The glimmer at the end of the tunnel is real (not an imaginary carrot).

I was half sitting up in bed with my laptop balanced on my knees speaking to my psychiatrist on Zoom, tearfully asking her “why is this happening?”

 My psychiatrist had been treating me for anxiety and depression for over a year and after taking 6 months off work, medicating and seeing a therapist…I seemed to be getting better. I went back to work, got a new job, and began coming off medication. It felt like I was back on my feet. 

But after a few weeks without medication, I relapsed. I couldn’t get up in the mornings and was crying at work again. I thought it was just withdrawal from the medication, but it didn’t pass. My psychiatrist recommended taking more time off work. I agreed, I thought maybe work had just got on top of me again and I just needed a little sleep and reset and I’d be back. 

But I didn’t end up going back to work until 7 months later.

 I was completely crestfallen; I didn’t understand why this was happening. Everything in my life was good. I came from a good family, had fantastic friends and a really good job in law (that I’d intentionally worked very hard to get). I just didn’t get it and I was about ready to give up.

 I asked my psychiatrist why this was happening – why had I relapsed when I was doing so well? She explained that coming off medication doesn’t always work the first time. 

In layman's terms she said the idea with SRRI anti-depressants is that it stops the brain from re-absorbing serotonin in the brain, so you get a nice healthy reserve of feel good chemicals. 

When you stop taking SRRI’s, you start to re-absorb serotonin again and the hope is that your brain realises this and starts producing more of its own serotonin to counter-act the drop. She reassured me that even though it hadn’t worked the first time, it didn’t mean it wouldn’t work in the future – and I’d just go back on medication and try again later.

 She sensed my anguish and that really – I was asking her a larger question – why am I anxious and depressed in the first place? Why isn’t it going away? Will I need to be on medication for the rest of my life? I don’t understand.

She said it depends where your baseline is and gave me an analogy. She compared it to being diabetic: if your baseline mood is low, you might always need medication to bring you up to a functioning level, just like a diabetic needs insulin. Her message was that there’s no shame in taking anti-depressants. If you need them, you need them, just like a diabetic needs medication.

I was comforted. It felt good to hear that it was okay to be where I was at and to not beat myself up or blame myself for not ‘getting better quicker’. And it really was okay if I needed medication long term. It didn’t mean anything was wrong with me per say, maybe it’s just the way I am. We agreed to change the medication and try again. 

But at the same time….something didn’t feel quite right to me. I didn’t fully accept that depression and anxiety were just my baseline.

 Even though I’d been struggling with depression and anxiety for most of my adult life, I’d always had a knowing that a better life was out there - a light at the end of the tunnel. Even though it was dim at times, I could see a glimmer at the end of the tunnel and this gave me the drive that if I worked hard enough, if I kept going, I could change my circumstances. 

But by this point I’d tried so many things, I’d read all the self-help books, seen therapists, exercised, changed my diet, changed my job, improved my sleep hygiene, meditated, done yoga, went for reiki treatments, seen a numerologist, went to sound baths, saw psychics and even had my akashic record cleared. In short – I’d looked inwards and I’d looked outwards I’d made change and I was doing everything I could to help myself. 

I was tired. Not the kind of tired a couple of weeks of good sleep can fix. 

It was a deep tiredness. I was at the point where I was just at a loss - why was it so hard, so much effort, such a fight just to keep my head above water - if this is normal, why would anyone live like this? It didn’t make sense. 

I was starting to think “maybe you’re just expecting too much from life.” Maybe this was just it and that glimmer at the end of the tunnel was nothing but an imaginary carrot. 

So after my Zoom session with my psychiatrist came to an end, shutting the lid on my laptop – I wondered whether it was time to just accept this is just the way I am, this is just it, there isn’t anything more. 

I decided to go to a therapist for a second opinion. A last chance saloon before I give up and stop fighting. 

I found a new therapist, and in our first session, she asked me the usual intake questions. When she asked what had brought me to therapy, I told her very directly: “My psychiatrist has more or less said that depression and anxiety might be my baseline and I may need medication long-term (and that’s okay). I’m here because I want to know if that’s the case or not.”

 She paused for a moment and then said “I don’t believe that babies come out of the womb depressed. I don’t accept that. It’s not good enough”. And in that moment, that faith I'd had, that glimmer, gave a little fist pump. 

I looked at her pointedly and said, “Right, you are. Let’s start there.”

Over the next year, we worked together to uncover (and process) the underlying causes of the depression and anxiety—things that I hadn’t quite gotten to before with other therapists. 

I began to heal. I started to feel different, the underlying sorrow and weight that I felt I was physically carrying, started to dissolve. I returned to work again, the depression lifted, the anxiety eased, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt - happy.

And when I came off medication again, it worked. This time, I didn’t relapse.

It’s been 18 months since I finished therapy, and I can honestly say “I’m a happy person now”. That doesn’t mean life is perfect—I still have ups and downs, just like everyone else. But there’s an undercurrent of happiness now that wasn’t there before.  Now, even when things are hard, part of me still feels happy. 

Life feels good in a way I never thought was possible. And I don't say that to sound cliche, I say it because it’s true. I really didn’t know that life could feel this good. 

If there’s one thing I want others to take away from my little story, it’s this: you don’t have to accept that this is just the way life is. If  you’re dealing with depression, anxiety or feeling hopeless or stuck - I just want you to know - it’s not normal. 

It may have become normal in our society to feel depressed, overwhelmed and stressed. But just because it’s common, doesn’t make it normal.  

I want you to know that change is possible. Healing is possible. And even if it feels like you’ve tried everything, there is a way out. It does get better. Life is good.

The glimmer at the end of the tunnel is real (not an imaginary carrot).