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I remember sitting anxiously in the doctor’s office wondering if I truly needed to be there. I had considered turning back several times on the drive there and I continued to question it as my two-year-old ran circles around and the baby cried no matter what I did to try and calm her. Was I really depressed? It could just be a change in hormones. Maybe I’m just going crazy. Oh, how I wished that were true. To be honest, I probably should have gone to a doctor several years before.
I never wanted to admit to anyone how I was feeling; sad, angry, happy, tired. I always just said that I was fine. Nothing was wrong. Nothing could be wrong, I had little ones counting on me. But as time went on, I found it becoming more difficult to get myself out of bed. It was harder to pretend that I was happy and that everything in my little world was just fine. I started getting frustrated with my husband. Little things he did just absolutely infuriated me. I began to pick fights with him over nothing. My kid’s crying drove me up a wall, I couldn’t stand it. I began to have panic attacks three or more times a day. And I was completely and utterly exhausted.
Depression is a finicky thing. It messes with your head. It makes you doubt yourself. You start to wonder if you’re doing the best that you can. Everyday tasks become these huge walls that you must hurdle yourself over. Remembering to brush your hair or to take a shower more than once a week became part of a list of things to not forget to do. It’s a struggle, battling yourself. I found myself falling further into this black hole when I discovered I was pregnant with my third child. I was working 60 hours a week and still struggling to support the two that I already had. I found myself wishing that I had never gotten pregnant. I considered adoption, but my husband was dead set against it. But at the same time, he never showed any interest in the pregnancy. Wouldn’t acknowledge that I was pregnant. I felt so alone, even though I was surrounded by family. And this is what brought my depression to my attention.
I hated my life. I was in pain, but no one could understand it, no one wanted to because I was just “sad.” How do you make someone listen who doesn’t want to and isn’t willing to accept that there is something majorly wrong?
My doctor prescribed an antidepressant that was supposed to help with anxiety, depression and anger. All the things that were happening to me. However, it’s made me feel like I’ve lost a part of myself. I am forgetting things more often, sometimes while I am doing them. This could be a part of the depression itself, I suppose. But, the anger. My lord, I’ve never been so angry in my life. There’re times that I just can not calm myself down.
This is a time in my life that I should be happy. I have three beautiful kids and I can hardly bring myself to get down and play with them. I want to. I want to be alright. I want to be able to enjoy my life and my family and I simply can’t.
If someone comes to you and wants to talk about how they have been feeling, let them. Lend them your ear and a kind word. You can make a difference in how they are feeling. Not everyone suffers depression in the same way. The brightly smiling lady in the next room drinking a glass of wine, could be majorly depressed. Ask a friend if they are doing okay. Let them know that you are there for them if they ever need to talk. You can make a difference.