Okay, let’s get real for a brief moment.
For a long time I’ve felt like shit, to put it nicely. I hardly even remember when it started, but ever only detected when it got worse. I had my first anxiety/panic attack when I was 12, and by a sudden realisation a few years back, I had an idea that I was depressed. I never liked labelling myself with such, and my stubbornness came to character, when I constantly invalidated myself and my own feelings and thus not seeking help, even though this heavy, dark cloud above me only grew larger. And I feel like I’ve lost myself somewhere along the road to realising it hasn’t got to be like this. That there’s a potentially well functioning life waiting for me, if I can only pull myself together and do something about it with all the help there’s offered.
Since November I’ve seen psychiatrists, psychologists and therapists. Some well educated people, who you can feel are actually in this to help people. I’ve talked and told and spoken, and tried to remember all details of my life for them to give me the right help, to learn that I am in fact depressed and have an anxious and emotionally unstable personality disorder. By my next meeting in three weeks’ time, we’re going to check if I have ADD as well. It’s overwhelming to go from halfassed self-diagnosis’s, to suddenly have three, possibly four. But I’m on antidepressants now, which actually seem to mostly help, and I’ve cut out alcohol and drugs for a while, so I’m on my way to get better.
#depression #recovery #taboo #awareness