As a child, my first memories of being very sad, I guess depressed, was when I would get this big pit in my stomach for no reason and I just wanted to cry. Beginning at age 5, I was abused for several years, so the depression then was probably a reaction, but I would hide in a closet next to hot water heater, and stay there for a very long time. The sad thing is, no one ever came looking for me. I began cutting at 13 and did that for a couple of years. I began drinking at 15, and that hasn't stopped yet. I think I have always had panic attacks, although the drugs control these now. I saw my first therapist in college. He said I was depressed, but I'm not sure that was an official diagnosis.
Finally, after several years of coaxing, my husband got me to talk to my family doc. She medicated me for clinical depression in my thirties. I went through many meds and even changed doctors when the first said I must see a pdoc, no more meds from her.
After all of this, I was finally diagnosed bp 2 just 2 years ago.
I am a third generation med taker for a mental illness, so I tried to avoid being labeled for as long as I could.
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