This is my own story. Take it for what it's worth. Take what you like and leave the rest. Your mileage may and most likely will vary.
I was sexually abused by a neighbor who was a man of about 30 when I was only 4 years old. From the time I was 4 I remember having such vivid sexual memory and visions that could only come from having a sexual experience. I could never integrate the images and I never knew their meaning. It made me an easy target as I grew up for more sexual predators closer to my age...
I always "knew" there was something "different" about me. I didn't think or play like other children. I never really felt part of any particular group. Much of the time I was zoned out in my own fantasy world. Oh there were times where I played with the other kids and joined in the fun. But generally I remember always feeling separate and alone in my own world.
Yes, my Father spanked me with a belt, which I have come to realize is physical child abuse. I spent most of my childhood being terribly afraid of him and the jingling of his belt. I would often wish he would die on the way home from work so I'd never have to see him again.
My Mother reports that there were times where I'd start to get dressed, getting ready for school, and she'd come into my room only to find me staring off into space with one leg in a pair of underwear sitting on my bed. I remember ALWAYS hating mornings. Often my brother would have to hold the bus for me while I scrambled to get the last of my clothes on and my book bag to get out to the bus.
I remember being absolutely so miserable at times that I actually got sick quite a bit as a child. I had pneumonia 4 winters in a row. Yes, my parents smoked all the time around us so that might have had something to do with it.
As I grew into adolescence I remember feeling like there was a dark pit opening before me that I couldn't avoid. That pit was despair. I hated myself. I felt weird, out of place in this world, and I didn't know how to change it. I saw school counselors who were only mildly helpful at best or completely incompetent at the worst.
During college I remember at least two distinct periods where I would have terrible insomnia and I'd wander the campus in the dark at odd hours wishing I were dead. Somehow I always managed to be functional enough to finish school assignments and I received a bachelors and moved onto seminary because that is where I thought I belonged.
I always felt better praying and doing ritual. Doing ritual with others made me feel better at times, enough that I was willing to deny my sexuality in order to become a priest in a religion I didn't really completely believe in even then...
When I was in seminary, a spiritual director sent me to my first psychotherapist. He was fantastic. He helped me to realize many things about myself and started me on a healing journey. After leaving seminary I found other therapists and I continued therapy. It was good for me and I was making some progress.
However, I had some more issues to deal with. I entered 12-Step work through Al-Anon after my grandfather shot himself in the head while my Mom (his daughter) was on her way with my Dad to visit him. My Mom found her own father in his house dead with a torn up note in a garbage can. My grandfather had been sober in AA for seven years. He never got treatment for his depression. I was so angry at him.
Also at the same time my brother was drinking and driving. There was no one in the family who would acknowledge that my brother was becoming an alcoholic in a big way (drinking every day). I'd find empty beer cans behind book shelves and under couches, enough for many cases whenever I'd care to look.
I got into Al-Anon because I thought the problem was my grandfather and my brother. I found out that the problem was me. I worked on myself and worked the 12-Steps going to as many as 5 meetings per week. And I discovered that I had an addiction myself. I spent an inordinate amount of time in adult bookstores, bath houses, parks, lakeshore at night, back rooms at bars, adult theaters, alleys, rooftops, public bathrooms, etc., pursuing and having sex. And I found that I was obsessed with sex and that I couldn't turn the images off at all. It took over my life. I was drained all the time and I lived at least two lives. One life I let my family and friends know about and I was this mild-mannered and principled person. The other life was completely devoted to the pursuit of and the procurement of and the acts of sex.
I couldn't sustain it. I ended up in 12-Step recovery for sexual compulsion. I worked the 12-Steps around sexual compulsion for years before I found anything like sobriety. And no, sobriety in sexual recovery is not abstinence. It's about learning my own authentic sexuality and living it out. It's about being a whole and healthy sexual being. That wasn't me before recovery.
Well, after about ten years of therapy and 6 years of 12-step work I found I was still wanting to die periodically and I'd have weeks and weeks where I didn't leave my bed except for meetings and psychotherapy. It got so bad that I had no job, I was starting to go into debt, I couldn't leave my apartment except for therapy and meetings, and I had no motivation to change anything. I did pray. I meditated. I was writing in journals. I was doing 12-step work. I was doing as much work as possible to silence my ego (because in 12-Step Ego means "edging God out"). I was at the core of who I am and I found that I was depressed to the core.
My psychotherapist at the time, who was very anti-medication, suggested, or rather demanded that I go to see a doctor, if not for medication, at least for a check-up in case I was having some sort of physical illness that was causing my depression.
My doctor had recommended that I take anti-depressants a year before that but I told him that I wouldn't because I had it covered. I was in recovery, I went to psychotherapy, I meditated, I prayed, I exercised, I ate well, I didn't use caffeine anymore, and I had quit smoking years ago. I was clean... Boy was I wrong...
When I came to see him after the psychotherapist sent me, he didn't gloat. He didn't say, "See I was right." He smiled and we had a great conversation about the medical side of depression. He prescribed Effexor XR.
Three weeks on Effexor XR at the full therapeutic dose I woke up one morning and it was like a veil had lifted. I was awake and I wanted to be awake. I was alive and I wanted to be alive. No, I was not euphoric. No, all my problems weren't solved. Yet I finally saw the Sun and I had the motivation to start to put my life back together.
I did have anorgasmia. It's the side-effect Mr. Hardcock described above. I could stay hard for hours but I'd never cum. You know what? I didn't care. My depression was so bad and painful that I didn't care whether or not I ever had an orgasm again. The damn pills worked! I had never felt like I felt that morning. Once I finally made my way to a psychiatrist he evaluated me and explained to me that I had chronic depression and that I had recurring episodes most of my life. He agreed with me that perhaps without the medication I had never felt euthymic (the state of not being depressed or manic). He found me a more suitable mix of medication so that I could orgasm again. I began to enjoy sex again and masturbation, without the old obsession or compulsion.
Medication was the final piece in the puzzle that helped to push me over the edge into recovery from a lifetime of horrible depression. I still do most of the other things for my recovery like psychotherapy, meditation, prayer, writing in my journal, exercise, etc. I don't go to 12-Step meetings for now. I find I don't need them right now.
I've been on anti-depressants for over 8 years now. I've been mostly in remission with brief periods of relapse where my meds have had to be adjusted or changed. As far as any psychiatrist I've seen has told me and from what I know, I'll most likely be on medication for the balance of my life until something better comes along to take care of the neurotransmitter balance.
And the medication alone won't work. Medication works best with psychotherapy and all of the other things I do to stay in touch with my true self and to get my ego out of the way. It was my ego that kept me from taking medication because of the stigma associated with taking medication, because I felt that it meant that I was truly "sick in the head." I was too proud to seek medical help because I had my answers in self-help and psychotherapy. Well, I found out that I am also body as well as mind as well as soul as well as spirit. I have to seek answers for the whole of who I am in order to remain in remission. I have come to accept that this is the way it is. Do I like spending so much money on meds every month (copayments only seem to go up)? No, I don't. I will tell you that the alternative is far worse. I'll never go back to that dark pit I was in before I finally allowed myself the opportunity to be helped by my doctors.