark paneled office where the light was dimly
coming in the window and discussed the pros and cons of the med. My ex
had trepidations about taking it. He asked me what I would do? I
replied that I'd take it if I knew it was going to help me. My ex
relented and said he'd try it. All this time I noticed his pdoc
observing me. After my ex's pdoc wrote out the prescription he turned
and looked at me. He asked me if I was alright and I was surprised. I
was asked the usual questions. Was I eating and sleeping ok, how were
my moods? He asked me if I had ever been treated for depression and I
said 'yes'. He told me that he thought I was deeply depressed and that
I needed to be on medication. I was stunned. I ended up walking out of
his office with a prescription for imipramine. The med helped for a
while but then stopped working. In the mean time my ex and I both were
seeing the same pdoc. (I know, not a good idea).
In the spring of 1989 my emotions were rollercoastering, my ex and I
were fighting and the children were constantly upset. I felt so
overwhelmed I started crying and I couldn't stop. It went on for three
days on and off. I can remember sitting on the floor of the narrow
hallway in our house, crying. Three of my scared daughters were
clinging to me and my baby girl was toddling all over the living room
pouting and frowning in confusion. I had to do something.
My descent into Hell began on Thursday, April 6th, 1989. I was washed
out and emotionally drained, I couldn't stand it anymore. I was lucky
enough to get an appointment at 4 in the afternoon with my pdoc. The
day was so hot, even so I was dressed all in black, from my t-shirt to
my long pants, I was in mourning for me. I walked my daughters across
the street to the neighbors and then took off for my appointment. As I
drove there I felt mesmerized and I thought people were in my head
telling me what to do. It was as if I was riding through a furnace, I
felt the sweat dripping off of my body into my clothes. I missed the
turn and cursed myself. When I finally walked through the door into
the waiting room, I was blasted by cold air and my clothes dried onto
me as brittle as a dead dried snake. While I was in his office I sunk
into the rug and continued to cry. I felt guilty and ashamed. I just
knew that I was a failure as a wife and a mother and these were the
most important things to me. The pdoc told me I needed to go to the
hospital and that I was too depressed to be on my own at home. He
further explained that I needed to be separated from my home
environment for a while. I needed a 'respite' in his words. Next thing
he did was call me ex at work to tell him I was going to the hospital
and my ex whined that what was really wrong with me is that I was mad
that he hadn't fixed the swamp cooler and we were all sweltering at
home. My pdoc rolled his eyes. I could hear my ex shouting at him on
the phone. My ex continued to argue and finally my pdoc said that he
was admitting me and that was that.
At 5pm My pdoc locked his office then drove me down to the hospital. I
was too much of a mess to drive myself. In his office I had been
crying into my long hair and now I was leaning against the window in
his car hiding behind my curtain of soggy hair. I was so scared. One
because I knew my ex was angry, and two because of fear of the
unknown. I thought, 'God, I'm going to the mental hospital I must
really be crazy after all.' My thoughts were racing on all the
horrible things that were happening. First and foremost I worried
about who was going to take care of my girls. My pdoc said that was my
ex's responsibility. After my pdoc admitted me they put me in the lock
down unit. I was so frightened I could barely breathe. All wired from
no sleep I wandered around the halls with my hair still hanging in my
face. A tall handsome black adult care worker (ACW) came up to me,
introduced himself and offered me a sandwich. I just shook my head
'no'. I couldn't eat, my stomach was too tight. All I could do was
pace the halls, the ACW's ignored me. I didn't speak for two days
except to my pdoc. I didn't trust the ACW's. As soon as I went to see
my room, someone shoved a journal into my hands and told me to write
about my feelings. I wanted to tell them, 'screw you.'. I hid it under
my mattress so no one could read it. The first two days I just roamed
the halls all night even after they gave me restoril I couldn't sleep
because my thoughts were racing in a drugged state. I was told to go
to bed but I couldn't, I just felt I had to walk, they ignored me. By
Sunday night I was able to sleep a little and Monday morning I started
my life as a lab rat.
When I was awakened I felt like I was being jolted with electricity
traveling throughout my whole body. I remember thinking that my nerves
were metabolically caving in. I was taken to a little room to where my
pdoc was waiting, I still looked disheveled. He decided to put me on
depakote. It would be the first of many meds that I would try. I
wouldn't take it, though. After three days of vomiting my lunch I
refused to take anymore. Later that day I was moved to the open unit.
For the next eight weeks it seemed that I was trying a new med, one
every six days. They made the mistake of putting me on prozac. I got
mad and demolished my room. I ripped open their pillows and threw
stuffing everywhere, had a laugh attack and ended up in the quiet
room. I still continued to feel the electric charges in my body so my
pdoc started me on tegretol, Ha ha! The same med my ex was taking. How
ironic. I seemed to respond and that took care of the seizures. One
morning I told my pdoc about the voices in my head. He asked me why
hadn't spoken about them before, and I replied because I knew they
weren't real. He started me on navane. This endless cycle went on for
two months and I still wasn't well enough to go home. I missed my
girls and got tired of seeing my ex bring them to visit in mismatched
clothing.
One weekend my pdoc was out of town and I had to see this wild looking
woman pdoc. She was dressed half hippie and half Navaho Indian. She
had frizzy hair and so many bracelets that they clacked together as
she made notes in my chart. She expressed that I wasn't getting better
and what she thought I needed was a 'baby dose' of lithium. I can
remember the first week I was on lithium, I felt so good, and the
world was in color again. Within two weeks I started to respond. My
moods were leveling out and I had never known what that had felt like.
After three months in the hospital I was ready to go home.
After I got divorced I went off of meds because I no longer had
insurance. I whacked out and got moody. At the same time I was facing
finals in business college and I had a terrible time concentrating. I
graduated and even received a $1500 soroptomists award for writing an
essay on being a single parent and going to school.
After my son was born my new husband and I moved to Idaho. and I did
fair for having no meds. Then I got fibromyalgia. It took them forever
to diagnose me. I was suffering the tortures of hell in pain. All my
doctors thought I was crazy. I started to get manic. I ended up being
hospitalized in a low income clinic because I was paranoid and out of
my mind with my physical symptoms. I saw their pdoc and he asked me a
few questions one of which being what was my previous diagnosis. I
told him circular depression. He told me that that meant I was
bipolar. It was the first time in my life I felt relief. It explained
so many things to me. Another path had opened up. I could finally
start getting the right treatment and I was no longer afraid.
arwen
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