I’ve known for a while that I should probably be seeing someone for my mental health issues. So many things run in my family that it seemed not only inevitable that they may fall on me as well, but that I probably had been masking nearly all of it for some time.

About 2 months ago, I had a little bit of a breakdown. I realized that if I didn’t start taking the steps toward fixing whatever I was suffering from, that I’d never change for the better, and probably just descend into a life of solitude and sadness. So my husband helped me find an APRN to see. (We’re still planning on therapy as well, just when we can better afford it.)

My first appointment with her was virtual, and basically just went over what I was concerned about and what my goals were. Not to mention the hours I spent prior to the appointment filling out all kinds of histories and assessments. But I wanted to point out something that only really occurred to me as we were talking.

I spoke about my mother’s passing in 2017, and my father’s passing less than a year ago, and that I was pretty certain I was suffering from depression. She asked, “Was it their deaths that made it all come to a head?” I believe she meant to ask if I realized the depression was affecting me because of their passings, but it wasn’t. I’ve been all but certain that I’ve been dealing with this for a lot longer. So my response was, “No. I’m pretty sure that happened when my friend was killed in Sandy Hook in 2012.”

“You’ve been dealing with depression for thirteen years?” she asked, concerned. When I said yes, she immediately prescribed me Prozac.

On our very first meeting.

And yes, I find this a bit funny. It’s not often that you meet a medical professional–especially one for mental health and such–that hasn’t really even delved into what goes on in your head on a daily basis, who would basically take a look at you and say, “Oh, you NEED these drugs.”

And I tell you what: she was RIGHT.

Less than a week on this medication, I woke up on a weekend morning and suddenly felt… different. It was the first time I can ever remember waking up without a profound feeling of dread and doom surrounding me. This first time I’ve felt in my adult life that the world wasn’t crushing me from both without and within. I had a meeting with my boss the following week, and for the first time EVER, I answered, “I’m feeling good,” when asked the perfunctory “How are you?”

To say I’m stunned is an understatement. It’s been a little over a month on this medication, and my work is already improving, I’m feeling the desire to write again, the ideas are flowing a little more freely, and I’m not in a constant state of almost sobbing while awake.

It took me a long time, but I’m finally starting my journey to feeling like me again. Whoever ‘me’ might be.

-K