If you neglect your mental health, I recommend you start paying attention as soon as possible. If you are a happy person and feel there is nothing wrong with your mental state, I salute you. The worst you could do by speaking with a therapist is to maintain that happiness and prevent future issues. If you have multiple sclerosis, like I do, I feel speaking to someone is of utmost importance.

My neurologist was the first to urge me to start talking about my diagnosis. He felt it was important for me to express my feelings in order to begin accepting what was happening to me. My primary care physician, who takes exceptional care of me, was the first to urge me to seek professional help for mental health. She encouraged me to see a psychiatrist. I declined. She asked me to at least speak with their in-house counselor. I refused. She wanted to write a prescription. I said no. She was very professional and did well at hiding the disappointment in her eyes every time I declined, but I knew it was there.

I can not say why I initially refused to seek help. Possibly because I had seen a psychiatrist in my early twenties for a stint with depression. I hated it. I guess I should say I hated her. I was there voluntarily, but soon decided it was not a place I wanted to spend my time if I had other options. She yawned while we were talking and gave me bottles of pills. It was not helpful and possibly made matters worse. What I did not know at the time is that, like medications and boyfriends, sometimes you have to try a few psychiatrists before you find the one that works.

Eventually, I broke down. I thought I would come to terms with what my body and mind were going through. I was wrong. I kept having physical and emotional breakdowns. I would cry for no reason. I would sob uncontrollably when I felt there was a reason. My heart would race and skip beats, causing my chest to flutter. I would have shortness of breath and trouble controlling my breathing. I was sad, anxious, angry, hurt, and terrified. There was not a second of the day that my emotions were not cranked up to level ten. One of the things you hear over and over when you are first diagnosed is that the first year is the hardest. I was quickly approaching my second year and it had not gotten any easier. In fact, it was only getting harder.

I spoke with my PCP. What I felt was depression, she diagnosed as anxiety. My symptoms were textbook. I still refused to speak to a professional but did agree to be medicated. She started me on 5 mg of Buspar to be taken up to three times a day. We scheduled a follow-up appointment in three months.

At my follow-up, I reported that the medication was not helping. My initial conversation was with a medical resident. She said there were still plenty of options to try. She wanted to switch me to Prozac. My head immediately started spinning. Most of my refusal in starting any medication is the long list of side effects. I did not want to start a medication that would cause insomnia, only to end up on another medication to help me sleep. I did not want to start a medication that causes headaches, only to end up on another medication to treat the pain. Prozac is also most commonly known to obliterate libido. As of yet, MS has not taken that away from me, so I am definitely not going to let a medicine do it.

The truth was, I knew I was in a downward spiral and needed help. I did not want Prozac, but if it was going to be what saved me, then so be it. Luckily, my PCP entered in time to save the day. I was already in tears at the idea of starting the new medicine. We had chosen Buspar because of its lower risk of side effects, but it was not working for me. Now, I had just been given a prescription for the mother of all side effects! My PCP took one look at me and canceled the Prozac prescription. She said 5 mg of Buspar does not work for a lot of people, but it is always best to start with a lower dose and work our way up. Instead of a new medicine, I just got a higher dose of what I was already on. This made me happy.

It took some experimenting, but I figured out what worked for me. I take a 10 mg tablet every evening at bedtime. At breakfast, I break a tablet in half and take 5 mg. My third dose is either a whole or half tablet depending on how my day is going. I have learned I handle 5 mg better during the day and always when taken with food. Most days, I skip the third dose completely.

Buspar has not been a miracle cure for my anxiety. I still have frequent meltdowns. I still struggle on a daily basis to cope with what has happened and continues to happen to me. It has helped ease some of the worst symptoms. Before medication, I would struggle with the daily motions of simply living. Now, for the most part, I can make it through daily tasks. I only tend to struggle when something has triggered me. For instance, I walked out of the grocery store this morning and it had turned into a sunny, brisk January day. It was perfect hiking weather. I sat in my car and sobbed through a full-blown anxiety attack. No amount of medicine will make me stop grieving for the loss of things I love doing.

I also broke down and let my PCP refer me to psychiatry. Unlike my previous experience, this go-round is turning out to be genuinely helpful. More details to come.