She Was Shocked

I didn't even know where my office building was located. But I was determined to get my life back on track, so I dug up all my work materials and began studying to catch up with my old life.

Too late: My therapist's request that the firm accommodate my extended absence failed. The company claimed that for business reasons it had been obliged to put someone else into my position and asked where my personal belongings should be sent.

I was devastated. I had no job, no income, no memory and, it seemed, no options. The thought of looking for a job scared me to death. I couldn't remember where I had saved my resume on my computer, much less what it actually said. Worst of all--and this is probably the most familiar feeling among those who suffer from depression--my self-esteem was at an all-time low. I felt completely incompetent and unable to handle the most minor of tasks. My resume--when I finally found it--described a person with enviable experiences and impressive accomplishments. But in my mind I was a nobody with nothing to hold onto and nothing to look forward to.

Perhaps due to these circumstances, perhaps due to my natural biological cycles, I fell back into depression.

Those first months after ECT were horrible. Having lost so much, I was facing another bout of depression--just what the treatments had been intended to correct. It wasn't fair and I didn't know what to do. Restoring my memory--or trying to accept its permanent loss--became the focus of my therapy sessions. I couldn't recall how badly I had felt before the treatment, but I knew now that I was desperate and completely demoralized.

At the edge of hopelessness, I somehow committed myself to hanging in there--not for me, but for the family members and friends who were working hard to make my life better. Daily thoughts of suicide were something I learned to ignore. Instead, I focused on making it through each day. I managed to get out of bed each morning and drive to the coffee shop, where I forced myself to read the entire newspaper, even if I couldn't remember much of what I had read. It was exhausting, but after a few weeks I was reading books and running errands. Soon I re-entered the world of computers and e-mail and the Web. Little by little, I was reconnecting to the world.

I also attended therapy religiously. The therapist's office was a safe place where I could admit just how bad I was feeling. Thoughts of suicide were a normal part of my life, but I felt it would be unfair to share those dark feelings with family and friends.

Through the Depression and Related Affective Disorders Association, I joined a support group, which became central to my recovery. There I realized that I was not alone in my plight and for once I had friends to whom I could talk honestly. Nobody was shocked to hear what the voice in my head was telling me.

And I began to run and exercise again. Before ECT I had been training for my first marathon. After, I couldn't run even a mile. But within a few months I was covering long distances, proud of my accomplishment and grateful for an outlet to deal with my stress.

In October I tried a new medication for depression, Celexa. Maybe it was this drug, maybe it was my natural cycle, but I began to feel better. I experienced days where death wasn't on my mind, and then I experienced days where I actually felt good. There was even a turning point when I began to feel hopeful, like something good could actually happen in my life.

The most poignant moment occurred a month after I changed medications. My therapist asked, "If you always felt the way you do today, would you want to live?" And I honestly felt that the answer was yes. It had been a long time since I had felt like living instead of dying.

It's close to a year now since I finished my ECT treatments. I am working full-time. I see my therapist only once every two to three weeks. I still attend DRADA meetings regularly. My memory is still poor. I cannot recall most of the two years before ECT, and memories prior to that time must be triggered and dug out of my mental archives. Remembering requires a great deal of effort, but my mind is sharp once again.

Friends and family say that I am less gloomy than I was, cheerful and less brash. They say I've softened a bit, though my basic personality has indeed returned. In part I attribute my gentler attitude to the truly humbling experience of having my self disappear. In part I attribute it to the loss of my well-honed vocabulary: I was reluctant to speak up when I couldn't find the right words. But in greatest part I attribute my change to a renewed desire for peace in my life. I am now dedicated to managing my depression and living a satisfying life day by day. I feel that if I can make the best of the moment, then the future will take care of itself.

As for my boyfriend, we're getting to know each other again. I'll be forever grateful for how he cared for the sudden stranger he met after my treatments.

Would I undergo ECT again? I have no idea. Where medication does not work, I believe the doctors' judgment that ECT is still the most effective treatment. For people who are sick enough to be considered for ECT--as I was--I believe the benefits justify the potential loss of memory. Losing my memory, my career, my connections to people and places may seem too much to bear, but I see all that as not a huge price to pay for getting better. What I lost was enormous, but if it is health I have gained, that is obviously far more valuable than what I lost.

While this year has been the hardest of my life, it has also provided me with a foundation for the next phase of my life. And I truly believe that this next phase will be better. Perhaps it will even be great. With a medication that seems to be working, a strong network of support and the ability to move forward, my life looks promising. I've learned to hang in there when it seemed impossible and to rebuild from a significant loss. Both are difficult. Both are painful. But both are possible. I am living proof.

Follow-up story by Washington Post

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