Just over a month ago I was diagnosed with depression, which came as a total shock. I consider myself a jovial -- if a bit cynical -- person. I had been under a lot of stress at work and noticed I was more tired than usual. I asked my doctor if I might be suffering from anxiety. After going through a checklist, he determined I was suffering from anxiety due to a lack of concentration and motivation due to depression. He prescribed an anti-depressant and an appetite suppresant because I'd feel better if I lost some weight. Thanks, Doc, I appreciate your blunt... er, frankness.
The first week on the meds was really weird. The appetite suppresant had the effect of drinking 5 double shots of espresso, so I'd take it in the morning. However, the anti-depressant caused me to be extremely drowsy. If I took it too late at night, I was not able to get up the next morning. The contrary side-effects battled it out during the day causing quite a roller coaster at first, but little by little the drowsy, zombie-like state took over. The doctor had said to give it a month to start working.
In that month, I fell further and further into a black hole of nothing. Well, actually, it wasn't really black. I wasn't sad or unhappy. I just didn't feel anything, like the terrible Nothing that destroys Fantasia in the NeverEnding Story. Everything was foggy and distant, I was watching myself clumsily go through the motions of life but I didn't really have much control over what "myself" was doing. I couldn't concentrate on anything. My thoughts would just flit away before I could even complete a sentence. Words would get jumbled in my head. I called people by the wrong name. My mind was a large blank. Sometimes I couldn't even remember what day it was or what I had done during that day.
God was very gracious to me by giving me the necessary energy to drive to work and keep me safe, but once I'd get home I couldn't care enough to do anything but lie in bed . The only "interaction" I could handle was watching tv. The phone would sometimes ring, but I wouldn't even care enough to pick it up to see who it was. I slept in my clothes, went days without a shower, barely ate, but thanks to the "cotton mouth" side effect of the appetite suppresant/morning pill, I drank a lot of water and stayed well hydrated.
I remember two weeks into the medication, I was getting ready for church -- my morning pill had given me a bit of energy -- and then I sat down to put my shoes on and just stayed there holding my shoe staring at the clock tick for 20 minutes. I was conscious that time was passing. I knew that I'd be late for church. I knew people, especially Sarah, would worry, but I could not react. I remember going through all the reasons I should go to church, but none of it sparked a desire to get up or even move. I finally realized I had to go to the bathroom. After I relieved myself I realized I was hungry. So I got some cheerios and filled my waterbottle before spending my last bit of energy to turn on the tv and park myself in front of it. That's where Sarah found me when she came home several hours later. When she inevitably asked me what was wrong the only words I could formulate were "I don't know".
By the middle of the fourth week, I was so exhausted, sapped of mental, social and physical energy that I fell into bed and stayed there through Friday. My mom called me that morning and for some reason I picked up. I calmly told her that I hadn't been able to get up and go to work. I told her, "I know there's something wrong, but I don't feel sad or worried or anything." She urged me to go to my doctor as soon as possible and asked if I wanted her to fly out. I thanked her for the offer, but I didn't think it would be necessary. The only thing I could think about was to have her pray for me. As she was praying I finally had an emotional reaction and my eyes filled with tears.
