I knew that the medication would kick in soon and then I would feel better. I washed the pill down with some orange juice and walked over to my car. Later, I fumbled with my Zoloft pack and retrieved my first dose, a 25mg pill. To date, the worst mistake of my life was ever setting foot in that doctor’s office. My sea of optimism would soon come crashing down on me. Though I felt optimistic, I was also apprehensive about taking my first dose. She handed me a small sample pack of Zoloft (sertraline) and sent me on my way. In my vulnerability, I accepted her statement as an unwritten promise between us. This medication should kick in soon! You’ll be back to your old self in no time!”’ “After six months, you can slowly come off and be back to normal.
“You can take these drugs for up to six months,” she added. I did not know what to feel, but a large part of me was excited about the possibility of relief. An anti-depressant? Zoloft? I had seen the commercials before and I even knew a couple of friends who took these drugs. “You’ll feel like yourself again in just a few short weeks!” she exclaimed. The psychiatrist briefly described the side effects of the medication, which were limited to the potential for nausea and increased anxiety at the start of treatment. There was a cure for all the distress I had been feeling. I felt stunned, yet a large wave of relief slowly washed over my mind. There was not even a twinge of hesitation in her voice. “This is treatable by antidepressant medication.” After what felt like a 10-second conversation, I was given my diagnosis. I recounted my panic attack to her and relayed that I still felt a significant amount of distress. It was only a few feet away from where we had departed, yet I felt as though we had been walking together for miles.Īs she reached for the door handle, I began to notice acutely the rate at which my heart was now beating. After a brief stay in the waiting room, I was greeted by the doctor, who motioned me back to her office. On a cold Baltimore morning, I arrived at the office of a local psychiatrist. That week, I had experienced a panic attack after trying to stay up all night completing a mountain of homework assignments, college applications, and practice SATs. During the winter of 2004, when I was a senior at a private school in Maryland, I had my first brush with psychiatry.
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