I have been dealing with depression since mid-childhood. Nobody ever paid any attention to the warning signs, including myself. I had my first episode requiring medical attention in late 1992. After that, things were better until 1998. In 1998, I had my worst "episode" in which I actually broke down. I cried for weeks. When I wasn't crying, I was sleeping, and vice versa. It was then that I was placed on zoloft, along with a couple different anti-psychotic meds. The feelings went away, and I stopped all medications. The next episode (bigger than the previous) was in 2001. I ended up back in the doctor's office, and was put back on zoloft and a couple new meds (I can't remember which). My latest episode (which, I think may be a continuation of the 2001 episode) hit me the hardest of all. I wound up spending 2 nights in ICU, then was transferred to the inpatient psychiatric ward for observation. I was in the hospital for a little over a week. Since then, I have been doing ok, I reckon. I wake up every morning wondering how I will feel for the day. Over all of this time, I have gotten more and more uncomfortable around people. This may be attributed to the social "scarlet letter" that is placed on mentally ill patients. I am to the point now where I never leave the house unless I have to. My home is my sanctuary. I take 3 different medications every morning, and if I go even one day without them, I start to spiral further downward, rapidly. I also have panic attacks if I am around too many people for very long. The only reason I make it from day to day is with the help of a very loving and supportive family. I would not be here if it weren't for my wife and 2 daughters. They are why I continue to get up each day.
