Saturday, 8 February 2014

Pour your heart out-A double shot of depression

This post is an oldie, but a goodie....never be afraid to ask for help, if you feel like you need it!

I wondered if I would ever get this post out.  I wondered if I had the strength to write it out, and go back and remember the last 3 months.  But I got an overwhelming feeling today to do just that, so here I go.
The first time I got diagnosed with depression was when the girls were about 3 weeks old.  PPD.  
So when it happened again 3 weeks ago, it wasn't something I had never been through before.  But I felt like I should of seen it coming.  
Last year in June, I got the brilliant idea to get off my Lexapro.  At the time I thought it was the smart thing to do.  I didn't want to be on antidepressants my whole life. And coming off of them is just as bad as being depressed.  I thought I would be better off in the long run, and looked for natural cures.  I started taking Formula 303, and St. Johns Wart.  I was working out, taking care of myself, doing everything possible to make my head better.  For a while there, I felt okay.  It was summer, we were outside in the sun most days, I was hanging on and feeling pretty good, but not EVER how I felt when I was on them.  I wondered all the time if I should get back on it, but had convinced myself that it was not a good idea. I had a few terrible things happen to my spirit too....the death of my dog, and watching my Mom choose alcohol over me.  Those 2 events almost broke me, but I held on.
So fast forward to November of last year.  We had just found out we were moving.  Moving away from a house full of memories of my little girls. After dealing with infertility for 6 years, we finally brought home our babies.  So many memories in my head...first words, first steps. It was all just so overwhelming, and I wasn't ready to let go.
But I packed.  And I cried.  I cried every single day.  Not just here and there, every day.  I cried because I was scared, I cried because I was happy, I cried because I couldn't do anything else but cry.  We were moving in to a house that was almost perfect for us.  It had everything we were looking for, and a little more.  I was happy, but I was so scared to let go and move on.  I wanted to, but another part of me said no. 

See, I don't handle change well.  If my curtains change, it takes me weeks to be okay with it.  I don't know what it is, I just don't do well with it.  Little things like curtains I can deal with though....big things, life changing things, well it's a bit harder for me to adjust.

It got worse, but I wouldn't admit I needed help.  I swore I was okay, and pushed on daily.  Then we moved 2 weeks before Christmas and things just got really, really bad.  December and the beginning of January were the 2 worst months Ive had since bringing the girls home from the hospital.  I was so depressed, it was not even funny.  I was never happy, I never smiled, I was mean to my family, I was not motivated to do anything.  I cried every single day of my life.  I had it in my head I was not going to admit to being depressed.  I thought I could beat it, I thought I would eventually feel better.
That feeling better never came.  I didn't want to live.  I never thought about killing myself, but I thought about how much happier I would be if I wasn't living...if that made sense. Then one night, I was laying on the couch, physically unable to move.  I hurt.  My body ached, my heart ached...and my husband was holding my hand while I cried just looking at me...wanting to help me, but knowing he couldn't.  I didn't want to play with my kids, or be around anyone.  The thought of waking up in the morning, and just taking care of my children was enough to make me cry.  I didn't enjoy anything anymore.
 
The next day, I called my doctor. He diagnosed me again, and put me back on Zoloft. 

I think the move put me over the edge.  Just like when I brought 2 little babies home from the hospital, we moved our of a house we built the first 10 years of our life in.  Big changes, and I couldn't handle it just like I couldn't before.  And add that in with the stress of the holidays, and a trip to the ER on Christmas morning with one of my daughters....well, I couldn't take it anymore.
I guess I have not beaten depression.  I am not ever going to be off of Zoloft, and I think I'm okay with that.
  After 5 days of being back on it, I felt better.  I felt like I was getting myself back. And now, it's been almost a month and I wonder why it took me this long to realize it.  Why did I let myself hit rock bottom before I got help?  I have told so many people not to be embarrassed about depression, and that's what I was....I felt embarrassed, I felt weak, I felt like a bad Mother, and a bad wife.  But I know now, I felt like that because I was sick and needed help.

I'm doing good.  I feel great really.  I love life again.  I love everything about waking up in the morning.  I don't worry so much.  I don't obsess over things I can't change. I don't get anxious when I go out in public.
I love my new house.  I love everything about it.

I think a lot of people think you can cure depression by changing the way you live.  I don't think you can cure it by just doing that.  I think depression is a chemical imbalance in your brain, and some people, like myself, have that imbalance and need medication to make it balance.  There are plenty of people that take medication daily for other things besides depression, but yet our society makes people like myself feel bad for having to do that.
Why?
  I'm finally at a place where I can talk about this and not feel bad for taking my Zoloft before I go to bed.  
I never should of been....




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