The Hope Neuron

I finished my rTMS treatment. While reviewing the numbers with the doctor in charge, I learned that I had showed a response to the treatment. There are three possible outcomes for the rTMS on that basic level.

“No response” – meaning it didn’t work.

“Response” – it worked somewhat.

“Remission” – it worked so well that I am not showing signs of depression.

Knowing that it falls in between failing and succeeding is very little information. But what the doctor also showed me was the difference between my questionnaire results from the first time and the last time we met. My general score for depression had gone from about 18 down to 9, and my score for anxiety had gone from 15 to 7.

I feel like that specific comparison gives me something to feel good about. It’s a marked difference in my condition. As for my present state, I would say that it’s hard to tell how much difference this “response” is going to make in my day to day. I think I have more momentum than I used to have, and I’m hoping to be able to take that momentum and use it for some of the projects I’ve been intending to work on. Most of what I want to do is still in its infancy, but I believe in my potential and I am hopeful that I will continue to improve.

The trouble I am having right now is with my voice. I am striving to be positive in as many ways as I can… but I’m finding it hard to believe that my voice is worth sharing. Putting these thoughts on paper is not easy. Right now I am doing my best to write because I feel self-conscious about not posting anything. I wanted so much to start a blog project and somewhere along the line the wind went out of my sails.

I feel insufficient in many ways. Not smart enough, not funny enough, not interesting enough to be worth listening to. I feel like my words are just so much noise and that the world could do with more quiet.

Doesn’t sound like I got any better, does it? I still think I did. I think I’m having a rough week from external factors. And I have the expectation in the back of my mind that my voice, or the spark that makes it bright, will come back.