I write this blog for a variety of reasons, and what I choose to or not to write…I also choose for a variety of reasons.

Sometimes I write things just for the sake of remembering them.

Sometimes I write so I can analyze my thoughts.

Sometimes I write, hoping for input.

Sometimes I write just to know I’m not alone.

Sometimes I write so others know that they are not alone.

Sometimes I just need to get things out of my head.

Sometimes I write so family and friends can “keep up” with our lives easily.

Sometimes…I just write.

And, sometimes…I wish I didn’t.  Sometimes, I wish I could just go back to a diary or journal of sorts that is hidden from the eyes of the world because sometimes it’s easier for nobody to know than everyone to know but only a few care out loud.

Sometimes, I wonder if it’d be better just to keep my mouth shut and smile, no matter how I feel inside – but, I know deep down that that won’t really work.  This is generally the one place where I really open up (unless probed with questions), most of my life is a string of jokes and smiles…regardless.

I’m trying incredibly hard to claw out of this deep hole I’ve found myself in.  After a long talk with my doctor and friend, we decided to add another medication to the daily arsenal.  Hopefully, I’ll notice improvement soon.  Many days, I feel so lost and over the last few days, things got much worse.  Terrifying thoughts haunted my mind, thoughts meant to destroy me and everything I could ever want.  I began using some of my time trying to find ways to escape the darkness, to find peace… to be released.

I know that I have to be honest about where I am and the battles I’m facing – because, I know I can’t do this alone.

I write so much on this blog, but it’s really a Catch 22 for me.  It’s HARD for me to not immediately push DELETE on the touchy posts.  It’s HARD for me to share with people that won’t be sharing back in most cases.  I’m ASHAMED of the feelings I feel, of the darkness that cloaks my mind.  I know I have a wonderful little family and friends and despite the recent happenings in our life, we have still been incredibly blessed.  But, the depression doesn’t care.  I know a lot of people don’t really understand depression, so let me try to explain it for you.  (And if this is how you feel, call a doctor…or message me)

Depression isn’t just a bad mood.  It doesn’t just get fixed with flowers or a funny joke.  Those things help, but those that are depressed fight MOMENT BY MOMENT.

Sometimes, depression can be healed by medicine, prayer, therapy or a combination of those.

Not all depressed people look “dirty” or like they don’t take care of their appearances.  Textbooks give that as a warning sign, but I can wear makeup and dress up and smile and still be fighting on the inside.  In fact, some of us will and have laughed even on our deathbeds.  Some of us make jokes, it’s what we do.

Depression isn’t one of those even paths where a person’s emotional state doesn’t change from one hour to the next.  For some, it comes in lulls from bad to worse, depending on a variety of circumstances.

Depression is like being trapped…

The best way I know to describe it is being trapped underwater in the deepest darkest parts of the sea where there is no light and you feel alone and scared…and alone.  Occasionally you’ll see a glimpse of something, and think it’s the light and surface, but it’s only a bubble.

Imagine the pain of someone close to you dying and feeling that…every moment of every day times 10.

Depression isn’t so much logical and people can’t just decide to be happy at this point.

We need moment-by-moment reminders that people do love us and will stand by us and little “happy things.”  We need to talk, to vent, to hug, to be loved.  Mostly, what we need to know from our friends and family is that they’ll hold our hands as we try to swim back to the surface, even if it takes us a while to find our way.  We need to know they’re beside us, not just looking down and waiting for us to drown.

Welcome back!

These last couple of posts have been difficult for me.  I procrastinate, putting them off, hoping I’ll feel better the next day and therefore have no need to write them.  Then, I realize I don’t…and won’t.  This is real.  Too real.

In May of this year, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.  And… I felt great.  I was happy.  With Lala, I had some postpartum depression, but this time…I was doing great!  The doctors warned me that it may come and they kept trying to comfort me about a condition I was sure I didn’t have.  So, I smiled and willed them to just go away so I could smile and coo at my new baby and goofy toddler.

Slowly, the “bad” days seemed to grow more frequent.  I assured myself it was simply me becoming acquainted to being a mom of 2 and dealing with being without job and some of the other issues we have been facing.  I figured it was normal.  –Until the bad days began to slowly get more intense, making me want to be alone and not all at once.  I knew the signs but have fought this before and was so confident that it was no big deal.  And, it wasn’t, really.  I’d just have to determine each day that I would be happy.  I had to fill my day with little things that would make me happy (a piece of cake, a fun activity, crafting, helping others…) and I had to keep shoving myself out into public just to keep myself from being alone on the bad days.  It was manageable, I knew how to do this.  And, before I knew it, I was having a string of good days again.

But…then, we lost our insurance.

I understand that a lot of people live their lives without insurance.  Or, 20% of Americans do (so they say).  I know that a lot of people do it and they do it with happy hearts.  Kudos to them.  For me…it means I’m failing my family.  It means I’m not taking care of the two little girls God placed in our care.  It means that the medical debt we just paid off is going to grow again and we are no longer slowly climbing the long hill out of debt but rather, sliding fast back in.  It means that I can’t get the pain relief I need.  It means another bit of security has been ripped from my life.

So, this one thing sent me spiraling.  Spiraling, quickly…and too close.  Too close to bottom.  I’ve been to the bottom before…the place where you begin looking for an OUT.  The place where logic no longer reaches you and you just want it to be over.  Because, you’re done.  You’re tired of being in pain, the pain on the outside sears your brain and the pain you feel inside shreds your heart into tiny pieces and you feel like you’re drowning and nobody can save you.

It’s really hard for me to admit that.  It’s even harder for me to take a pill to make me “happy.”  But, I know this disease all too well.  I know the cycles, I know how it affects me, and I know how it ends.  I know how illogical I become and I know that I can’t get out alone – alive – without some help.  So, I’m taking the help I get.  Right now, this help comes in the form of a tiny pill that I can’t really tell if it’s working or not, yet.

It’s hard for me to grasp that I could be having post-partum depression FIVE MONTHS after my baby was born…but, I guess I’ve had it for a while…just mild and manageable until recently.

I went from a daily struggle to be happy to a moment-by-moment basis.  And, quite frankly…it’s kicking my ass.  Suddenly, I don’t have the options to put myself in therapy or try out a string of medication…because now…I can’t afford them.  This one just happened to be on the $4 list at Walmart.  I will myself to be happy.  I throw myself into public situations while my entire being protests.  It’s like there are two parts of me – the logical part that’s just trying to not disappear, screaming that I don’t need to be alone…and then the rest of me…that just wants to find a closet to lay down in.

Somedays, I think I’m too good at pretending for my own good – fighting with all my might to survive while I pretend to be JUST FINE with smiles and laughter to hide what I feel.

So, why am I telling you…the world…then?  Because I have to.  Because I need to write it down.  Because no matter how much I want to NOT feel pathetic and weak for feeling this way, I do.  Because no matter how much I don’t want you to know how pathetic and weak I feel that I am, I need you to know.

I’m fighting a tricky battle – one more deadly and filled with terror than any that could be fought with swords or guns because this battle lies within and surely a part of me must lose to win.