Day by Day

Reading Time: 10 minutes

Before that night in late spring of my junior year of high school, I could not comprehend how painful a mental breakdown truly was. 

I played singles varsity tennis that fall. I had been awarded the position of first chair flute in county honor band that winter. And that night, I had completed two regional competitions for Robotics as president of my high school team, bringing home an award for our website as well—-something that had been a personal project of mine finally received validation, yet it triggered my anger. 

Logically, I had nothing to “cry over”, yet the dark idea that it would all come crashing down triggered the tears, guttural yelling, and body slams against the floor of my parents’ bedroom. 

My mom with her own mental illness, fueled the fire with her share of yelling and ridicule that I was the one that needed help. My dad, shocked at the scene going on before him and unable to stop my incessant crying and self-harm, threatened to call the police. 

But this only pushed out more tears, and at one point, my body couldn’t take it anymore. I continued to lay on the floor listlessly while my parents calmed down as well. 

The police never came, but Dad thought I should see a therapist. I was resentful, given the fact that my mother had not seen a doctor in years, but part of me felt the urge to see someone, with a sprinkling of curiosity.

————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-

I have lived with depression since then, with it popping in and out of my life at varying intensities, depending on how kind my environment was to me.

An eating disorder was mixed in as well, sometimes making it unclear what was first to influence what.

The depression, along with OCD tendencies, popped up along my PhD journey as well, with one of my darker episodes occurring at a time when so many unknowns were at play… the biggest of which was the worry of how soon my first, first-author paper would be published, if I would be able to graduate, and if it was even worth all of the anxiety and emotional breakdowns I was going through.

It was around this time I decided to see my third therapist, but also consider taking medication for the first time. When I received the news that my paper had been accepted, that itself lifted away the weight of the world that was pressed so firmly at my shoulders for the past six months, but I still felt it necessary to seek out professional help.

Dr. S was an immense help through the first half of 2019. It may have helped that my environment suddenly turned friendly, but she helped me battle the ennui I was now experiencing as I inched towards a summer graduation.

At first I saw her once a week so she could get to know me better and monitor me as I started taking Lexapro for the first time. I was on 5mg initially, but was bumped up to 10mg. Beyond a few headaches and fatigue, the pill got acquainted with my body and lifestyle, although I personally didn’t feel any changes.

Especially since I still felt cyclical anger and irritability.

Dr. S was a trained psychiatrist, but would not continue writing prescriptions for patients unless paired with counseling sessions. I enjoyed our sessions in the beginning, since I was able to vent to her about my desire to start anew outside of SoCal. She knew about my plans to apply for a fellowship in Italy, and how I yearned to have the opportunity to meet new people and travel all over.

When my plans were starting to gel by November 2019, I began to grow tired of my sessions with Dr. S. Like with the therapists of my past, I had hit a plateau with her. I felt like I didn’t need her anymore, and that my depression had retreated once I received confirmation about Italy.

Of course with COVID in early 2020, my plans changed dramatically. I was “stuck” in Tulsa (although now I see it as a blessing I wish I could relive again). Being with my family definitely played a key role in mitigating stress. I was still taking my Lexapro, but popping a pill each day without knowing if it was truly serving its purpose was beginning to irritate me, to say the least.

Dr. S wrote me a prescription for 90 days to take with me as I settled down in Milan, but who’s to say if it got me through my two weeks of isolating self-quarantine?

Because my mind was already set on starting fresh and throwing myself into a different world, I felt ready to stop the Lexapro. I didn’t want to rely on medication to modulate my mood for the rest of my life, especially if it wasn’t doing its purported action in the first place.

Things seemed to be going wonderfully at work.

I was finally opening up and starting to date for the very first time in my life.

In fact, I was lucky to meet someone so early in the “game” who I clicked with instantly.

And with all of this new-found happiness, I wanted to see what my body could do on its own…in an environment where I felt in control and eager about navigating through.

So I stopped taking Lexapro in mid-August 2020. I informed my Dad and a close friend of my decision, both of whom knew of my recent depression history. My Dad, knowing the obstacles I have faced when it comes to doctors and their diagnoses understood why I chose not to wait until I found a doctor, but my close friend was more concerned. While I acknowledge it would have been helpful to see someone within weeks of arriving in Italy, I knew that with the painfully frustrating administrative system in place—especially in regards to healthcare—it would have been a nightmare to wait for a second opinion.

In my battle with depression over the years, I quickly realized that when it came to my body and mind, only I could be the one to decide what felt right for me.

I felt “normal” for about a week, after which painful, throbbing headaches began to make an appearance on a daily basis. I was starting to feel easily triggered by what I would normally see as minor inconveniences. On my early morning runs, I would have to stop mid-run because I would be on the verge of tears…

Things started to feel uneasy at work. I found myself silently hyperventilating at times, and I often had to duck into the bathroom to let myself had a good cry.

I knew fully well I had nothing to be upset about. I stopped taking the medication because things were going well. I wasn’t too concerned about these symptoms arising because I was expecting them as part of the withdrawal process.

Everything would be better in a few weeks…

But it seemed as though things were slowly retreating and heading in the opposite direction. The throbbing headaches did stop after three weeks. I wasn’t crying uncontrollably everyday either, but my mood was no longer at the same elevated level that it has been in mid-summer.

And perhaps it was because my environment, the one I thought I had control over, was starting to become more overwhelming than I ever imagined it would be.

Having the patience to learn and speak Italian was becoming a stressful chore.

Work was becoming something I was slowly starting to dislike. I resented the idea that my position wasn’t as flexible as I thought it would have been. I felt like my skills weren’t being appreciated. And having these feelings woven through a five-day work week was an feeling that grew unbearable by the minute.

As fall turned into winter, I thought time would make things better, but with the rise of COVID infections, we were back in a lockdown in late October. I was resenting the fact that I had yet to travel outside of Milan or Como, and I was counting on the winter holidays to make my Rome trip a reality.

But that of course didn’t happen.

At least I wasn’t alone during the holidays, but my anxious thoughts and depression still would not leave me, even though I knew I had a full week off from work to take in the last of 2020 (although, what was really there to take in?).

I kept thinking about how I was “wasting” my time off because I wasn’t able to travel. Or ruminating over what experiments I should be planning my first week back at work, even though that was the last thing I wanted my thoughts to dwell on…

And with the arrival of 2021, things still seemed to not “feel” any better. Yes, I was finally able to move into apartment that wasn’t the size of a claustrophobic closet, and with a balcony (something that was a top priority), but I still felt unsettled 😔

I thought I would appreciate a long, cold winter after months of painful humidity and encapsulated heat, but I guess I didn’t know what I was asking for when it came to an Italian winter. The weather became piercingly cold, and the sky always seemed to match my mood—gray, dreary, tired, depressing…

I tried to keep my mind away from the gray by appreciating things I knew would bring me joy.

Like, (finally) buying a Nespresso machine so I could have coffee on my terms.

Or stopping for adorable cats that ‘meow’ back and don’t mind being coddled.

And even trying to shift back to daylight runs vs. the nighttime runs I had a habit of partaking in during the summer. Because every ounce of sunlight helps.

Work continued to aggravate me. I still felt like I was doing tasks that weren’t adding to my skill set, and that what I was doing had no relation to what I thought I had signed up for.

Looking back, I find it ironic that in the phone calls I had with my Dad during this time, I’d semi-joke about having a breakdown at work given all the emotional turmoil that had been building up for the past several months.

And, then it happened right on cue 🙃. Before I broke down into a solid cry that drenched even my blue disposable mask, I was having a meeting with my boss, during which she expressed her disappointment with how things were going (I would later learn that she had been described by others to push people to their breaking point in an effort to get the most work out of them). I didn’t have the energy to explain my situation, so I let my emotions do the talking.

She seemed to understand immediately, and offered help where she could. At least that situation got me into a doctor’s office for the first time in Italy 🙄. I knew counseling had helped me in the past, but this time, I already knew what my trigger was.

A stressful, overwhelming environment.

————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-

Since my breakdown as a junior in high school, I have accepted that depression will always be a condition in my life, and that it may need managing from time-to-time.

When I felt out of control with where I would be going to college and troubles at home with mom, diving into an eating disorder was my solution.

When I felt deep anxiety about the fate of my PhD, and the paper I was anxiously trying to publish for a timely graduation, Dr. S and my willingness to try medication for the first time was my solution.

And I thought Italy would be a long-term solution. Especially for the irritability and ennui that popped up in recent years, but it turned out that Italy was an issue of her own.

COVID has been an obvious key player in this, and it’s hard to say how things would have turned out if I had arrived in Italy back in early 2020 as originally planned, and if the world had not been shaken by COVID.

But ongoing events have made me realize that the biggest trigger of my current depression “flare” is directly associated with the very reason I came to Italy in the first place. And how do you manage and cope when the very thing that is your livelihood causes so much distress?

Recently, I’ve been fortunate to have possibilities open up. Knowing that there may be a way out has put my mind at ease, but at the same time, there’s no guarantee that the solution to cutting myself off from the triggers here will help me somewhere out there.

That’s why I’m trying my best—with whatever ounce of energy I do have—to take things day by day. Making sure to sip my coffee, savor a relaxing dinner at home, and pet that furry cutie before each run…

When it comes to using medication to manage my mental health, I personally do not want to get near it ever again. I’m sure it works wonders for some, but that doesn’t mean it works favorably for everyone.

Managing my depression has led me to prioritize my happiness no matter what. I acknowledge that what I may constitute as happiness right now in life could change over time, but even so, I believe that if we make it a priority to live in ways that ensure balanced levels of happiness, we can encourage the same from those we interact with on a daily basis.

An infinite loop of happiness, wouldn’t that be nice?