Real Talk: How I started My Mental Health Journey

As with all my articles, I'll start off with an introduction. My name is Marga, and I have severe clinical depression and generalized anxiety disorder. It's nice to meet you.

For years, I've experienced sadness and being anxious and I thought it was just part of life, you know? I never knew that what plagued me every day was something that had a name; something that I could control. It's ironic to me because I graduated with a Bachelor's degree in Psychology and even took up some units for my Master's degree in Clinical Psychology. And yet, I ignored the signs that in hindsight were like those cartoon neon signs prompting me to get help.

In fact, now that I think about it, I think that's part of what has stopped me from getting help sooner. In school, my Psychology professors would tell me it's easy to get sucked in the material we're studying, which would lead to pre-emptive and often times misdiagnosis. Looking back, I should've taken that with a grain of salt. What I thought was just teenage angst persisted long after my teens and even long after my twenties. I knew then that maybe, just maybe there really was something there.

Even then, I didn't seek help. Why? Because I just wasn't ready. I studied to be a Psychotherapist, and even then, I was too scared of what was awaiting me for my first ever therapy session. Would the Psychiatrist ask me questions? What do I share? Where do I even begin? If I start crying, will I be able to stop? Will I even be able to share important details within a span of an hour? These questions were constantly swirling in my head and were acting as blockers from me reaching out for professional help.

I have what you call high-functioning anxiety and depression. Even when I was experiencing symptoms, I could compartmentalize, grit my teeth, and bullshit my way through the day with no problems. Until the day I couldn't. It took losing my only living parent to truly acknowledge that I needed help. And yet I didn't ask for help. I was too numb at that point that no voice was reaching me.

Believe it or not, what prompted me to finally seek professional help was being promoted to a managerial position. When the opportunity was presented to me, my first thought was I needed to be emotionally stable in order to be dependable. I needed to be strong so my team can lean on me. What I was then was the opposite of that. I was hardly getting any sleep, I was constantly anxious, and I would go on days without going out of my room. I knew then that I needed help, and get help I did.

I reached out to a dear friend of mine who was undergoing therapy as well for a referral. She gave me the details, and I ruminated over it for weeks. I tried setting an appointment then backed out at the last moment. It took a recent mental breakdown for that same friend to book the appointment on my behalf. There was no going back from there.

My first therapy session was a mess. Well, technically, I was the mess. I was crying fifteen minutes before the session because I was so scared. My anxiety went on overdrive, and I was literally and visibly shaking. Suddenly, fifteen minutes felt like a lifetime. And then the session started. The Psychiatrist let me in his Zoom room and my instant response was to cry some more.

Thankfully, my Psychiatrist is a seasoned and stoic man. He waited for the sobbing to stop before he asked me how I was, even though it was painfully clear I was a total mess. He asked me in his neutral tone what seemed to be the problem, and I presented him with the most pressing one: I hardly get any sleep. I haven't had an 8-hour sleep in months. He simply wrote things down and continued to ask me more questions. Somehow, I was able to power through it. There was even a point wherein I laughed at myself as I voiced out the thoughts that were plaguing me because they sounded crazy even to me. My psychiatrist, on the other hand, remained stoic and unmoved, which was more comforting than I could ever express in words. And just like that, an hour had passed.

He explained my diagnosis and the long-term care that I needed to upkeep to remain stable. Then, he said his goodbyes and told me to see him in two weeks. After exactly two weeks, I experienced a devastating event that broke my heart: I separated from my significant other of eight years. While I was having my mental breakdown, I was laughing in my head because all I could think of was well, what great timing. My session was scheduled for the day after. At least I had something to focus on during our discussion.

During the second session, I was still visibly shaking but my voice was clearer. I relayed the recent events that led up to the session and we worked through it together. He remained as always, stoic and neutral. On a side note, I usually make inappropriate (note: not sexual) jokes when I'm nervous. I remember I was talking about my suicidal ideations and cracked a joke and I saw the tiniest uptick of his lip as if he was willing himself not to crack a smile. It made me laugh. Again, the hour ended as well as the session. My severe clinical depression was confirmed along with my generalized anxiety disorder. It resulted in a higher dosage of medications and even additional ones to allow me to sleep at night.

While I write this, I'm currently scheduling my third session for tomorrow. Even though it's not my first or even second time, I'm still nervous. I keep trying to organize my thoughts in order to put them into words in hopes that it will make the session run smoother. This time, it's not all doom and gloom. Right now, I'm in sunny Boracay and have been experiencing an elevated mood due to being exposed to sunlight and people who are genuinely happy to be around me, and of course, the meds helped a lot.

So what I'm saying is mental health is a journey. A trained professional can help you through it but no one can hold your hand while you're on it. Everyone goes on their own path, and sometimes you experience some roadblocks, and that's okay. The upkeep of your mental health is a neverending and continuous effort. So if you're down in the dumps and you know in your heart of hearts that you need help, let me know. I can give you a referral. Help is always available. Let's make use of it.

And so I'll end this with a reminder that kindness is free. Everyone is struggling with their own invisible battles. Despite what anyone tells you, no one has their shit together. So be kind to the next person you see or speak with. And then the next, and the next, and so forth. You never know, it might save a life one day.