I have a team of four medical practitioners and mental health care workers helping me through this darkness. (Say what?!?!) A general practitioner, a psychiatrist, a work psychologist and a therapist. My depression whispers: do I deserve these resources? The general practitioner assures me that I do, I deserve it because I exist. "This episode feels different", I tell the psychiatrist; she looks me square in the eyes and says with her broken English: let's talk more, let's figure out what. Time stops, did she just take me seriously? We talk therapy methods, we talk medication, we talk diet and exercise. She wants to know if I like my therapist, she wants to know how long I have to meditate before my heart rate goes down, she wants to know if I get physical affection, if I have a peaceful home, if I have clear guidance and consistent support at work, if I have friends/lovers that provide emotional safety... Did I just get treated as a whole? Final decision: general anxiety disorder on top of the major depressive episode. The diagnostic criteria suggests we possibly have millions of people struggling with it within the current global situation. "Anxiety is not just in the brain, you cannot think it away," she says; "behaviour therapy is good, CBT best, not enough, not enough, we need to get the fear out of the body, your body needs help now." I wet my mask with tears. She prescribes me pregabalin, and lowers the fluoxetine. "No need to wait, this will help tomorrow." This is day 4, and I already feel "less crazy". My body is lighter, my mind quieter, and last night I fell asleep without meditation to quiet the thoughts. Last night I fell asleep while petting Martta.
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