My back slid down the cold shower wall as a pool of water began to surround me. I screamed at the top of my lungs, grabbed the roots of my hair in tight fists and burst into tears.
Why me? I thought.
The night before, my psychiatrist had officially diagnosed me with Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) just a couple of months before my 27th birthday. To say this came as a complete shock would be an understatement.
Side note: Introducing MPlus. Extra, closer. Post continues below.
I started seeing my psychiatrist at the age of 16, after my parents became extremely concerned by my major depressive bouts, intense manic episodes and multiple self harm attempts.
After surviving years of trauma as a child, I had a lot to work through, with textbook signs of major depression paired with panic attacks and crippling anxiety.
If my parents didn’t force me into that initial consultation room, I don’t think I would be here today.
Ever since, I have worked alongside my psychiatrist to build mental resilience and develop coping strategies.
Throughout this time, my psychiatrist has helped me navigate some of the most difficult times of my life.
My psychiatrist supported me when I was admitted to a mental health ward during my first year of university and helped me work through the trauma of finding out my mum died after a long battle with alcoholism, just a few days after being discharged.
Over the years I’d graduated university, built a career in a different city and settled down with an amazing partner while continuing to work alongside my psychiatrist.
But every regular Zoom catch up started the same way.
"How are things?" my psychiatrist would ask.
"Life is great, but I can’t seem to shake this constant heavy feeling in my chest," I'd say.