About three weeks ago, I broke. After a slew of pregnancy announcements, friend issues and work issues, I fell apart. I was driving and I had to pull over because I was crying so hard and felt so hopeless. It was without a doubt my lowest point in this journey. I wanted to drive my car into a light post. I wanted the air bag to go off and I wanted to be hurt. Because then no one would expect anything from me. I could stay away from work and friends and family and even my obligations as an adult. I could hide being mentally broken behind a physical injury. I scared myself.
This was near the end of the week and that Saturday I saw my psychologist who told me my depression baseline was the lowest it had ever been. Lower than after the third miscarriage. She recommended I go and see my doctor because she wasn’t sure she could help me in the state I was in. For cognitive behavioral therapy to work, you have to be able to do it and I was at a barely functioning state. I had had peaks and valley before but this was the lowest valley and one that seemed impossible to climb out of.
The weekend passed and I wasn’t able to go to work. I didn’t care anymore. I phoned in sick for two days. I was sick but it wasn’t something I could explain. Ultimately, I went to my doctor and she agreed with my psychologist, I needed help to get myself to a point where I could help myself.
I started an anti-depressant called sertraline (you might know it as Zoloft) and a sleeping pill called trazodone (which is also an anti-depressant). It takes a while for anti-depressants to kick in (apparently 3 weeks) and I am at the 3 week mark now and I am “functioning”. I wouldn’t say it has been a huge success. Thankfully I have had better results with the trazodone and I can now sleep through the night. I haven’t slept through the night in well over a year. It’s a start, I guess. A start towards putting the pieces back together.