Hello everyone!
After a pretty severe depressive episode, my hiatus from using the site has come to an end. I should be on much more regularly now.
Everything was going well for about a year and four months. Then, this past February, after a particularly stressful unit in the chemistry class I had been taking at the time, I took a test, which I didn't think went well, but I was okay; I was suspiciously okay. Later that day, I checked my student email account to find that, just before the disbursement, the school failed to recognize my master promissory note, and that I was at risk for being dropped from all of my classes. This induced my first panic attack. Sweating and shaking, I got up from my work desk, went outside, walked down the street, and paced in small circles for several minutes. This was also the beginning of the depression.
The 4.0 science major planning to transfer to a four-year university to study physics and political science upon receiving my Associate's was gone. I started underpreforming at work. I began feeling detachment from my actions. Thoughts of suicide occurred daily. I became more irritable, angry, and even hostile. My drinking, which was already daily and excessive, spiraled out of control- some days, I would start as early as 10:30 AM and not stop until I was in a stupor. I started having panic attacks during lectures, which led me to stop going to classes altogether. I wound up failing everything. I was also lethargic. After several weeks point, there were days I never got out of bed. This lasted for about a month.
The Thursday after the initial attack, after punching out a mirror and fighting with my mom and brother, I left my home with the intention to kill myself. I walked for several miles along a busy road. While there were no cars, I wandered into the middle of the street just to see if I felt that urge I usually do to get back to the sidewalk as soon as possible, but I didn't. I just stood there for several minutes. After standing in an empty road at around 12:30 in the morning, I was able to change my thinking and decide to seek help. I thought about calling a hotline, but figured, since I was no longer planning to commit suicide, to do so would only take valuable time away from someone in more urgent need of the hotline than I'd had at the time- but this was probably just a rationalization to mask the real reason I didn't call- the anxiety I've always had about making phone calls.
I started seeing a therapist, who referred me to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist initially prescribed three medications. The first was Latuda, an antipsychotic used to treat bipolar depression. Latuda, which I am currently titrating off of for insurance purposes and because of the akathisia side effect (restless leg syndrome in your whole body all the time), worked fairly well and fairly quickly. My depression, while no longer present, was not as severe. The second was hydroxyzine, an antihistamine that is sometimes used to treat anxiety and panic attacks. This was ineffective, but treated my seasonal allergies. The third was trazedone, an antidepressant that can be used as a sleeping medication, which I haven't used much. She also referred me to a testing specialist, who diagnosed me with ADHD, alcoholism, bipolar II disorder, and social anxiety disorder.
While discussions of my diagnoses with friends were generally met with sympathy, I felt relieved. Even though the diagnoses mean that this will likely be a struggle my entire life, it is also a sign that my current condition is treatable and manageable. Discussing the diagnoses with my family- primarily the bipolar disorder with my mother- was met with frustrating denial. She was convinced I had never been manic (even though bipolar II is characterized by periods of hypomania; not full-blown mania) and that bipolar is "the diagnosis of the week." It wasn't until I had explained my more severe hypomanic symptoms, as well as those of a mixed episode that was left untreated during my junior year of high school, which very easily could have trailed off into psychosis, that she understood.
Now, I'm titrating off the latuda and starting a new medication, lamotrigine, an anticonvulsant used to treat bipolar, have quit drinking (much to my dismay), and have started fighting my previous state of anhedonia by doing mathematics, making memes, and writing a play. I also started adderall for my ADHD, which has changed my life immeasurably. More than anything else, I'm hopeful for the future and grateful to live in a geographic location and time period without the same heavy stigma that has plagued generations past, resulting in excessive suffering and suicide that could have been prevented.
If you're still reading, thanks! I know this was long