The Other Side(93)
I release Alice’s hand and she offers it to shake his. “Likewise. It’s nice to meet you, too, Dr. Goldin.” Her confidence and ease with people, especially strangers, feels like a lesson when I’m with her. Like if I pay attention, I’ll learn how to do it myself. I’m trying, I’m really trying.
When we’re seated on a couch in Dr. Goldin’s office, he starts in, “Alice, thank you very much for coming. As you know, Toby has been my patient for almost six weeks and I feel like we’re making real progress.” His eyes dart to mine. “You would agree with that assessment, wouldn’t you, Toby?”
I clear my throat and tell the truth because I’ve promised myself to do that in here…and everywhere. “I feel like I’ve done so many things the past few weeks that are so uncomfortable they bring comfort.” I pause and shake my head because I tend to give my thoughts a rushed, unrestrained voice in here and sometimes that means they come out wrong. “That probably doesn’t make any sense…” I pause again and they both wait patiently and I’m so grateful for it. “What I mean is that I’ve tried new things, or opened myself up, or let people in, or just considered ideas that I didn’t think were possible for someone like me. They were all things that scared me, things I wouldn’t normally do, but when the nauseous feeling passed, it was replaced by a sense of…I don’t know how else to explain it…except comfort. Maybe peace is the right word?” I shrug. “It’s hard to put a label on it because it’s new…and I’ve never felt it before…but I feel it. Intensely.”
Dr. Goldin nods encouragingly. “That’s definitely progress from your first appointment.”
This leads to a succession of questions for Alice. They’re all about me, what our daily life is like, and changes she’s noticed. He said he doesn’t always do this with patients, but for those willing, it gives him a different perspective into my life and offers insight into progress and future treatment. While they talk, I listen and remain quiet. It’s strange being discussed while sitting in the room, but at the same time, it’s the uncomfortable comfort I talked about a minute ago because I know they both want what’s best for me.
When he’s done, his focus returns to me. “How are you feeling, Toby? This is week five on the anti-depressants. Last week you said you were beginning to feel significant relief. Does that still hold true? Any further changes?”
I stop myself before I speak and arrange my thoughts. Alice squeezes my hand again. “The voice is gone, those perpetual thoughts of hopelessness. It was normal, like I’ve told you before, to tell myself that I was nothing, that the world would be a better place if I was gone, that I didn’t matter. I haven’t had those thoughts this week and I honestly didn’t think about the fact that they’re gone until this morning. You’d think that living with them for so long, that their absence would be more noticeable, wouldn’t you? It’s kind of like when you have a horrible headache and it starts to fade and when it disappears eventually, you’re so thankful it’s gone that you focus on what feels good and forget to miss the pain. Does that make sense?” I ask this question a lot with Dr. Goldin because I want to make sure I’m explaining myself well.
He nods.
“It’s not that I’ve forgotten what the pain of hopelessness feels like. It’s frighteningly vivid and it scares me that I’ll wake up tomorrow and it will return. Because now that I know what it’s like to live without it for a few consecutive days, I don’t ever want to go back there.” My eyes have dropped to my hand in Alice’s, but when I lift them to Dr. Goldin, his are there waiting for me. “What if it comes back?” The fear in my voice is evident.
His eyes soften at my question, at my worry. “As we’ve discussed, depression is often something that returns over the course of one’s life. Not always, but it happens. What we’re doing now is filling your toolbox with the tools to manage it, instead of it managing you instead. You’re doing so well, Toby, in regards to therapy and medication. But the other thing that’s making a big difference is your support system and your willingness to open up to them. Communication is key. Strong, trusting, healthy relationships are key. There’s unfortunately a misconception attached to depression and mental illness in general. People don’t talk about it. They hide it. They’re ashamed of it. But why? Imagine if we didn’t talk about cancer, or heart disease, or diabetes, or any number of other ailments that affect the body? Thousands of people would suffer and die unnecessarily without treatment. The same should hold true for ailments of the mind. Societal compassion and understanding would go a long way in saving people’s lives. Don’t ever be ashamed to ask for help when you need it. And if you don’t get it, ask someone else until you do. Your mental state is important, it drives your quality of life. Fight for it.”
I nod. I understand all of this now. My support system is critical, just knowing that Alice, Johnny, Cliff, Taber, Chantal, and even Mr. Street, are there when I need to talk about important stuff, or nothing important at all, makes all the difference. I’ve never had friends and family like this. I never thought I could. “Will the meds be forever?”
He shakes his head. “We will reevaluate when I feel like you’ve stabilized in all areas, most likely around the six-month mark, judging by your progress so far. My approach is cautious but focused on healing through therapy rather than relying on medication. Every person is different, of course, but I anticipate removing the anti-depressants in six months.”