(dramatic music)
- [Voiceover] I had my first panic attack
when I was 17 years old.
My body went into "Fight or Flight" mode.
Jokes on me, 'cause I was actually on
an airplane flight when it happened.
Was it claustrophobia?
Was it bad wiring?
Was it subconscious trauma?
I had so many questions,
but one stood above them all.
During that flight,
my mom gave me my first 10 milligram Valium.
It made me feel like I was flying.
Thus began my journey
to try to fix the feelings I didn't understand.
Some people struggle with their mental health.
And out of us, only one in five
take medication to help balance out
the chemicals in our brains.
When you're not feeling physically well,
you go to a doctor,
so if your brain isn't feeling well,
you go to a doctor, right?
Wrong.
Only roughly one-third of people
with a mental illness seek any form of treatment.
But I desperately wanted to figure this out,
because I sure as hell didn't like the way I felt
and I didn't care who knew it.
Well, maybe I cared a little.
I was afraid of telling my friends
that sometimes I felt like I was dying.
Physically and emotionally.
Physically, I was treating my body.
I was on 10, then 20 milligrams of Lexapro,
an SSRI,
and .5 milligrams of Xanax
a magical little pill
to treat anxiety and depression.
I started going to therapy.
I had good days and bad days
and really bad days.
My anxiety attacks became persistent,
and so, I was prescribed a higher dosage
of that magical pill Xanax.
Yet, I was still feeling depressed.
We tried something different.
I was switched off Lexapro and Xanax
and on to Mirtazapine and Ativan.
I took Mirtazapine at night,
and if I didn't go to bed within 20 minutes
of taking it, I would everying in my sight.
I learned good medication can have bad side effects.
When I gained a bunch of weight,
my therapist weaned me off of Mirtazapine
and onto another fun little pill called Lamictal.
Lamictal is a series of anti-seizure pills
also used to treat the mood swings
of Bipolar Disorder.
Bipolar Disorder.
Getting a definitive diagnosis meant that
there had to be a cure, right?
Hope.
What a misleading drug in itself.
When my moods fluxuated out of control,
I'd take my safety medication, Ativan.
And another, and another,
and what are these, sugar pills?
I thought getting a diagnosis was going to come with
a fix, but I didn't feel fixed.
I tried to fix everything externally
to fix an internal problem.
I switched jobs, therapists, colleges,
took more Ativan.
My new psychiatrist added Wellbutrin to my cocktail
and Jesus, this was getting expensive.
What is the price of happiness?
My insurance wouldn't cover the cost of Lamictal
so I switched to Trazodone,
and Wellbutrin wasn't giving me energy and focus
the way the doctor said it was supposed to,
so he weaned me off the Wellbutrin.
Adult ADHD,
which apparently is a thing,
was added as a diagnosis
and I was given different types of ADHD medications
to my assembly line to try.
Therapy seemed to be working.
I read articles about celebrities who were talking openly
about their anxiety and depression.
I had good days and bad days and less really bad days.
I was buying self-help books
and researching breathing techniques.
I was eating healthy, losing weight, sleeping well,
and faking it when I had to
and then,
life happened.
Smacked me in the face
and right off my tracks
because a guy I loved broke up with me.
The threat of unpredictability
is the scariest part
when something depressing happens
to someone with depression.
I developed an addiction to my safety net,
my Ativan medication,
and I had to take another pill called Suboxone,
along with an intensive outpatient rehab program
to get over it.
But I didn't give up.
I couldn't.
There are no rights and wrongs
when it comes to feelings and moods.
They just exist,
we just feel.
It's the choices we make on how to constructively deal
with those feelings that define us.
Once I wasn't afraid to talk about it,
I started meeting people who felt the same way I did,
I started seeing new doctors,
psychiatrists, psychologists, therapists
who were covered by my insurance
and I started Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.
In seven years' time,
seven psychiatrists,
four psychologists,
countless therapists,
two misdiagnoses,
over 20 medications.
I was finally figuring my mental illness out.
Today, I take three pills.
What they are doesn't matter
becuase I've learned that
that very well could change someday.
Finding the medication that works is a journey,
and everyone's journey is gonna be different.
Our chemicals are different.
We are different.
I cannot hold myself accountable
for what happens with my depression and anxiety.
That I don't have control over.
But I can hold myself accountable
for the strength of trying.