The long awaited, highly requested blog about my depression treatment, TMS, that I went through last summer. Sometimes I want to talk about things until I get to the process of writing and then it feels too raw. Discipline, my oldest foe. This one challenged me. I'm not a doctor, don't quote me here. This is my understanding and my experience so far.

I think I’ve always been a little sad. It’s hard to say when the big sad started exactly but spending time abroad shattered my world view and I needed to process, so I began therapy. After about a year, at the beginning of college, I felt like I needed more help and sought out antidepressants. While I found some relief and things did feel better, they still did not feel good and most days were a struggle. Meetings with my doctor were brief and I had little hope that things would change.

I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to drink on SSRI’s at first. By the time I found out, I was too addicted to the feeling to stop. I was in so much pain, I wanted to forget and drinking brought that quick relief, the instant gratification.

Rehab introduced a whole new cocktail of medications and diagnoses. The process of medication requires so much self advocacy and research and at times it almost feels like the system is working against you. This was one of those times.

While riding the post rehab high of sobriety, I impulsively went off of all of these medications (without talking to a doctor or therapist). I cannot emphasize enough how dangerous this is. My depression relapsed worse than I had ever experienced, completely broke down my life and forced me to rebuild from scratch, from day zero.

With a stable job and the hope of post grad life, I reentered the journey of therapy and medication. I began to create a little nest that feels like an art exhibit of my heart. I have pretty good intuition when choosing therapists and was able to instantly connect with some incredible women over the past few years who have supported and encouraged me more than I could have ever hoped.

Good prescribers are much harder to find. God, the amount of doctors I have fought with and fired. Your medication should never make you feel worse.

I met with a new doctor last summer and shared my journey and was diagnosed with treatment resistant depression, the first diagnosis in my life that actually feels like it fits. When you've tried enough antidepressants to come to the conclusion that they probably do not work for you. So I wasn't crazy, I really didn't feel better this whole time. The wave of relief and hope from finally being heard by a doctor for the first time in five years of actively seeking help.

Transcranial magnetic stimulation (TMS), my understanding of it, consists of magnetic zaps that are meant to stimulate brain waves to normal levels to maintain a stable mood. I can’t explain it without giggling. My treatment lasted about two months, where I went into the office every day and put on a silly little bonnet and got my brain zapped for about 3 minutes while I watched nature documentaries. It felt every bit as ridiculous as it sounds. Insurance did cover it, with the occasional copay. I would have regular check-ins with the doctor and I continued to regularly see a therapist. I took antidepressants and a supplement daily. 

It feels weird talking about now because it sounds so ridiculous and feels even more ridiculous to think it worked. It’s impossible to say if it was the medication or treatment or the way the stars aligned, but I guess that’s kind of the point anyway. It doesn’t matter so much what works as long as something does.

As silly as it sounds, going to treatment every day began to establish a routine for me. Working nights meant I usually slept in, so it felt nice to set an alarm and kickstart my day with a purpose. I read books on emotional development, attachment styles and healing trauma. I researched and talked about autism and different mental illnesses. I invested in friendships and sober relationships and I built a beautiful little life. And I’ve still never been to an AA meeting.

Treatment finished at the end of the summer and almost immediately my friends noticed a huge difference. I felt scared to say it worked because life is so fragile, and also what do I know? The winter brought job changes and a consecutive year of sobriety. It felt like milestones started flying by, every day there was a different reason to celebrate my sobriety and my journey. The lifestyle changes and coping skills that I have learned have left me feeling equipped to face life changes without the training wheels of antidepressants. As I began to embrace my queerness and cultivate a creative community filled with love and support, the conversation began about weaning off the medication entirely. After talking to my doctor, we did a two week series of 10 minute long sessions of zaps and began to lower the dosage of my medication until they were finished.

And on day 710 sober, I took my last antidepressant. Maybe not forever, but for now.

And it feels good to be in such a supported space, filled with so much love and creativity. I’ve built a life I have only ever dreamed of, and have been able to embrace my true self without shame or fear. I am surrounded by people who inspire me and love deeply and my circles keep expanding. I’ve grown more comfortable embracing the unknown of life and branching out into new experiences. 

It feels crazy to me to say that I’m looking forward to life because I have lived in darkness for so long. I participated in life because of obligation and most days meant going through the motions. Depression takes everything and makes the most mundane tasks feel like climbing mountains. Please don't ever be afraid to talk about how you're feeling or struggling. Always talk to a professional when dealing with medication and don't be afraid to fight to be heard.

Your friends,

Ken and Whisk