3 Years Later...

 Things got better

Things got worse

Things are things

No one told us about things!

Our son is the cutest.

BABY!

We got one.
He's pretty cool.

A Journey to Happiness: Depression and TMS

Hello everyone! This is it! The TMS post from me, Stephanie, that you've been waiting on baited breath at the edge of your seat for! Right? lol. No worries. I know it isn't. This is going to get long and detailed and depressing, so prepare yourself. If you want to jump straight to the TMS part. I will head it all big and fancy so it's easier for you to find, but in order to really understand the result of the TMS, understanding the depression is important, though, not required. I'd recommend at least from the beginning of 2018.

Alright, now in this post, I intend to get very real and somewhat emotional and vulnerable. Please be patient, non-judgmental and kind. In a world where some people still think depression isn't a medical condition and that it can be willed away, it can be hard to share personal things like this. Some things don't make sense and some things I am ashamed of. I don't share to get attention or to make you feel bad for me. I'm sharing because maybe someone out there needs to know they're not alone. I'm sharing because for the past 5 years I've put on a face and maybe people would like to see what's actually going on behind it. I'm sharing because maybe it will help me understand what's been going on as well. Be kind. Please, please be kind.

Ok. So I guess to begin we'll start with the start of the beginning. I hear it's a very good place to start.

I have depression. MDD or Major Depressive Disorder.

I have since I was a child. I grew up emotional and my parents did suspect something. My Dad has also been diagnosed with anxiety and depression. I was actually diagnosed around age 11 or 12, I want to say. It took a while to figure out exactly what mental illness I had, as I would go through patches of depression. Bi-polar was also an option on the table, however my ups and downs didn't seem to have a manic episode, and the depression would last for weeks and then go away for weeks. Anxiety was also a likely condition, especially because of my Dad.

Another problem was that the typical medications didn't seem to work for me. I have been through so many different medications that I can't remember hardly any of them. I thought that's what the doctors were supposed to do, you know, keep track of what the heck they're giving me, right? Apparently not. Apparently they don't talk to each other or care to either. So when I get a new doctor or therapist or prescriber or whatever, they don't know what has and hasn't worked for me and I have to try and remember everything I've taken for the past 16 years of my life... It also doesn't help that medications have 2 names - brand names and generic names, which I still get mixed up BTW. As far as I can remember, I have taken welbutruin, depakote, bupropion, effexor, nortriptyline,  prozac, fluoxetine, trintelllix, buspirone, L-methylfolate and abilify. Though there are undoubtedly more that I can't recall. I was given some bipolar meds one time and instead of helping it made me bi-poler. It was the one time in my entire dutiful medicine taking life that I was tempted to go off it on my own. Occasionally we go back and try one I haven't done in a while, just to see if my body has changed and will adjust to it differently now, but still we meddle. Sounds like medication is a pain and like it didn't/doesn't help and I'd be better off without big pharma, huh? Here is an important thing to note however- most times I was still better on medication than I was without. The medication almost always helped, but I still wasn't a completely "normal" happy. All of this medication testing was always coupled with therapy. Medicine alone can't teach you healthy practices after years of a brain teaching you unhealthy ones. It should be noted that not all therapists are created equal. Still, I highly advocate getting therapy. I think even "normal" people should get therapy from time to time. It's clear that our society would do well from learning mental hygiene practices once in a while. But enough of that.

For about 5 years or starting around 2010 or so I seemed to do really well with flouxetine, but then I randomly started getting hot-flashes from it like no one's business. I was engaged and didn't want to hold my fiance's hand, or cuddle, or be close at all because it was unbearable! I was taking a small hand fan around with me places and feeling like a woman in menopause but in her early 20's! We decided to try and find a different medication, even though it would upset the nice balance I'd seem to have found. Surely there was something else in this wide world that would help me maintain happiness while not giving me hot flashes that took over my life. So in 2015 the search continued.

Fast forward to my college graduation - Spring 2016.

Things seemed alright on a newer medication, but I was still figuring it out. I couldn't go to my regular doctor anymore as he was retiring and my insurance didn't cover the doctors he offered as replacements. I had to find a different therapist and prescriber, which turned out to be a pain. This prescriber was different in that he didn't schedule regular appointments to check in, it was more of a 'if it doesn't work or when you feel like you need a change, contact me,' and I'm really bad at calling...

Things weren't terrible though. The last semester of college was really rough. There was a time I wasn't sure I would get enough hours for my internship to graduate, but I had some help and miracles and was able to successfully walk across the stage. After college I had plans. I had plans to become an ASL interpreter, start a family, and support my husband through his college. Well... something happened to me mentally that I just can't figure out or explain. Please be kind. I was in that awkward stage of learning sign language, where I knew all the information, I wasn't a newbie by any means, but I still wasn't.... there. I just needed more practice, experience, and confidence. I had done an internship and the people interning me told me that I was likely at the cusp. I was close to passing the interpreter's exam, but might still not quite make it. I was counseled to take it anyway, and at least get the experience of what it was like for next time. I was also counseled to fake the confidence. Fake it 'till you make it, right? One of my critiques was that whenever I messed-up or doubted myself, I would show it on my face and beat myself up about it. This, of course, is unprofessional and not a good practice. I was told I had a lot of skill and did really well, I needed to trust myself! When I messed up I needed to fix it (professionally) and move on. No one else was judging me as harshly as I was. Well, I have always been unsure and second guessing myself most of my life in things I am learning that don't just come naturally. It was hard to try and convince myself to fake something like that. But I decided I would trust what people were saying. I would trust that I had skill and just go for it. I would put myself out there and take a leap of faith.

So I did it. I scheduled the test, studied 1 hour a day every day for the 2 weeks or so up to the test as well as 3 hours on Saturday. I tried to remember everything I had been taught. I let go and trusted myself and told myself to be confident and ignore my brain. I also took the practice test where they record you and you can analyze yourself and your interpreting. I did everything I thought I could.
Well, you know where this is going.

I failed.

I got below average on all 3 sections of the exam. It hurt. I told myself it was fine, I would just take it again, right? But I needed to figure out what to do to improve! What to focus on! You don't get your actual exam to take back and critique, that way the test material doesn't get out, but you do get your practice exam back. I emailed my practice test to 3 of my favorite professors who never got back to me on it. I sent it to a friend who was already an interpreter and she never got back to me on it. The only person who got back to me and set up to meet with me about it was my least favorite professor. The one with whom I'd never quite gotten along. The one who didn't give a crap if your dog actually died, the assignment was due. The one with a determination to teach you how the "real world" worked who gave the entire class a 0 on an assignment no one could find online. The one that had all the right answers, and if you got an answer different than her, you obviously hadn't thought it through enough. To her credit, she is brilliant. She is one of the best interpreters I know. She's the reason I graduated when I did. She's been on the team to certify new interpreters, and I'm pretty sure she's been on the counsel for the Utah Association for the Deaf, and I think she graduated from Gallaudet (the only Deaf college in America). Again, she is absolutely brilliant and I owe her so much.

Well I scheduled a time to meet with her in her office and I also sent my practice exam. Now, I don't quite remember details, but more or less, when I went in to see her she ripped my exam apart. I mean, I went in prepared for advice and critiques on my weaknesses, but she is no sugar-coater, so what was I thinking when I interpreted it like that? She critiqued me, probably as she should have, no longer as a student, but a possible co-worker in the field of interpreting. I was graduated, I shouldn't be learning anymore and so I was not given that allowance. Her standard felt higher and I had quite obviously missed the mark. She wasn't outright mean, but I definitely felt like she thought I was an idiot and should know better in many of my choices I had made. It almost felt like she thought I was better than I was, so she was annoyed that I made so many mistakes. The "you know better" disappointment. What made that worse was I didn't think I did know better! I honestly thought I was doing my best and many of the specific things she pointed out I really couldn't think of a better way to do! Who else had wrongly assumed I was more qualified than I was? I wrote down, and was sent home with, a list of things to improve on.

My "fake" confidence crashed down around me and my brain repeatedly bashed myself with thoughts of, "I told you so! You were never as good as you convinced yourself you were. You look like such an idiot in front of everyone, thinking you were actually good enough for this. What a joke! What a laugh! Why did you think you could stop listening to me and pretend you would ever be enough? How does it feel now, hm? How did that 'leap of faith' work out for you? Your own professor thought you were better than the idiot you obviously are. You're not even close! You're probably a worse signer than you even originally thought before you tried to fake it! Everyone telling you that you were skilled is just disillusioned like your professor was or just trying to be nice and not crush your dreams. You really suck and they think if they build up your confidence you actually might make it. If they really saw you in action they would laugh. You are a fraud. You have been studying sign language for 10 years! There are people in the MTC that learn it in months and are more qualified than you. A pure Deaf person meets you and likely thinks you've just finished ASL 2, and you thought you could take the test now and be close to passing? Don't you feel like an idiot now? You are ages away from being qualified. Ages. If it's taken you this long to get where you're at now, how much longer will it take to get you qualified? Another 10 years?"

... and so on. And you know what? I listened. I retreated into a hole of shame and fear. I did try to re-fake my happiness and optimism in that I told myself I would take the test again soon. I just needed to practice enough to get better, right? Except when I tried to practice, every time it was a reminder of how poor of an interpreter I was, my brain would go through it's usual monologue or failure, and I would walk away from it depressed. After all, I just graduated from the ASL program where I had homework, practice, and professors 5 days a week to keep me on my toes and prepare me, and that obviously hadn't prepared me enough. Now I had nothing but myself. I thought about, but seriously doubted, if I could keep up a regime of studying and teaching myself 5 hours a day, especially, like I said, when every single moment felt like a reminder of how poorly I was doing. How would I ever get good enough on my own?

My husband and family tried to buoy me up, but what did they know? I could flap my hands around like a lunatic and they would tell me I was an amazing interpreter. I needed someone who knew sign language. Honestly, I didn't really have close friends who were Deaf or were in the ASL program. I had nice acquaintances, hardly even FB friends. I didn't feel a strong connection to the people I had interned with either. They didn't seem invested in me. No one ever followed up with me regarding the test, or my skills, or even just my life. Besides, how would I approach any of them now that I knew I was a fraud?

Alex tried to keep me involved by helping me teach him Sign Language (which I have wanted him to do since I think everyone should learn sign language and I plan on teaching it to our children), but he would forget and not practice and I would forget and not quite know what to teach. I tried to go to Deaf events, but even when I went, I'm not very sociable and never really saw anyone I knew there anyway. Not to mention the fact that I hate going places or doing things alone. Online I saw most of my classmates pass their exams and get successful jobs.

I was a failure.

"Come on!" I would tell myself, "It was just a test! Many people fail their test the first time! Even 3 or 4 times! You can take it as many times as you want! This was good! This was experience! Just try again!" But that felt hollow. This failed test wasn't just a failed test, it was proof of everything I had feared and been ignoring. Maybe I just needed time?

The rest of the year went by where I slowly got farther and farther away from ASL, but I couldn't let go. I felt sure that Heavenly Father wanted me to go into ASL. There had to be a reason! I got priesthood blessings, one of which Heavenly Father even told me I would be an interpreter! I was told I could bless many people. Somehow I needed to do that! Still, I couldn't bring myself to practice and face my unskilled self. Even on the rare occasions I pulled myself into attempting to interpret a video, I would end up in tears. The inner monologue was louder than I could interpreter over. Then, to make it worse, I would tell myself, "I can't do dishes right now, I need to practice my ASL," but then I couldn't bring myself to do it so I ended up not doing dishes or ASL. "I just need to prep myself and take a break before I practice ASL." I would say, and spend 3 hours on social media.

"Today is a bad day, I'll practice tomorrow," and I'd game for the rest of the day. Then Satan would sneak into my thoughts and say, "Wow, you haven't practiced for a week, you haven't cleaned anything in the house, you sit around like a lay-about all day everyday. You're even more of a failure. You'll never be an interpreter, you're only fooling yourself. Every day you're losing skill. You don't even do productive things around the house in the mean time! Your life is truly sad."

And I listened.

Satan then decided that this should ruin the rest of my life as well. "This was your passion. This was your life. This was what made you who you are." He told me. "What are you now? The thing you tried the hardest at, that you loved the most, that you gave your best at, FAILED. If you failed at this just imagine how terrible you are at the little things in your life that aren't your passion. How can you succeed at anything in life if, when you try your absolute best, you fail?"

And I listened.

I began to fear doing anything at all in a terrified frenzy that I would mess it up. It took me a while to realize it had happened, but I caught myself scared to merge onto the freeway or change lanes, in case I got in someone's way or accidentally cut them off or, heaven forbid, I get in an accident. I was scared to make any meals that required more than 2 steps. If we were making bacon I would make my husband, Alex, do it. Surely I was going to burn it, or I wouldn't drain the grease right, or I would get burned from the grease myself, or something disastrous that would make me a failure again. I was scared to volunteer for church assignments, surely I wasn't qualified to buy the hot dogs for the scout dinner. I would buy the wrong brand, or get the ones with too much fat, or accidentally buy the most expensive ones, or I would miss that they were going to expire before the dinner, or get the ones that everyone except me knew tasted like crap, or buy too much, or not enough etc etc. Then everyone would judge me for being so unqualified and would never depend on me for anything again. I was even scared to help my sister load groceries into her car, just in case she had a specific way of doing it that I was bound to mess up.

I could make no decision, or action really, without first asking my husband to approve it, including reminder texts to parents of upcoming scout activities. Any and every mistake I made was a reinforcement of my view of myself, and any success was marginalized and rationalized away into luck or someone else's influence. I became a pro at "Yeah, but...". It would happen without my even needing to search for it. Alex, my husband would say, "You did the dishes!" and I would respond, "Yeah but I didn't do the pots and pans, and I forgot there was a cup out in the living room so that didn't make it in, and I didn't take the dishes out of the dishwasher so they're still sitting in there, and that is only 1 thing in the list of many things I need to do that I haven't that have been on the list for a week."

Satan whispered in my ear, "You're disappointing everyone. Your parents helped pay your way through college, for what? How did you repay them for that? To sit at home on your butt all day? Your sisters all have had jobs in the fields they love and studied in, and look at you, alone at home doing nothing. You're a disappointment to your family, the only one who can't seem to get her crap together. Your professors taught and helped you, especially that one professor who you don't get along with. She doesn't even like you and she helped find a way to get you graduated. She trusted that you'd make it. She must feel like an idiot helping you now that you're a failure. Your classmates knew you wouldn't make it, that's why none of them cared to really befriend you, and they were right. And what about that priesthood blessing you got? To become an interpreter. It was very obviously in your reach and you probably just didn't try hard enough. This is all your fault. Heavenly Father must be so disappointed in you. Think of all those opportunities you lost. You are such a failure. A FAILURE."

And I listened.

I withdrew from everyone and put up a mask. I know sometimes people say, "I'm here if you need to talk." or whatever, but what was I going to say? "Yeah life sucks right now and I'm just depressed by everything and I sit around and do nothing all day and it's probably all my fault..." Talking about just being depressed is depressing. It usually comes off as a cry for attention. The other person usually can't empathize, doesn't understand, and almost always tries to offer solutions that actually end up making me feel worse. I know how I feel when I see someone being all depressed on Facebook. It isn't fun. It's depressing and draining, and I wasn't going to do that to people when really, no one probably even cared or could even help anyway!

I spiritually withdrew from God. While temple attendance diminished significantly, I still read my scriptures, went to church, and prayed, but even in my prayers I pretended everything was "normal" with God too. I put up a front. I would go so far as to pray, "Please help me figure out how to not be stuck," but I was scared if God responded I wouldn't like the answer. What if He told me He really was disappointed in me? What if He told me I needed to try harder when I really just felt like I couldn't? I would fail Him again and I couldn't risk that... So I never actually asked Him what to do specifically and wouldn't leave time to listen even if He tried to tell me (which I think He knew so He never really did). Many of my prayers were one sided in that I would apologize to Him in tears and anguish that I had let Him down, and that I would try harder, but I really couldn't handle whatever direction He had for me, because I didn't know if I could do hard things. I knew He was there, and He would always love me, but I couldn't face the fact that if God Himself told me I needed to step it up, and I couldn't... what kind of worthless person would I be?

Luckily I never got so far as to consider suicide, but in a more depressing way, I decided that this was my life now - the forever failure. Nothing was ever going to get better, and I was destined to be miserable for the rest of my life. "But," Some optimists and cheery FB posts would tell me, "tomorrow is a new day! Free from mistakes! Tomorrow could be different! Tomorrow could be better!" ... but it never was.

It. Never. Was.


I would even have a good day where I would believe that for a second and decide, "that's right! Tomorrow will be different!" And then tomorrow would come, and I just couldn't bring myself to do anything. And tomorrow was not different. And suddenly I was a failure again. Another notch in the belt of failure. There's only so many times you can tell yourself, "tomorrow will be different" before all the yesterdays of failure catch up to you and remind you that, if you've learned anything, tomorrow will be exactly the same as today. Not unless something major happens or some angel decides to live with you 24/7 and teach you how to be a normal person again and the chances of that happening is slim to none. Ever heard of this one, "The future is as bright as your faith." Well my faith in the future sucks right now, so what does that say about it?

All this happened gradually over time to get worse and worse. I can't remember the timeline exactly, but somewhere a couple months after graduation, I was able to find a therapist. She tried to help me with my goals and encourage me to find ways to get involved in ASL. What many people not in the community don't realize, is that you can't volunteer interpret for anything if you're not certified, unless you have a temporary permit and a certified interpreter with you to make sure you don't mess anything up (I think there might be an exception for church-related activities). Then there's an interpreting camp thing where interpreters and Deaf people get together for a week or so to help the interpreters improve. Guess what? You have to be certified first. Ward members who knew I was interested in ASL would send me job links to jobs I could not take, because I was not certified. Basically you're kind of stuck if you're not certified and you're graduated already. An internship is supposed to help bridge the gap, but I guess it didn't for me... (Because I'm a failure)

After a while my therapist suggested I get a job, just in the meantime, to keep me from being stuck at home all day since that clearly wasn't helping me at all. Maybe I needed a break from ASL anyway. She encouraged me not to beat myself up for not practicing.

So at the start of the next year, I did. January of 2017 I became a processor at Vivint.Solar. It was a lovely situation too, because Alex worked there too! We could use our 1 car to go to and from work together and I didn't have to sit like an idiot alone at lunch. While I did fairly well at my job, I was still hypersensitive to my mistakes and because they kept making adjustments and changes to how we did the job, I never felt like I got it down quite right. Still, I wasn't quite as depressed as before, and I had a reason to get up and do something with a purpose.

I spoke with my prescriber and he informed me we were reaching the end of my medication options, there were still a couple to try, but maybe I should look into other treatments. So, we looked into alternate treatments, just in case. There was one called VNS - Vagus Nerve Stimulation. I got as far as reading that it was a treatment where they implanted a device into your chest before I decided there were more options I'd rather look into. There was the option of ECT - Electroconvulsive Therapy. ECT is where they send small electric shocks through your brain to stimulate a supervised seizure for a short time in an attempt to "wake-up" the part of the brain that, more or less, makes you happy. I looked up a bunch of stuff online and asked for people's experiences with it on FB. It looked.... scary. Side effects included headache, jaw ache, temporary anxiety, confusion, disoriented feelings, fear, nausea, shakiness, muscle stiffness, fatigue, and intense sleepiness, possible hallucinations. A patient might experience memory loss, both short term and long term. But it was supposed to have a 70-ish% success rate, worked quickly, and be safer than before. The media often portrayed it in a negative light and it was supposed to be better than the stigma attached to it.

From what I could tell people either had wonderful miracle success stories, or depressing and horrifying terror stories. One person said it worked for them or for their cousin, another person would tell me it was a terrible experience that actually made them worse. One woman told me it erased 36 years of her life and she wasn't cured even after. Yeah, it was quite possible that it would help me, "cure" me, but the idea of sending myself voluntarily into a seizure with the potential of erasing experiences from my memory that made me who I am...? Not keen. Still, I was running out of options... During our studies we came across another type of treatment, TMS - Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation. It appeared to have fewer side effects, however it seemed expensive and still rather new. Our insurance wouldn't cover it and the treatment was only available at a college 30 miles and 40 min away. ECT might be the only option I have left. But I was scared. I didn't want to forget. Who am I without my experiences? What have I learned if I couldn't remember them? I prayed and fretted and finally decided through tears that if the Lord wanted me to, I could be strong. I could forget. I mean, I wrote in my journal every day on my mission. If I forgot... I could read and remember that in sorts. I had people who loved me who would help me remember important parts of my life. I could do it. It might not even be that terrible, but if it was, I could do it. Well I got a blessing and the Lord told me that we should continue researching, not give up entirely the idea of ECT, but that there may be more options for us. I was utterly relieved.

A few months after being at work they actually transitioned the position to be a work at home position, which I wasn't sure would work for me since the whole point of this job was to get me out of the house. Luckily there was a position available to be an auditor for each team, who would stay at corporate. It was supposed to be someone who was really good at their work and meticulous to recognize how it should be done and catch mistakes. I was picked for the position. "Yeah but..." They didn't seem to want to take the best person on the team, so that person could still get the actual work done, and they didn't want to pick someone who was super psyched about, and wanted to work from home, so I was an obvious pick. Being part of the auditor's team was pretty normal for a few months while they were figuring out the transitions and how they wanted to audit the work, eventually they started giving us extra responsibilities and projects that I didn't feel they trained us very well on. But then, maybe I was just being incompetent again. The other auditors didn't seem to worry as much as I did that we hadn't really been trained. Perhaps they just knew what they were doing and had picked up on how certain things worked through experience, and not training, and I was the only one muddling my way through things terrified I'd accidentally keep customers from turning on their systems. How did people maintain such certainty in their work when things weren't certain? I began stressing at work, especially when they put me on phones. Sales reps would call in with questions about systems and while I knew a couple places to check regarding that, I felt like an idiot every time. Oftentimes they would use lingo I was unfamiliar with or refer to something in the company I had no experience in. So, in writing, it all seems simple - answer their question or transfer them to someone who can, but when it's me, actually on the phone, trying to be professional, I just... I hate phones. I always have. Especially when the person on the other end expects me to have all the answers. After a while I talked with my supervisor who was able to take me off phones, but I felt like maybe the higher ups judged me for it. It's such a simple task, after all.

Near the end of the year I got a calling to be an assistant wolf den leader. I was nervous, but sure the Lord would help me be equal to the task. It was something new. My therapist thought it would be a good opportunity for me to try something to prove to myself that I wouldn't fail (since I had stopped trying or doing anything in fears of failure). However I was grossly untrained and I felt like even more of an idiot when I was expected to know what to do. I never had brothers and didn't know anything about scouts. I didn't even realize there was a difference between boy scouts and cub scouts. I didn't understand all the dens and certification levels. I didn't know the purpose of scouts or what exactly they do besides... well... scout-things. I wanted some good old-fashioned hand-holding through the process. A sit-down and explain what's going on and here's how we do things meeting or something, however I only got a quick 5 min run-down after I went to my first den meeting. I was handed the folder and book we were supposed to share, shown how the chapters in the book lined up with requirements, I was shown the tracking sheet for each boy, and was then told I could plan the next lesson. There was no run-down of the boys in the den, who they were, what they liked, how they learned, or how often they attended. There was no over-view of what each of the requirements were, how or when to teach them, or fun ideas to make them more enjoyable. There wasn't an explanation about why, for some reason, we weren't following the modified requirements, or about what the Bobcat requirement was, or of what the Cyber-chip requirement was (which isn't included in the book, BTW). I wasn't told how buying supplies works, if we have a budget, and how to get reimbursed. There was no discussion of rules, standards, or how to handle unruly boys. But... maybe I shouldn't need any of that and I was just incompetent? All I was really told was I could read the book, there were lots of helps online, and to be sure to do the Youth Protection Training on the BSA site. While I frequently expressed my newness and how I felt I didn't quite have things down, everyone seemed to assume I could figure it out. Which made me feel like even more of an idiot when I didn't feel like I was figuring things out. I didn't know how to ask for specific help, since mostly I just felt lost, but I often didn't have a specific question for it unless the question was, "Will you show me how to plan this lesson?"

Alex and I taught primary, and I could do that. Firstly, because I knew the material. Teach about repentance? I got this. Teach about the sacrament? Done it a million times already. Easy peasy. Secondly, because the Primary handbook they gave you outlined the whole lesson and even gave you suggestions for additional activities that might engage the kids more. This scout book usually only has about one 8 x 5 page for each requirement leaving it up to you for how to teach it and what activities will be involved to meet the specific needs of your den, which is great! For some people... Oftentimes I was, and am, unfamiliar with the material so I'm terrified I'm going to teach it wrong. Anyone else know off the top of their head what the 6 essentials are for scouts to take on a hike? Why those things are important? What S.T.O.P stands for?  Being able to name 2 birds and 2 insects that live in your area and explain how you identified them? I mean. I suppose you could do something easy, like a robin and a ladybug, but don't the boys already know that? How is that teaching them anything? Another requirement is to identify a problem in the community and then coming up with a solution. ... what? I don't really pay attention to problems in the community and don't know the first thing about solving them, especially since the ones I can think of are about traffic and the freeway, so I seriously doubt an 8 yr. old has any ideas either. Then there's some things that I think I'm teaching right and I check the book and apparently was wrong about. I told my boys they should wear pants on a hike, even when it's hot, because I was taught that you still need to protect your legs in case you fall or in case there are poisonous plants, stickers, or ticks on the trail. According to the Wolf Scout Handbook, the picture labels the clothes scouts should wear, and they were, in fact, shorts. *facepalm* Then there's the problem of getting the boys involved while they sit and listen to me explain the 6 essentials of hikes and what S.T.O.P. stands for. I try to come up with activities but I can't ever think of anything and that stresses me and makes me feel stupid still. Despite people telling me there were tons of helps online, I couldn't always find them. Sometimes the ideas online are impossible because there's not enough boys, I don't have the supplies, there's not enough playing space, or I also think it would be lame and not engage the boys anyway. I so want to be the fun leader that the boys like and are engaged with so they want to be there. Then there's the boy that gets distracted and touches items in the house he shouldn't, sits when everyone is supposed to be standing, doesn't follow instruction, isn't respectful, and complains. BUT! Is still a good boy. What do I do about that!?

No one taught me. I guess I should just figure it out, that I should just know. But I don't. And I don't feel like I'm "figuring it out" and so I just feel.... stupid.
The actual meetings we end up having are never as bad as I imagine they'll turn out, and I did fine the Wolf Den leader guide handbook thing, but I still feel like I'm doing it wrong and not as well as I could.

I only planned on working for a couple of months, sure I was going to get back into my ASL game... but more months kept passing. I decided that while work was helping me, it was also stressing me and keeping me from practicing ASL. The excuse now was that I went to work, and when I came home I didn't want to focus on more occupational things, I wanted to relax and not stress, so I wasn't practicing. Not only that, but Alex and I had planned a 10 day cruise with my parents starting in January that I hadn't been saving vacation days for, again, because I wasn't planning on working there over a year. I decided to quit at the end of the year. It was a scary decision. I remembered the year before being dark and depressing, and I didn't want to go back to that. My therapist and I tried to think of ways to get me out of the house so I didn't mope all day. She tried to get me to think of things I could do instead of sit around. I had some hopes and ideas.


So January 2018 I quit. I went on a lovely cruise with family that was simply amazing and had a wonderful time! I never got depressed, I had no responsibilities or expectations from anyone to do anything productive, I was given full permission to just enjoy myself and the vacation and have fun! And I did!

The first couple of days back home after the trip I cried. I had to come back to real life. I had responsibilities to do dishes, make meals, and clean the house. It sucked. But this was a natural down off the high of the delightful cruise, so I gave myself time for it. I would look at the ASL books on my shelf in the living room. I had kept them all. I should probably study them... but I never did. All the things that we had thought up to help me just... didn't happen. I tried a few of them, at first, but they were hard, or I didn't feel like it, or it didn't sound fun, or would put someone out of their way, so they didn't really happen.

My therapist had also talked with me about "cognitive distortions" which were the feelings I had about myself that I was sure were "truths," but were not. She had encouraged me to practice more positive self-talk, stopping myself when I caught myself saying "yeah but..." and to stop beating myself up all the time. I told her it was hard, because as much as I could recognize I was doing it, it still felt like I deserved it and that I was a failure. My "yeah but..."s were legitimate. I could tell myself to the skies that I was amazing, I wasn't a failure, and that things would get better... but that didn't mean I believed any of it. When I did positive self-talk it felt hollow and like I was lying to myself. Everyone always says, "trust your gut," and "go with your gut." But what do you do when your own gut is convinced you're a failure of a person? After talking more with my therapist and going over a packet she sent me home with, I determined that even if I felt like I or my gut was right, that didn't mean it was. Certainly Heavenly Father didn't want me to be miserable and stuck with myself, even if I was a failure. If I was going to get better and happier I needed to stop the spiral when I recognized it happening and question my own gut. It feels wrong to say, but I needed to stop trusting myself. I had to trust those who were closest to me, knew me best, and whose opinion mattered the most to me and what they said about me. Alex has seen me at some of my worst times, he knew what the past 2 years had been like for me, he saw the result of me lounging around at home like a slob even when I was able to hide it from everyone else. If he thought I needed to be nicer to myself... maybe I needed to start listening to him instead. I knew Heavenly Father certainly wouldn't be talking to me in the negative way I was. Even if I was ashamed that I had failed Him, I needed to trust that a perfect omnipotent God would know better how to talk to me than I did, and that even if I felt I deserved a good beating up, if God didn't, I needed to re-evaluate.

This time around I decided to shove away the negative thoughts, though I still remained at home. Doing nothing. Instead of trying to improve, I would just be and try to be okay with that, because whenever I tried to be better and failed I would get a little more depressed, and a little more depressed, and a little more depressed... and I didn't want to slip down that hole again. It seemed like the better idea was to just not try and not hold myself accountable. So I didn't practice and I didn't do anything productive still, and as long as I didn't think about it, I would still be alright. If I just sat and watched YouTube and did social media all day without holding myself to any standards I wasn't miserable, and that was better than before.

It was the moments when I'd see a school mate, now 2 years later, a successful interpreter with a family that I would have a melt down. It was when a ward member would ask me what I do that I would painfully be reminded that I do nothing. It was when I would walk into a kitchen with dishes that had been sitting in the sink for over 2 weeks that I would cry that I was shirking my responsibilities as a wife. It was when I really looked at myself as someone else that I could see that my life was a mess, that I was a lazy failure who couldn't get her life back in order, that then I would cry myself to sleep.

Scouts was (and let's be honest, "is")  a constant stressor. It didn't help that they combined the wolf and bear dens, released the 2 other leaders that had been there longer, and now I was responsible entirely for the wolves while my companion was responsible entirely for the bears. Yay... more responsibility and expectations for me in an area I didn't know hardly anything about... How did it make sense to combine us when our boys required different things? I remember them saying the requirements were quite similar in the meetings before it happened, but when me and my new companion really looked at them, there were only 2 or 3 that intersected. And then why should the bears have lessons they already just had as a wolf, with the wolves again? It didn't make sense.

After some fiddling and discussion, my companion and I decided we would have opening exercises together, and then split the wolves and bears for our separate requirements - still being in the same open location so we could still keep 2-deep leadership. That meant, however, that I would have to plan a lesson every week. When teaching primary, I could handle it, but with scouts? It stresses me out of my mind. Every month there's a cub committee meeting and usually I come back from it depressed. At this point, I have been in the calling the longest, everyone else is newer than me. Still, somehow everyone seems to do their calling with a smile and competence that escapes me. Alex tries to comfort me, "they have more experience under their belts in dealing with these things than you!" I remind him that the Cub Committee Chairwoman is younger than I am and she's handling being in charge of the whole thing. "She doesn't have depression like you do." But that shouldn't be an excuse.

Everyone seems to figure out what they're doing and do a great job at it, but me. My therapist once asked me what was something that sounded like fun that I could do now? ... I didn't have an answer. Going and playing games with family was usually fun. Oftentimes getting out of the house was fun, but we're trying to save money and I couldn't think of anything "fun" that didn't cost money that also got us out of the house. I mean, even just driving around costs money and things like sitting at a park sounds. Not only that, but Alex is rather a homebody and frequently he'd rather stay at home than go out and do something. He likes time to just mindlessly decompress at home, which is fine. He often needs that time.

On the flip side for me, I loathed when I had to leave the house for any reason, especially without Alex. Not that there were many reasons, most of any of them were church-related. Going out and socializing with church members was a reminder that I didn't actually know any of them, despite being here for the past 2.5 years, and even more depressing, they didn't know me. They would ask the stupid questions that reminded me of the failure I was. "Oh, you're graduated? What do you do now? Do you have a job? What do you want to do?" Yup, I'm graduated, doing nothing, no job, no prospects. It was the ridiculous small-talk everyone made in an attempt to be friendly that did it, but in reality no one really cared to actually be my friend and dig into my dirty laundry. And why would they? It's not like I was worthy of it. It's not like they had any reason to and I didn't/don't expect that from anyone anyway. I imagined that even if they tried, I would give them the "I'm fine, no I don't need anything" run-around anyway. I generally don't go spilling my misery and shame to people who just ask how I am, even a second time.  So every time anyone asks, I had to fake it and pretend like my life had meaning and I had goals. Then, if Alex wasn't there, I knew I would just end up sitting by myself, like the loner I am, on my phone, pretending I don't care that everyone has their little cliques and groups of friends they always sit by, and I don't really have anyone. Sometimes my sister was there, since we go to the same church ward, but I didn't want her to feel stymied by my presence and like she had to babysit me or make sure people were talking to me. That wasn't her responsibility and I didn't want her to feel like I was her tether. So during social events like that I feel isolated. Like I said, it's my fault. I don't socialize or try to make friends either. Friendship is a 2-way road, and I wasn't doing my part. Though, I imagined that even if I did, no one would want to be my friend. Why would they? Why would they be interested in me? What did I have to give? I would likely just fail at making friends like I had for the past 10 years. Sure, I had friendly acquaintances, people I could smile and talk with (people from college, or the mission, or from my Ghana trip), but none of those people seemed to actually care or really like me enough to ever contact me on their own and it would feel weird and out of place to ask them to hang out, just them and me, especially if they really weren't fond of me anyway. I know I'm a hard person to like sometimes, especially after living around me for a while. I'm judgmental, stubborn, emotional, and can make people feel uncomfortable. I don't mean to. I shuddered to imagine them being annoyed if I tried to bug them with friendship, when really they were just being nice and I misjudged the depth of our relationship. I don't want to be that person that doesn't realize they're not wanted and makes everything awkward. I don't go where I'm not wanted. The truth is that I haven't made a new friend in 10 years and all the ones before that drifted or ran away. Alex tries to tell me that I'm amazing and that anyone would be lucky to have me as a friend, but time has showed me that people just don't like me as a good friend for some reason, and I'm not about to force them to.

Video games had lost their fun and I found myself doing them less and less. Alex was concerned and would encourage me to play, but they didn't hold the same drive. In fact, nothing was really fun for me anymore. Anything that I was even remotely unfamiliar with, I was sure I would just mess-up if I tried. I did a little crocheting for a while, wanted to try amigurumi, I'd looked up some youtube videos but I didn't quite know how to do it or know if I was doing it right and would get frustrated with myself. My therapist was extremely pleased, however, when Alex and I started playing Dungeons and Dragons. Why? It was something that got me excited and involved, something that I wasn't indifferent to or bored about. She also thought it was a good opportunity for me to practice making my own decisions in a "safe environment" where the effects would only be in-game, since my fear to make any mistake at all in my actual life was keeping me from making decisions at all. She enjoyed seeing me excited about something, and even encouraged me to dress-up for the event, though, I told her, I didn't have any desire to do so, and thought that was a bit much... I also found joy in watching a show called "Critical Role" where a bunch of nerdy-a voice actors get together to play Dungeons and Dragons. You wouldn't think watching 4 hours of it at a time would be fun, but it really so very much is 😊. They do swear, especially the "F" word, an awful lot, so I wouldn't suggest it to people who are sensitive to that. I'm very involved in their stories now and while I haven't finished the first campaign I actively watch and follow the second campaign they are currently in.

 I was embarrassed at my level of nerdiness at first, but I realized/decided that if it made me happy, then screw anyone who wanted to judge me for it! I was afraid my family would think I was some sort of weirdo, but they were all very supportive and even showed some interest.

So besides D&D there wasn't anything in my life that gave me joy. Even later on in the year playing D&D had started losing it's luster. We have 2 strong alpha males in the group so that me practicing decision making and being outgoing was basically nulled because they would do those things before I had a chance. I had no motivation to do anything, even getting food for myself sometimes was too much. I would sleep in until 1:00 or 2:00 and then wait 3 hours for Alex to get home to make me something, because, even though I was hungry and hadn't eaten all day, peeling an orange or buttering some bread was too much, and I just wasn't motivated enough to do it. I would make Alex make all and any phone calls that needed to be made, because I would hit a block in my brain about doing it that I couldn't get past. I would have a mini panic attack and end up in tears. I would make Alex wash the dishes that couldn't be put in the dishwasher, and then often make him load the dishwasher because the gross wet food in the sink that had been sitting there for weeks was too much for me to handle. I would start the laundry after 3 or 4 weeks of wearing every possible piece of clothing I owned, and doing 1 or 2 loads before making Alex finish it when he got home. And heaven forbid the clothes ever got folded or put away. Regular cleaning and maintenance of the house was completely forgotten. Vacuuming? Only when the crumbs under our feet became a nuisance. Toilet-scrubbing? Isn't that why the water in the bowl refreshes itself automatically? Sweeping? Our kitchen is small it'll be fine. Mopping? Well I haven't swept... Bathroom sink-scrubbing? Only if we have company coming over (which is hardly ever). De-cluttering? It'll just get cluttered again in 2 days anyway. Putting things away? What for? I know where they are now. Dusting? Do people still do that? Making the bed? No one sees it and we'll just undo it tonight anyway. Wiping the counters? Too much stuff (usually dishes) is on them right now, I'll wait until they're clear (which is never). I didn't force or ask Alex to do many of those things since I already made him do more than enough. He already had work all day and didn't want to come home and do everything I should have been doing anyway. Those were mostly my responsibilities, especially because I was the one that was home all day. Doing nothing. Just sitting around. I know I would be crazy annoyed if I went and earned all the money working hard and then came home to my spouse, who I would hope would be working just as hard as I was, to find out they had done absolutely nothing with their day. How is that fair at all? Just get up and do something! Kick your butt into gear! *sigh* I was such a failure as a wife too.

Socializing was depressing. Being alone was depressing. Thinking about my life was depressing...
Clearly, clearly, I was depressed in a major way. But here's the thing- I didn't see it. I would still hold myself to the standards of regular happy people. I wasn't medically depressed, I was just a lazy failure of a person. It was my fault. I deserved to be miserable because my choices led me there. If I had just chosen to practice and not give-up after I had failed my first test I wouldn't be in this mess. If I could just choose to start doing the dishes now I would actually have something to eat my food off of, but I didn't, so now I'm sad I don't have clean dishes. If I just decided to get up and do something, I could fix my problems, but I didn't. These are natural consequences of my poor decisions to not do things. My misery was my fault and if I had just tried a little harder I wouldn't have it. I had seen people with severe depression, I'd read posts from people on FB in mental health groups. People who were severely depressed thought about killing themselves, couldn't make it to church, couldn't hold a calling, couldn't make it out of bed in the morning, couldn't socialize, couldn't go to work, could hardly function! I was making it to church, I had a calling, I stayed in bed a lot, sure, but that was choice, I made it out of bed when I wanted, I could make it to my appointments, when I had a job I made it every day, I socialized, most people wouldn't even know I was having problems! In fact, I imagine some of my close family didn't even suspect anything beyond that I was in a rut. I was clearly not majorly depressed.

Still, I knew I still had depression, to a degree, and I wanted it to go away. Around May my therapist told me of a treatment the clinic was using called Brainsway that used TMS and had we looked into it? She thought it might help since nothing else seemed to be. Alex and I looked at each other, that's right! We had researched it before... Maybe now was the time to look into it again?



BEGIN THE TMS JOURNEY!

TMS - Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation. Not the same thing as ECT. It is not shocking the brain into a seizure. It is stimulating it with magnets. It's different, and to me, that sounds a lot less scary, although messing with the brain directly in any way is still scary. A patient goes in 5 days a week for 4-6 weeks for treatment that lasts 30 min. Side effects include headache, numbness or tingling, short term memory loss, such as forgetting the drive over, light-headedness, and dizziness. Other symptoms were scarier, such as seizures, but the percentages were really low for those possibilities. The treatment would feel like tapping on the head or the brain. It seemed like a better option than ECT. We asked to be scheduled for an appointment to see if we would qualify for TMS, as it isn't a first-line treatment. In the meantime, we researched some more and felt good about the possibility. But there's always a cost... so Alex and I had to determine how much we were willing to pay for it. It might not even work, and it isn't usually permanent so there's a high chance I'd need additional maintenance treatments 6 months or more afterwards anyway (true with ECT as well). It was a risk, but we were close to the end of my rope of treatments. The newer medication seemed to be working to a degree, but what else was there to do? Alex was willing to pay an amount I thought was rather large, especially since we weren't sure it would work at all, so I shared what I thought might be a good amount. We looked up online how much treatments usually go for and google told us it was around $5,000+.

What is the price of happiness worth? Can you put a price on it? What would you be willing to sacrifice?

We decided it might be worth it, to see if insurance would help cover it, and we would take steps towards it and see how we felt. I was nervous to let anyone know about it. After all, there are some negative stigmas attached to brain treatments. My family was all very supportive even though they weren't entirely sure what TMS was (though, to be honest, I wasn't sure what exactly treatments would look like either.). My next appointment with the prescriber was confusing in that he didn't bring up TMS at all... so we ended up doing it. He checked his notes, and indeed, that was why we were there! He went over what TMS was with us again and it's side effects and told us he had to get approval from another doctor and then we could schedule treatment.

It happened rather quickly, Alex making all the phone calls, and we asked all our questions.
Was it safe during pregnancy (as I was pregnant)? Yes. It was perfectly fine during pregnancy.
How far away was it? The place we would have to go was located in Holladay, basically Salt Lake, which was 24 miles away.
How long would it be? 5 days a week (week days) for 4 weeks.
Was it covered by our insurance? We would have to check in with our insurance.
Was it pay by appointment or all up front? Our insurance would determine that.
Could we stop in the middle of treatments if we didn't like it or felt it wasn't working? Yes, we could, though it wasn't recommended because everyone seemed to take a different amount of time for the treatment to take effect.
Would it be possible to wait a month before we started treatment or was it now that we got the doctor's recommendation it would it expire?  We could wait until we were comfortable.
Do I need to be off medications before treatment, and if so, for how long? I didn't have to stop any medications, I could do treatment and medication.
How long will the treatment be good for? Hard to say. Some people it lasts a year or more, other people need maintenance treatment after a 6-ish months. It's very individual and because it is still a rather new treatment, they didn't have numbers or percentages for how many people fall into each category.
Would it be possible to skip a day or 2 of treatment? There was a family reunion in a week or so starting on Thursday I would like to go to. They discouraged it. It was important that the treatments were consistent. Going 4 days without treatment wasn't advised. Obviously they understood if certain things popped up, but they tried their best to keep things on a consistent schedule.

We called our insurance and asked about Brainsway. It wasn't covered. Everything would have to be out of pocket. We called back the clinic and asked them tentatively how much treatment would cost without insurance and braced ourselves.
$100 a treatment for a month equaling a total of $2,000.
That.... that was doable! That was half as much as we were expecting! I mean, it was still expensive, but what is happiness worth? I ran it past my family to make sure I had an outside perspective, and they thought that our decision to move forward paying it all was a good idea.
So we scheduled an appointment on July 9th.

Alex got work off so he could come with me, as they recommend that the first few sessions of TMS you have someone with you to see how it effects you before you start driving and whatnot. Usually patients are fine, but since you can't be sure how it will effect you, especially at the beginning, they tell you to bring someone. I was so very nervous.
Would I have any of the side effects?
What would it be like to forget the drive over?
What would magnet force flowing through my brain feel like?
What if this was my last chance to be happy?
Had I done everything in my power to prove to Heavenly Father that I deserved to be cured?
What if it didn't work? What would we do?
What if it did work?

...

We drove up together, me taking note of what happened on the drive, just to see if I would forget it. I told Alex to ask me about that McDonald's we passed on the way over after I was done with treatment and I would do my best to remember it. Eventually we drove up to the building, which, by all appearances, was a regular building. A couple of different business were using it, in fact.

We found the office and checked in. A woman, I was told would likely not be the regular one I would see, came out and introduced herself. We walked across the hall and into a small room with an office chair, a small cushioned waiting chair, and an armchair next to a machine.

I was surprised how small and cozy it was. It was also rather warm, and we were told it was common for that room to get warm and they had a box fan to help air it out sometimes. We each took the chairs obviously meant for us, and the doctor made sure we knew what TMS was. We double checked that my permanent retainer was not, in fact, magnetic, and I filled out some papers regarding if I had certain conditions and possible metal plates in my head. Then I was given an assessment called the Beck test to determine how depressed I was at the beginning of treatment, so that they could track it.

If you're curious what questions are on it or what your score would be, a copy of the assessment they gave me can be viewed by clicking here. The third page where the scores are explained was never included for me. For those who don't want to click the link, in summation, there are 21 questions you rank from 0 to 3 and a low number is a happy number. Now some of the questions, I figure, have to be taken in the right mindset of "normal." For example, "Changes in appetite." A 0 is "I have not experienced any change in my appetite." So, if I was anorexic for the past year, I would seemingly get a 0, since my eating and hunger levels would be the same for a year. However, that is not "normal," and that does not equal "happy," as a lower score would indicate. So those things have to be taken into account, at least at the beginning I would think. Similarly, I was unsure about how it would effect my score, being pregnant and whatnot. The questions about crying more than usual and being too tired and fatigued were obviously things pregnancy would influence too, but I tried to be judicious in separating them and also remembering and taking into account how it was before I got pregnant. I also figured the doctors would realize that too.

I was not told what my score was at first, but for the record, I scored in the 40's. So think about what your score is, or that of a regular person and then imagine how you feel being 3 times as bad. I was extremely depressed, and the numbers proved it. Still, I wasn't told my score at that time or what it meant, I just knew I had picked a lot of 2's and 3's.

Then the lady asked me if I knew what size head I had. Uh..... She said they have a little hat thing for patients to wear before they put on the actual helmet and asked if regular hats fit me pretty well or were usually tight or anything. Uh.... So she just tried on the average one. She told me it was a perfect fit and I must have a perfect-sized head. lcol The hat was blue felt and helmet-looking with a line of tape measure down the front that extended down the bridge of my nose.

Now the picture above is without the chin strap. Usually they have a blue chin strap as well. So now that I looked like somewhat of a weirdo, I was told they were going to test my threshold. That sounds scary. Normally that's taking you to your limit of what you can handle and normally it's uncomfortable. So I prepared myself and put on a face. After giving me some ear plugs the lady told me she would have to squish the machine helmet down on my head a bit, that there would be a few ticks, and she needed me to put my hands out, palms up. She said I needed to keep them relaxed and that they might twitch with the ticks. And that's exactly what I did and what happened. I felt a small firm tap on the right side of my head and heard a tick and my right hand twitched painlessly. This happened for 8 ticks or so. Some ticks my hands hardly twitched at all and some were a tad larger, but nothing too crazy. No pain or twitches that really concerned me, other than the fact that twitching without my permission wasn't the most comforting thing in the world...  Still, it wasn't even close to as bad as I was imagining. Then she strapped the bigger machine helmet on my head that she had been holding down previously, it felt slightly crooked I thought, and she did up the second chin strap securing it onto my head. Now because of the chin strap and my fat face I look kind of ridiculous in the whole thing.

The helmet had a sort of ventilation system around it, so there was constant airflow around my head. She made sure I was comfortable, made sure I was aware that if ever I was uncomfortable, it became too intense, or wanted to stop in the middle of treatment, I could tell them, they would turn it off, and we could take a break.

So we began.

I thought it would be a rather constant ticking or vibrating. However there were long pauses and then a cluster of quick clicks and then a long pause again. The tapping would be close to my temple and felt like when you lean your head on a rickety roller coaster and your whole head kind of vibrates. Almost always it made my right hand twitch, and frequently my eye. I felt like my eye twitches were hugely noticeable, but apparently they weren't that bad. My jaw would also chatter. They had a mouth guard, if needed, but usually they said it wasn't necessary. If I did want one, I need only ask. Throughout the treatments I did bite myself upon occasion, but it was usually only once or twice, small, and as long as I remembered to keep my jaw loose and my tongue from between my teeth, it wasn't too bad. I was also strangely aware of the tip of my right nostril. I was told it wasn't uncommon for the right foot to also kick and twitch a bit, but luckily that never happened to me.
The sessions lasted for 20-ish minutes. I would sit on my phone and play games, pausing when the ticking started since my twitching hand would often skew the phone. I would also use this time to do a kick count. I would send Alex a little baby emoji every time I felt the baby move. He would often end up with a phone full of alerts of little baby emoji heads lcol. 👶

Sometimes I would try and anticipate the next cluster of clicks and simply will myself to not twitch. Sometimes I seemed able to, and other times not, so I wasn't sure if I had any ability one way or the other. The doctor/technician in the room would seemingly do their own thing in their office chair, but they would still keep an eye on me and how I seemed to be taking the treatment. They wouldn't stare or watch me the whole time, by any means. Eventually the session would end, they would turn off the machine, unstrap me, thank me, and send me home without much follow-up.

The first time I was done, I tried to assess how I felt, if I had forgotten anything, and if I had any other side effects. I felt a little light-headed, maybe, but I did just have the weight of a machine helmet on my head. I wondered if I was any different at all. They did say it took a few days for the earliest signs of improvement, so I wasn't expecting anything miraculous. I did remember that McDonald's on the corner on the way up...

My mom came with me to my next appointment. She was very helpful and supportive the whole time. I had to laugh because, while she calls herself an introvert, she would engage the doctor in conversation every time she came. It was because of her chatting that I learned that this machine was better than the one Alex and I had researched about that the University nearby had. This machine's treatment apparently went deeper. This second visit I didn't fill out any papers, take any test, or be checked for my threshold. It was just treatment, which I was told they would up the intensity on. I'm not sure what all the numbers meant, but they wanted me at 52%. My hand twitched a little more than last time and I didn't really like it. The next day I was told they would be upping the intensity one last time, however when they tested the first cluster of ticks my hand jerked somewhat wildly on my lap,  my eye freaked out, and I had to tell them I couldn't handle it. It's a strange thing to relate, it being too intense. Again, it wasn't painful by any means, but it was too much stimulus. If you have sensitive reflexes in your knee that kick your leg up, and have had someone hit it over and over and over again in quick succession, it felt something like that. It's uncomfortable, it's involuntary, and it becomes too much. I felt kind of silly though. Surely I should be stronger. What if I was delaying my treatment? What if I was being a baby? It wasn't painful, shouldn't I just get over it? Was it just my mental endurance that was failing? Why couldn't I be stronger?

I was occasionally hit with the reality that they were just strapping me into a machine that sent magnetic-who-knows-what into my brain that was obviously messing around with something in there making me twitch and did they really actually have any idea what they were doing?! But here I was. Doing it. So I would do it.

The next time I went, they tried upping the intensity again and I was determined not to push back the full extent of my treatment any longer. It wasn't as bad as it felt from the day before, but it was still more intense. After that the intensity would only go up or down by one depending on my threshold, which they would re-check every week.

After that normal sessions went fairly quickly, and the next couple of sessions were the same. Honestly the drive up would take longer than the treatment itself. I tried to gauge how I was after a couple of days and I wasn't sure I felt any different. Maybe I was a tiny bit happier? Family members would ask me how I was feeling but I wasn't sure what to tell them. My brother in-law told me how what I was doing reminded him of iZombie, a show where a zombie lady eats brains to solve murders or something, and apparently part of the show is that she gets brain treatment. I wasn't sure how to react to that...

There was one instance we wondered if it wasn't TMS related, in the first week, where I was at the store shopping with Alex, he went to pay for groceries and I went to the pharmacy. I hadn't been feeling very good the whole time, however, being pregnant, it wasn't the strangest thing in the world for me to feel a little sick to my stomach. As I was waiting in the line for the pharmacist, however, I felt even more sick, and nervously looked around for a trashcan, just in case... I was about to go sit down when it was my turn up at the front. Normally it doesn't take long to get the medication, so I went on up and asked for my prescription. I could tell I was getting more sick and should really sit down, but it didn't usually take long so I would probably be okay. This time, however, Alex and I were both getting antibiotics from a sinus infection we had, and they had to ask me some questions about our symptoms before giving us the medication. If it weren't for that I would have been fine. As it was, I had already swiped my card and everything, but as the man asked me some final questions my hearing started going funny... and then my eye sight started going patchy... and there was a giant swoosh of nausea in my stomach and my face got real hot. I apologized to the man and immediately bent over with my head between my knees while grabbing the side of the counter. Within seconds the pharmacist was on my side of the counter with her arm around me, supporting me, and asking if I was okay. Embarrassed, I apologized and indicated I probably just needed to sit down. She was very kind, chairs were only some 10 feet away but she held me firmly until I got there. She asked if I was alone and if they could page anybody for me. I told her my husband was buying the groceries, he knew I was here, and I'd be okay. I did try texting Alex, but like is frequent to happen, his phone was dead. He came in a minute or so later surprised to see me sitting on one of the chairs with a small trashcan in front of me they had retrieved. He rummaged through the groceries to grab me what I thought would have been a Powerade, however I was handed a cheese stick. Since I wasn't really hungry and I was pretty sure it wasn't a low blood sugar thing, I didn't end up eating it, but it was a kind gesture. Once I felt better and had my color back we packed up the groceries and went home.

Passing out wasn't one of the common symptoms of TMS, and oftentimes in pregnancy your blood pressure can get low and make you lightheaded. We wondered if it might not have been dehydration or something. Especially since that day there was a scheduling error, and I hadn't been able to make it to treatment. I hadn't even had it that day. We weren't sure.

A week later as I was in treatment by myself I began to feel similarly. I felt nauseous and a little warm... I checked my clock and there was probably only 5 min left of treatment, maybe less... I thought maybe I could make it?  I mean, I was sitting down doing nothing, it's not like I was aggravating it... However as I felt a swoosh in my stomach and my vision began to get a bit blotchy I decided I better say something. At first my doctor thought I just wanted to stop treatment for a break, that it was too much, and he just turned off the machine. I nervously told him that I thought I better put my head down. So he helped me get unstrapped and I put my head between my knees. After a minute or 2 I felt better and I told him we could finish. He said we didn't have to, but I was determined to get my whole treatment and not mess anything up. I was right in that it was less than 5 min of treatment left, but I was able to finish it. I drank the rest of my Powerade that I had brought in the car, blasted the AC, and waited another 15 min or so before driving home. I called and let my mom and Alex know. I was informed if I felt the least bit like I was unable to drive, to pull over and they would arrange for someone to come get me and the car. I felt like I was fine, still, and I stayed in the right lane, aware of shoulders and exits, should I need them. I left my text messenger open tapping gibberish to Alex without looking every so often, so he knew I was conscious (which he knew I was doing). I did give him a scare though when one of my gibberish texts auto-corrected to "gah," and he thought it meant I was in trouble. It was rather scary to think that even when I wasn't engaged in any strenuous activity and had been sitting still for 20 min I might still just pass out on a whim, especially if it happened to occur on the freeway... So we made sure I had rides to and from treatment most of the time.

Again, we weren't sure if it had to do with my pregnancy or with the treatment, and it didn't really happen again, so who's to say? I asked about it on my next appointment, but it was at my 20 week scan with the sonographer and she said as far as she knew she thought it was probably common, but she wasn't an actual OB. So who knows!?

The 2nd week I was given the Beck test again and my threshold was redetermined. Again, I was not told what it was. It wasn't until later that I was told my scores, though I don't think they were hiding them from me on purpose. I thought maybe I was feeling a bit better... come to find out my score had actually gotten worse! I don't know the specific number, but it was even higher in the 40's. It was probably a good thing they didn't tell me, I'm sure I would have had a mini freak-out about it...

The next few days of treatment, though, I could tell a difference. I felt much more optimistic about everything, which was different than the constant pessimistic assumptions about everything I was used to. It was strange, I realized, not having negative self-talk barrage you all the time. Was it this way for regular people? I thought everyone dealt with a negative outlook on themselves and life and everyone just ignored it, pushed it aside, and handled it like a boss by being cheerful and thinking happy thoughts, but like... those negative thoughts didn't even happen. I didn't have to fight them because they weren't even there. Well. That's not entirely true. They still happened, but not to nearly the same extent. It was kind of crazy to realize. There wasn't this dark cloud following me around as much. There was hope.

When I took the Beck test again the 3rd week, my score was 26. It was then that they told me that when I started I was above 40, and this week I had almost halved my score. It was... so strange to me. I felt so much better. My life wasn't dramatically different in that huge life-changing decisions were happening, but I was happier. I felt motivation to do things for the first time in ages. To be honest, I still didn't really do those things, but the idea of doing them wasn't such an impossible task anymore. So like, the idea of doing the dishes still wasn't fun and I still didn't want to do it, but it wasn't something that seemed to cripple me anymore. It wasn't as much "I can't do it," as it was a, "I really don't want to" - and that might not sound like much, but it was definitely an improvement for me. In a way, the impossible became possible again. It was the first time I was able to realize just how depressed I had been. "Normal" people don't have to fight tooth and nail against themselves to do a simple chore. Yeah, I was right in that they didn't like to do it, but they could still do it because it was still possible for them.

I was so much better! It was interesting to me that anyone could be any better than a 26. Did people get more "normal" than this? Surely most people were still "normal" with self-doubt, indecisiveness, and sadness over poor past choices...

The next few weeks my numbers didn't change much. I went up a point or two the next week (28 I think) and down a point or two the next week to a 24. We weren't sure anything was going to change much more. That was 4 weeks of treatment. The doctor there wanted my level to be below 10 and suggested an additional treatment for a week. What is happiness worth? We decided to pursue that option because low to mid-20's was still a moderate depression level and maybe I would have a miraculous drop like before. That meant spending more than we had planned, but we decided it was worth it if we could get my numbers down and I could be "normal."

By the next week my numbers had gone down to a 16! 8 whole points farther down. And I could tell in my answers as well. I was more interested in people and events than before, I was having less and less nights where I spiraled out of control into tearful misery. Specifically the question about being a failure, which I honestly thought I would never get past, I noticed... I changed how I felt. I went from being a complete failure as a person, to looking back and seeing lots of failures.  Over these past few weeks I went from the label "failure" to the label, "failed and likely to fail" which, again, doesn't sound like a big difference, but like really.... it is. My future went from "hopeless and will only get worse" to, "It might get better..." There were small changes, but it felt so much better.

There was a specific instance, 1 month to the day of starting treatment, on Aug 9th when I text Alex and later told my family, I had made myself a grilled tuna sandwich for lunch. All by myself. I had even burned one side of it, but problem solved, threw that piece of bread away and re-grilled a new piece to perfection. And I just did it.

I told them, as I will tell you, the big deal about the fact that I made this sandwich, was that it wasn't a big deal. I just did it. It wasn't even hard! 1 month ago, if I had made this sandwich, it would have been a big deal because it meant that I would have had to battle my lack of motivation, face my fears of failing to make it properly, deal with self-doubt regarding my ability to succeed at anything, getting past beating myself up for burning it, overcoming my desire to give-up at the slightest sign of imperfection, and face my inevitable summation that I had failed it regardless of how it turned out. But none of that happened! I made a sandwich like a regular person! I ate it and it was delicious. I hadn't gone into a tizzy that ruined my entire day when I burned it! I had made a sandwich and it wasn't a big deal.

Y'all take making sandwiches for granted 😉.

We were unsure if we should go another week. A 16 point result in the Beck assessment wasn't anything to sneeze at. That was close to what some of the people in my family scored at, and especially if I had started over 40... I asked the doctor after my last treatment for that week what the likelihood was that my numbers would change if I went just one more week. He told me there weren't reliable numbers. He really couldn't give me any idea. Most people were very individual and their results varied. He told us the second doctor we never saw or met that always had to approve additional treatment was likely to approve us for another week though. It was up to us if we really wanted to continue. We debated and Alex was leaning more towards another week. I wasn't sure much would change and didn't want to spend 500 more dollars if this was it. Still, last time it took around 2 weeks for a change. If I could go down another 8 points in 1 week, I would be "normal." What is happiness worth? So we decided 1 more week.
I was nervous and anxious but when I reached the end of the last week I took the Beck test and.... my score stayed exactly the same. 16. Alex and I talked and we decided it probably wasn't going to go down any more and we wouldn't do another week. To confirm our decision, the doctor/technician that usually did my treatment called and suggested we terminate treatment. We had taken the treatment as far as it was likely to go. I felt a little sad that I wasn't able to reach "remission" like I was told a fair number of TMS patients did, but still, going from 40+ to 16 was a win, there was more motivation and hope in my life, and that was something to celebrate 😊.

In summation, my Beck Test/Assessment numbers were:
40+
Even higher 40+
26
28
24
16
16

I was stressed and concerned in that I learned that the place I went to would be getting rid of their TMS machine at the end of the year. Apparently they were losing money on it. Now, as I stated before, oftentimes people need follow-up maintenance treatment, so I worried I wouldn't be able to get it. Alex comforted me in that we would find a place if we needed it. There's at least the University in Salt Lake that we know provides it. Alex wouldn't let me just delve into despair again if we could help it.

I re-took the Beck test on my own again on October 15th and my score had gone up to 20. It depressed me a little, but Alex reminded me that numbers fluctuate on a daily basis. I'm seeing a different prescriber recently as well since the old one changed jobs in the last 2 months. This new one told me that oftentimes they wait 6 months anyway to see how the treatments go and how your emotions even out. I guess we'll see.

Due to me having a baby in a little over a month, we are weaning me off of Trintellix. While it's safe for the baby to have the drug, oftentimes the baby can go through distress and other unhappy symptoms of withdrawal once they're no longer getting the drug through the mother after birth. My prescriber said that it's important though, that I'm not anxious or depressed off of Trintellix either, because that could also cause negative effects for the baby. Hopefully everything goes well and no one has unhappy side effects, but it does make me a bit nervous to be going off medication.

I am also preparing myself for postpartum depression, as I hear it is more likely for someone who already has depression to experience this. My therapist says she'll go over some tools with me in the coming weeks to help, and that I should have a good support system. So far Alex will be taking a week off to stay and help with the baby and my mom is also planning on coming over for a week to help as well. I have a sister who lives upstairs that I can utilize, and I plan on sending multiple videos to sisters asking what I should do or what "this" cry means. I've made it a goal to tell Alex exactly how I'm feeling and not hide any shameful feelings or urges I have. I won't know how anything will go until I get there, so right now I'm just preparing and hoping for the best. I know I'm going to feel inadequate and lost, but that's okay. Every mother does at some point. I have wanted to be a mother my whole life, and a little feeling of inadequacy isn't going to stop me from one of the best experiences this life has to offer. I can do this. One step at a time.

This whole time have been loved and supported by an amazing husband who continues to hold my hand and treat me with such patience and adoration that I almost can't handle it. I don't know how he does it day after day, but he has been my mortal rock and foundation. I can honestly say I have no idea where I would be today without him. Someday I hope I can be a better wife for him and return the favor.

It has since been a month or 2 from the treatment. Not too much has changed in that I still spiral into misery upon occasion, I still ask Alex to help me make decisions, I still battle feeling worthless sometimes, and I am still on medication, still at home, doing hardly anything, watching Critical Role, and not practicing ASL- but I have started to do more little things. I notice myself doing little chores here and there where I wouldn't before. I don't feel as lost and hopeless. The little voices in my brain aren't as loud and I'm practicing not listening to them. I feel a little more like being social. I feel like maybe, with a little practice, I could start doing things more regularly around the house. Maybe even look back into some ASL. I've made a couple phone calls, I've made Alex a couple of sandwiches, I painted an accent wall in my baby room, yesterday I even ironed a shirt for my husband's interview.  Slowly, and hopefully surely, I'll figure out how to be "happy."