The "D" Word

Depression.  It’s a battle.  I don’t talk about it, ever.  With the exception of referencing “my meds”.  I don’t like to talk about it.  I’ve never discussed it with my family; not even Ben really.  Quite frankly, I’m ashamed to admit that I suffer from it.

Whether I’ve always suffered from a mild case or not, I’m not sure.  I just know it was exacerbated when I gave birth to my first baby.  But even then I had no idea what the heck was going on and why I felt the way I did.  I’ve always been a moody individual.  I’ve always had a temper.  I’ve always been what most refer to as “a bitch”.  (That’s the description of me that I struggle with the most.)  But I just assumed that that’s who I was, and that adding a child to my life unexpectedly at 19 just brought out my moodiness more.

After Russell was born it was pretty bad.  I pushed people away; people who were once a huge part of our lives.  I isolated myself.  I came pretty dang close to pushing Ben away but I knew that if he went, he would take my baby with him.  That was the breaking point where I knew I needed help.  So I went to a counselor; we talked about some things.  I started taking my meds.  And things got much better.  No it’s not anywhere as simple as those few sentences make it sound.  But that’s it in a nutshell.

I’ve struggled off and on since that time.  I feel so much better when taking my meds that I tell myself I’ll be fine without them.  That’s the dumbest logic ever.  But I would stop taking them, and things would crash.  I’d start back on them again and things would be back where they should.  It’s been a roller coaster the whole time. 

With Baby Girl on the way, I once again weaned off my meds because SSRI’s are generally considered not safe during pregnancy.  Yes, you can take them (always consult with your doctor), but I chose not to.  And it’s been hella hard this time around.  As I discovered, exercise does help keep my mood more stable.  But unfortunately, not always.  And I’ve decided it’s time for me to face this crap head on rather than pretending it doesn’t exist, or skirting around it and saying “I’m just tired”, or “I’m in a bad mood”.  It’s neither of those, both of those, and so much more than those all at the same time.  I’m struggling with my depression. 

Some people may look at me and say “What the hell does she have to be depressed about?”  And I find myself asking the same thing.  I have a husband who loves me unconditionally (Thank God!), two healthy boys and a healthy girl on the way, two good jobs, a car, a house, and many other earthly pleasures.  I have my faith, my salvation.  And I have depression.  I didn’t choose it, and I’m struggling to control it.  And some days, yes, it makes life a living hell for me and everyone around me. 

It’s hard for people to understand it if they haven’t suffered from it themselves.  And I’m certainly not an expert on the matter, but if I were I would like to hope that I would be doing a better job managing mine.  But it is what it is.  I’m owning up to it.  I’m hoping I can learn to manage it better.  And I’m praying every day that NONE of my children suffer from depression.

And just for the record…Depression is the bitch, not me.

*Please excuse my use of ugly words.  I try to keep it clean when it’s in writing, but some days that just doesn’t cut it.