Member-only story
MENTAL HEALTH
Lifting The Unbearable Weight of Depression
Pills, self-medication, misery, hope
When I first met Bruce, he was taking six different psychiatric medications.
I’ve only taken two in my entire life: Wellbutrin, to quit smoking, and Prozac — which I took for three months after I was diagnosed with complex PTSD in June 2006.
Bruce is a very bright, highly-sensitive man with a lot of ACES (adverse childhood experiences) who has been involved with the mental health and healthcare systems for his entire life. After my grandfather died when I was 13 years old, my life became a maelstrom of coping with a severely mentally-ill caregiver, my grandmother. My wide-flung family was afraid to take her on. If you had known her, you would have likely felt the same.
Where Bruce and my stories diverge is: he had lots of professional help as a young man. I didn’t.
When I was young, I could have easily been categorized as a “problem drinker.” As a college student, I prided myself on having a “hollow leg” just like my Russian Jewish father, who easily held his alcohol (and never drank too much).
Many friends and even more acquaintances were already taking antidepressants. People at school routinely threatened and a few even attempted…
