On mental health and hope

I've been pretty open about what I've been going through the last few months. They've been some of the tougher -- but in a way, most rewarding -- of my life.

In mid-August, I started taking Lexapro. I've always battled anxiety and anger and I was hoping to deal with it medically. I was also extremely arrogant and did not choose to incorporate therapy in the process. I figured: I'm smart, I'm self-aware and resourceful. I have support from the people around me. Why bother to pay some shrink $90/hour?

The Lexapro took away the anxiety and spun me into depression. I couldn't get off the couch. I started thinking final, fatal thoughts that I knew logically were bunk, but that emotionally felt so real.

Two weeks ago, on Election Night, I suffered the worst depressive episode to date. It was so strong that Adam had to come home from work the next day to take care of me. I got off the Lexapro.

Then the withdrawals hit. They're not as bad as what I suffered while on the drug, but they're bad. Crying fits, fatigue, deep pockets of depression.

"Something's got to change," I told Adam last night.

So that's where the joke about Facebook groups comes. I'm looking into a psychiatric outpatient program, one for high-functioning people with mood disorders.

I always knew this time would come. And it's not simply because things have been tough. It's also because many things in my life are better than they've ever been. I always suspected that's when things would really start to shake out: when my mind sensed that I could handle it.

I know I will look back on this time as one of enormous growth. I already do. It is not easy and it is far from enjoyable. All I can do is be as open as possible, because it's no source of shame. All I can do is work toward healing. All I can do is press toward the future.