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Doomed for Life at 29! - Page 2

© Colleen Sullivan

I had not eaten or slept for some days. My face was haggard and gray and I cried ...copiously ...all the time. I could barely force myself to walk, so leaden were my feet. I had been seeing a clinical psychologist who my husband had been involved with and he made a referral to a psychiatrist. By this time I was severely depressed and needed only to be relieved of the inner pain and torment ...I would have sought that help, if it was available ...anywhere. Secretly, I prayed that a psychiatrist was not what I needed (the flashbacks from my mom's suffering were ever present), but logically I was already putting 2 and 2 together.

The appointment was a week away. ...I did not make it that long. My husband took me to my family doctor where I sat for a full hour crying and trying to choke out answers to questions. He prescribed some medicine and I went home with a tiny ray of hope that it would fix everything. It didn't. By the time I saw the psychiatrist (the same one who had treated my mother) even speech was next to impossible. Still, I was not expecting his words "you must be admitted to hospital immediately." I stared blankly at him through the bleak black holes in my face thinking "you have just verified my most frightening suspicions. You are saying I am like my mother." I crumpled in my chair, defeated.

My memory of being in the hospital is not clear. I have flashes of memory ...of me remaining in bed, totally mute, curled in the fetal position, not recognizing even my husband and children. I remember a special nurse, Rose, who sat on the bed next to me, hugged me to her and told me I would get better again and again. I still was not able to eat and over the eight weeks in hospital lost 50 pounds.

Gradually, I did improve. Eventually I returned home and two weeks later I returned to work. Pressures of finance would not allow me the time for total recovery. I continued to see the psychiatrist regularly and to take my medication, but never truly achieved the state of normalcy I had enjoyed before the depression started. All was well though ...I was able to carry on with my life.

It was Autumn, 1980. Depression once again lowered its boom, ...this time though, I knew what it was and my doctor was aware. Changes in medication followed, but to no avail. My mood moved inexorably down at an even quicker pace than the last time. One year, almost to the day after my first admission to hospital, I was admitted again, severely depressed and hopeless. I could not live my life this way. I despaired completely of any expectation of improvement. I was doomed for life, and at that time I made a vow to myself that if this was the quality of life I could expect, I would not live it.

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