Anxiety and Depression - First steps towards the ladder

So what really pushed me into the discovery of my new 'pets' of Anxiety Disorder and Depression? they who have transformed my life and opened up a new chapter.

Eventually, around last November and on a rare occasion where I was in the office for a few hours, I happened to bump into a colleague, a friend who I knew had dealt with his own mental health issues before. We had a chat to catch up, stopping by the water cooler, he had asked me the usual 'what I was getting up to?, how was work? etc' questions. I talked about work and then it occurred to me to talk a little bit about the stress and panic attacks, whether he had any good recommendations. He said that I look at talking to a therapist for a few sessions, get some advice on managing stress, the best thing to do was to head to the doctors for a referral.

This sounded like a great idea, get some stress management advice and I'd be better. I remember it being a Friday when I called to get the doctors appointment, luckily, or so I thought, I was able to get an appointment for Saturday with a locum doctor, it was at a clinic slightly further away, 10 minute train journey and a 5 minute walk. I recall feeling anxious, hoping that I'd make it there without a panic attack. In the end, I called an Uber for the 7 minute car journey. I walked into the clinic, sat on the brightly coloured plastic bucket chairs common to white walled waiting receptions and waited till I was called. Eventually I was called and explained to the doctor why I was there. She was sympathetic and provided the needed referral letter and as the 10 minute appointment wrapped up, she turned in her chair to give me her full attention, looking at me to make sure she had mine and said "you know you're going to be ok don't you?, you'll get through this." Even as she said those words to me, part of me was a bit embarrassed at being the point of attention and a small cynical voice inside me said "yes of course I'm fine."

I phoned the health insurers on Monday, luckily I have a health insurance policy that covered mental health care, though I was not so lucky in getting them to accept the referral, apparently I needed a referral from my own doctor before they could approve the care I needed. Mildly impatient and frustrated with the technicalities, I phoned my clinic again and eventually managed to get a last minute doctors appointment, only for it to be cancelled and after much to-ing and fro-ing on the phone, I was promised a phone call. The doctor called me back whilst I was in the shower. I remember standing in the bathroom, dripping wet and subsequent shivers getting through to my voice as I explained what I needed a referral from her. She said that she understood and that it also sounded like I might have depression and would add that to the referral.

So finally I was only my way to getting help, the health insurers gave me a few names for recommended psychiatrists, I googled each of them and opted for the one with the best reviews. It felt a bit strange that I would do that, I'm from the generation that was growing up as the world wide web was launched to the world, the way you made a phone call was to use a corded phone and dialled each number by turning the rotary dial to each number you wanted.
As luck would have it, I would see the psychiatrist the next day, I took it as a sign of luck that the psychiatrist happened to have an appointment free the very next day and perhaps this would all be over before Christmas.

The clinic where I had my first appointment is in the well-to-do part of town, classical music radio station on, high end hot drinks machine and comfortable leather sofas, conservative art on the walls. I felt fortunate that my insurance policy covered me for care in a fancy clinic. Travelling there meant battling a 35 minute journey, though knowing that help was at the end of the journey made the climbing and easing waves of anxiety easier to endure. My next memory is of the appointment with the psychiatrist. His manner was friendly and reassuring, and seemed to really be listening. Having never sought any kind of mental healthcare before, I wasn't sure how much I was supposed to be sharing but I guess at the time, I was like a pot on the verge overspilling. With every question he asked, ranging from my childhood to relationships to life at present, the words just flowed out as water would when you turn on a tap. It felt strange to disclose such intimate details and emotions to a total stranger but it was as if the words had been there all along, just waiting for an outlet.

At the end of the hour, he recommended seeing me again as soon as possible to finish covering off his questions that would enable him to make a diagnosis. He also prescribed me some Diazepam to be used if I really needed them between now and the next appointment. I remember feeling quite mentally raw, as if I'd lifted the scabs off a multitude of half-healed mental wounds. My mind churned with memories of all that I'd talked about as well as slight reeling sense of unease, though there was also a cathartic feeling in and amongst everything else I was feeling. I reasoned that maybe that was what I needed, someone to spill all the remnants and ghosts of the past to, things that would haunt me fleeting snippets of memories to. "Of course, I wouldn't need the Diazepam."

By the next appointment, it felt like I was a bit more stable on my axis and no longer feeling like I was on the verge of overspilling. Still, the second appointment would take most of the hour with the remaining questions the psychiatrist had for me.

When we were finally done, I waited for the the psychiatrist to review his notes and deliver his verdict. He would go on to say that his diagnosis was that I had Generalised Anxiety Disorder and Depression, that the illnesses were linked, a core part of the disorder came from the need to be in control. I would catch some of the other details; such as disorders name was unfortunate as was kind of vague as well as playing down the impact it had on the sufferers lives, that it affected around 20% of the citiy's population and that the disorder usually stems from having to grow up too quickly when you were a child, needing to assume responsibility from a young age. He prescribed a initial course of lower dosed antidepressants as my heart began to race and my mind reeled. I was silently floored at the revelation and there was a part of me internally grasping for reasoning, thinking that perhaps it wasn't that serious, that the pills were to steady the panic attacks - nothing more.