Being ignorant about how it all worked, and certainly a bit in denial, I assumed I was getting better, so I stayed on the medication for a year. My doctor finally noticed that the medication wasn't working when she realized I had become focused on suicide.

By this time, the end of my first year of treatment, I was constantly sad for no obvious reason; I was regularly lethargic; I had become socially withdrawn and isolated, even a bit socially phobic—I would no longer answer the phone or go to social gatherings; I was unable to concentrate; My moods would fluctuate from irritable to normal to sobbing uncontrollably; I felt empty inside, like nobody loved me; And my self-esteem and self-worth were at an all-time low.

Needless to say, my doctor began to try different medications—one at a time. Nothing worked. My doctor labeled me as “medication resistant.”

By the middle of my second year of treatment, I had switched doctors for another opinion, still had all the above-mentioned symptoms, but now things had gotten worse. I was no longer able to work. I was sleeping an average of 18 hours a day. I had constant suicidal thoughts. And my body was physically deteriorating: my gums were bleeding, my hair became coarse and wiry, I had aches and pains all over, and I caught every virus and flu that came to town.

During my second, third and fourth years of treatment, my doctor continued to try over 15 medications, and combinations of medications. As if the depression wasn't enough, the medication side effects made it all worse. One made me gain twenty-four pounds in three weeks. One slurred my speech. One blurred my vision. One caused my hair to thin. One made me dizzy. One gave me stomach cramps. One made my teeth numb. One made my hands shake. One kept me up all night while. One made me even sleepier all day. And one made my muscles twitch so violently that I sometimes kicked and punched my wife, Melissa, while sleeping.

By the beginning of my fifth year of treatment, we ran out of medications to try. So my doctor decided to try electroconvulsive therapy (ECT)—shock treatments. I was in total agreement with this course of action because I was beginning to lose hope that I would ever get better.

My electroconvulsive therapy doctor said I should feel a difference in only a few shock treatments. When those didn't work, he suggested it might take seven or eight. By my fourteenth treatment, I was beginning to lose hope that it would work at all. It had been six weeks of treatments, and I was still considering taking my life. I switched doctors again to get another opinion. The new doctor concurred with my past course of treatment but continued with a more vigorous form of ECT—shocking both sides of my brain instead of just one side.

After a total of 21 shock treatments, I was experiencing serious, although temporary memory loss. I got lost driving in areas in which I had grown up. I was forgetting the names of people I knew. I got lost taking a walk in my neighborhood. I forgot simple things like how I took my coffee or what foods I liked or hated. The final kicker was when Melissa found me standing behind her in the living room while she was vacuuming. I was standing there in a zombie-like state, not knowing quite where I was or where I was going. Since my depression still showed no improvement at this point, my doctor, wife and I decided to stop the ECT.

This was a critical point in my life. With the constant thoughts of suicide pounding in my head, it was vital to remain hopeful. Yet I had run out of new treatments to try. This was one of the lowest points in my life. I was losing hope that I’d ever get better. But life can be that way—just when you’re ready to quit, the solution to your problem is right around the corner. I’m so grateful I found it in my heart to continue my search toward finding a treatment that would end my suffering and save my life.

Two months later, I discovered a treatment that finally lifted my depression.

I woke up to a gorgeous, sunny day. I know it might sound silly, but for the first time in five years, I noticed the sound of the birds singing. I enjoyed the smell of the coffee brewing in the kitchen. And I bolted out of bed, excited to be going to a wedding that day—an event that required a lot of socializing. Although Melissa had previously planned to go alone, I now went with her and we partied all day and night.

After five challenging years, the depression had lifted. Within two months, I was back to work again for the first time in four years, and so alert and focused that I was handling multi-million dollar cases as a private investigator for prestigious law firms. I was happy, sociable and optimistic. My entire life had changed from darkness to light.  

That was September 17th, 1994. This September 17th, 2007 is my 13th-year anniversary of being free from my depression.

Today, I give lectures and seminars on beating depression all over the country; I am a ghostwriter writing books for influential and inspiring people (BobOlson.com); and I am the Chief Editor for OfSpirit.com Magazine, a body-mind-spirit website with over 2000 pages of articles and resources (OfSpirit.com). Don’t ask me where I find the time and energy for all this. I’m just so grateful that I no longer deal with depression so that I can accomplish all that I do.

I must give my wife, Melissa, credit and gratitude for sticking by me all those years. Too many spouses split along this difficult road. But Melissa was my rock. She is the personification of what it means to be a supporter. She was there for me when I needed a shoulder to cry on (even at two o’clock in the morning), a clear mind to help me fill out medical forms, a coach to encourage me to endure medication side effects, as well as get out of bed or out of the house, and she took over the roles of chief bread winner, main chore doer and lone family party attendee.

So that is my story, or at least the condensed version of it. And while I know there are many people who have suffered more than me, and others who will suffer more mildly, I tell my story to inspire others to seek help and never give up in their struggle to find a treatment that works for them. It’s why I wrote my first book, and it’s why I have now gone one step further to teach the secrets & strategies that depression sufferers absolutely must know—information that just can’t be found elsewhere.

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