“You are depressed”, they said. The word “schizophrenia” was also mentioned.
So, they ignored everything I had to say. I am not blaming them… I too would ignore a crazy person. Once you are labeled “crazy”, people just stop listening.
Still, I gave them the benefit of the doubt and I was totally fine with accepting that maybe I was depressed and maybe I was a very lucid slightly schizophrenic person. I was not in denial, I just wanted to finally give it a name and get the right pill for it. Try to fix it. Fix me.
I tried what they said, but it didn’t help. And my stomach hurt.
A whole year went by. Different pills, different therapies, different doctors. And my stomach still hurt.
It was my turn to stop listening.
I did not feel depressed. I felt pushed down. Exhausted. But, most of all, I had an urge to live. I wanted to laugh and be happy. I wanted to not care. It couldn’t be depression. Right?
I focused on my stomach pain (it was starting to get weird).
I asked the doctor to get tested for what I thought I had – after I googled my f*** fingertips off. She said I didn’t have it. It took her good 3 months to finally let me get tested.
I had worms.
Yes, worms. Microscopic ones (not to gross anyone out…). I had them for so long they – most likely – released a substance to my brain that mimics depression – so, I’ve read.
And the reason I believe that is because after 3 days of worm medication, I had no more panic attacks. 3 days… and I felt like my old self again.
Right now, I’m just happy all the people I see around me are actually real. If I think about it, the most schizophrenic thing I do is writing here as if I as talking to someone even though no one reads this shit.
Something to think about.