Living the Sertraline Dream
July is National Minority Mental Health Awareness Month (seriously, I found out earlier this month). We need a whole month dedicated to reminding certain specific demographics that they too, in fact, need to work on maintaining the health of their noggin.
I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder and depression at age 27. Being a ‘type A’ perfectionist meant that the diagnosis made me feel like a failure as a human. One of the things that separate us from “wild animals” is our awareness of self, our ability to think in terms of our place in the universe. Having anxiety meant that I couldn’t even do that right. Having anxiety was giving me anxiety about having anxiety (lol).
Despite all of the work that awaited me, I was grateful to have an answer finally… sort of. At the time, the first thing I wanted to do was figure out why – what made me spaz out whenever I got overwhelmed, manifesting in anger or complete isolation. The more I continue this journey (mental health maintenance is ongoing), the more I realize that 1) the cause doesn’t matter, what matters is that you take care of yourself, and 2) there isn’t just one cause, especially not in this digital world.
In my case, it probably has to do with some genetics, mixed with divorced parents, migrating to a new country, a couple of cases of bullying, and watching novelas since birth sprinkled on top. I definitely remember when it began manifesting physically. I was in third grade, waiting in the haunted house line at my school’s Halloween carnival. I had just found out what Halloween was three months prior when we migrated from Venezuela. My dad got the moment my eye started uncontrollably twitching on video. Headaches and migraines eventually accompanied the twitching. My doctor had me go in for a CAT scan – those are not fun at any age, especially not at 7. The diagnosis: child stress. What kind of bogus condition is that?! I remember my dad brushed it off, they might as well have told him I was 100% healthy – anything wrong with your head was self-induced, and you could snap out of it. This is a dude who would yell at me to stop crying – “crying never solves anything!” or the very endearing, “stop crying, or I’ll rip your head off”!
Not a single doctor caught on to my mental distress. I was a straight-A kid, and didn’t bother anybody… nothing to see here. After puberty, the anxiety started manifesting as anger, and at one point, my mom thought maybe something wasn’t normal. She took me in to see my pediatrician – nothing to see here, yet again. I remember the doctor asked me if I ever felt like hurting myself (which I hadn’t until she mentioned it!). I wish I could have told her, “look, lady, that won’t be my go-to til my late teens, focus on me feeling (un)safe now.”
Fast-forward to age 17 and starting my first semester at college. Whoa, Nelly - Talk about jumping in at the deep end! My family moved to Texas, so I was excitedly left in Florida to fend for my anxious self. Back then, my anxiety and depression were dancing the flamenco, stomping on my life. I coped by not coping (see Alcoholic Alchemy). I dragged on for the next ten years, emotionally and mentally barely scraping by, hurting myself and loved ones along the way. I was finally asked the right questions, diagnosed, and prescribed Sertraline (Zoloft), started going to a counselor and actually made an effort to keep my mind healthy. I was also prescribed some other pills that I choose not to take (more on that in a later article). Per the Mayo Clinic, Sertraline is used to treat depression, obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), panic disorder, premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD), posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and social anxiety disorder (SAD). It allows me to be more grounded and self-aware, which in turn make me a better person (being a better person is one of my personal goals in life).
One of the reasons I think it took so long for me to get the help I needed was what I’m terming cultural denial. Cultural denial is the added stigmatization of mental health in minority communities. Some Latinos view mental illness as a sign of weakness. Others think it’s a personal issue to be kept quiet. Others fear being labeled “loco.” Schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and similar severe mental illnesses are especially stigmatizing — labeled “locura” (Spanish for “craziness”) by many Latinos. More common disorders, such as depression and anxiety, are regarded as merely “nervios” (“nervousness”) and perceived as short-term, easier to treat, and not requiring medication.
As a community, Latinos are less likely to seek mental health treatment. A 2001 Surgeon General’s report found that only 20% of Latinos with symptoms of a psychological disorder talk to a doctor about their concerns. Only 10% contact a mental health specialist. According to the U.S. Department of Health & Human Services, in 2014, Non-Hispanic whites received mental health treatment two times more often than Hispanics. Without treatment, certain mental health conditions can worsen and become disabling. This occurs to the point that self-medicating with alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, etc. seems like a more feasible mental health help alternative – at least you’re “normal,” right?!
Speaking from my personal experience (I’m sure there are other Latinos out there who might have a different narrative, and other cultures also face similar issues when it comes to mental health, but this is what I’ve lived), growing up, mental health was black or white – you were either a crazy that belonged in “el manicomio” or on the streets, or you were not, no in-between. This meant that speaking up was not an obvious solution. I think that subconsciously I fought to not give in to admitting something was not “normal.” It took me reaching an emotional rock bottom, filled with vices and voices, to finally tell my doctor that although I feel ok this instant, it didn’t mean I would be tomorrow, or in 10 minutes. Normal life stressors affect me in ways that manifest themselves as mental and physical distress.
Common mental health disorders among Latinos are generalized anxiety disorder, major depression, posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and alcoholism. Additionally, suicide attempts for Hispanic girls, grades 9-12, were 50% higher than for White girls in the same age group, in 2015. While Latino communities show similar susceptibility to mental illness as the general population, unfortunately, we experience disparities in access to treatment and in the quality of treatment we receive. This inequality puts us at a higher risk for more severe and persistent forms of mental health conditions.
Love yourself enough to go get help. If you don't have insurance, or it doesn't cover all of it, take out a card/ borrow money/save up til you have enough for a 6-month-run of therapy sessions - just do what you gotta do to go get that diagnostic meeting with a counselor and the professional guidance you need. If you are skeptical by the "Man"-run clinics, go to a spiritual healer, or someone with reputable experience that can help you get started on your journey. All I'm saying is, you are the only obstacle in your way to healing and wellness.
Getting help is the first step to “happiness,” but I have learned that true happiness does not have an on and off setting. You can’t just take a happy pill and turn the light on. Happiness is more of a filter, a lens. It is practiced and experienced. It’s part of the ebb and flow of life, and we live our lives working on it (it makes life way better if you ask me). We’re all working on getting a handle of the happiness lens. We just have to make sure we're honest with ourselves or the lens will never reflect our true reality.
