



The starting points of my mental health deterioration

Although I have experienced, as everybody does, a number of problems and bitter moments, there were specific events that contribute in the development of my anxieties, fears and confusion. The lost of my premature baby girl (2001), the sudden death of a very special friend and co-worker (2003), theft of my identity (2005), having to go to court for a period of two years, and finally, having to endure a very hostile environment in my job. I began feeling a change in the way I reacted, behaved and thought, clearly affecting my life in 2003 just when I was being successful; holding an executive position, pursuing a doctoral degree and engaging in the activities I liked. During this year to 2005, I saw myself in a constant battle to keep going. By 2006 I was not able to handle my life as I used to know it. I decided it was time to resign my position and relocate to another State. At this point I was confused of what was happening to me; I tried to look for ways to run away from everything I was feeling; I tried to search for a fast way to get better in order to start working again; I wanted at all cost to become what I was before. Little I knew, I was fighting something I was introduced to only through books, work and others with mental disorders. Through these years I looked for psychiatric and psychological help. I was lucky to find an amazing Psychiatrist who work with me from 2005 to 2007.

It is important to make clear that I had episodes of anxieties and depression since I was a child. The difference was that at this time, the episodes were strangely taking control of my life in a way I could not keep going ahead. I became overly fearful of losing love ones; afraid of trusting others; apprehensive, fill with bewilderment and confused. I became paralyzed and lost. The first years after anxiety and depression struck me hard, I began looking for ways to ease the pain and get cured by taking medications, joining depression and anxiety groups, and receiving therapies. These were supposed to be the means to return to my own self. I put myself in the hands of professionals and medications as most of us should. I kept believing that having a mental condition meant that it was acceptable to wear a label and as a result, I was a recipient for pity from myself and others.







