Looking back over what I have written, I apologize (no, I don't) for ranting a bit ... I am a bit, a BIT manic right now, and blurted out some memories.  It's helped me.  Here it goes ...

I have learned to be very careful with who I share my mental ilnness issues with, as I do with my alcoholism.  Unfortunately, there is still so much misunderstanding about depression, with 'normies' that experience situational depression from time to time.  They look at us with contempt, as weak because they had the strength to 'pick themselves up', 'think happy thoughts' or whatever form of self discipline they used that they judge us as lacking.

It really isn't their fault.  They simply don't understand.  I'm learning this even more, everyday, especially the last few days with all the comments I've gotten from 'normies' that have expressed that they have a different way of looking at those they love, struggling with mental illness.

The most maddening part of my journey, was the ignorance and misunderstanding of my illness and symptoms from the very people that I have always believed I could trust - the medical profession.

Sometimes it would take me a year of intense suffering before I was worn down enough to be able to crawl into my doc's office and lay out all my symptoms, only to be told "Sounds like you a have a bit of depression." 

"A BIT OF DEPRESSION, YOU .......... .........!" I think.  Then she gives me that nervous, almost scared little smurk of hers and shoves a piece of paper with 12 questions into my hand, leaves the room and asks me to evaluate my 'bit of depression.'   Hell, I can't evaluate up or down, black or white, reality from delusion ... I can barely hold the pen as I am shaking so bad from the inside out and she wants me to calmly assess MY condition?

Then, she comes back, glances at the paper, and says, "Yes, seems like you are pretty gloomy these days."  OK, that's about it!  This ...... is going to get a a good healthy dose of MY reality. 

"Hey doc, do you think it's normal to wake up in the morning and the first thought of the day, is that you want to be dead.  Do you think it's normal, that in order for me to even fall asleep at night, I create these elaborate fantasies of my own death, complete with my hands folded neatly across my chest, which fills me with a sick sort of peace, that lulls me into a fantasy that reassures me that the pain is over, that I have to fool myself into thinking I am dead, in order to function?"

"Well, does sound a bit serious."  She uses that word 'bit' just one more time, and I think she will get a first hand lesson and example of exactly what 'going mental' looks like, right here here in her little cubicle.  "OK, calm down wacko, let's try and get some help," I reassure myself.

"So, what do you think we ought to do?" she asks, ME!!!! 

THAT's IT ... I'm done acting sane.  I can no longer control it and start shaking and crying ... ****, I hate that.  A 54 year old man, that has always prided himself on being able to handle anything that life has to throw at me, has totally broken down in front of my incompetent medical expert. 

"What do I think we should do,"  I shout at her. 

"Do you have any idea what it took for me to walk in here today.  It took me 6 months of agony to even pick up that damned phone to make an appointment and now ... NOW, you ask ME, what I think?" 

"I CAN't Think anymore, that's why I am here.  I don't trust my thinking.  I'm scared.  I'm scared to death that I'm losing my mind.  Do you have any clue how terrifying that is, to believe that you are actually losing the ability to control yourself, to function or to even pretend to be OK?  Do you have any clue as to the fear I have of what it would be like to be locked away, forgotten and written off, lost forever in a coma of insanity?  I NEED YOU, to HELP ME!!!!  I don't know what to do.  For two years, I've been coming to see you, beating around the bush, always afraid that you are thinking in the back of your mind, "Oh here comes that hypocondriac ... wonder what new symptoms he has now.  My sick mind won't even allow me to look into the eys of your staff nurses imagining that they are all laughing at me as well, hell, they probabaly laugh about me at lunch.  This is the what my head thinks about ... Do YOU think normal people obsess over these kinds of things D O C T O R ?  I need help, please, help me."

I felt better.  Relieved.  Had a sense of hope that maybe she will finally understand the depth of my suffering, that I'm not making this stuff up, that I need help .... until ... once again, I see that scared, nervous look on her face as she attempts a smile and says, "Alrighty then, I think we should try an anti-depressant." 

"Oh GOD!  I have so been here before, for 15 years, I have so been here, and have tried every kind of anti-depressant known to medical science," I think to myself.  Maybe I should just walk into a mental hospital, lie down on the floor and let them whisk me away into Zoo-land ... I just don't care anymore."  This, was my experience with the medical community, for many years.

As I've written in my journals, it took many more years, before I happened upon the perfect storm, a set of circumstances that availed a new opportunity to get the proper care, medical professionals that understood what they were talking about.  Do I regret those years.  Not really.  Guess it took what it took to get here.  Do I wish I would have found the proper diagnosis earlier in life, saving so many years of pain and suffering.  Yes, of course, but that's just not the path I was supposed to walk.

Today, I will NEVER stop trying because I KNOW what it feels like to be alive and even though I may not be there, as I write, I've been shown the miracle of sanity.  It was possible once and it is possible again.  I will never give up on myself.  This disease is treatable.

For anyone out there that is suffering and has lost hope and feels embarrased and humiliated - I suggest that you GET MAD!  Do whatever you need to do to get listened to and don't be afraid to express your pain and ask for help.  My ego held me back, for so many years from uttering the three most powerful words I have ever verbalized, resulting in almost instantaneous results ... "I NEED HELP.  Please help me."

God Bless Us All.  We deserve it. 

Louie R. (Uswalker);

http://rochonsculpture.artspan.com/mbr_bio.php