Speaking Out

It's not a secret. I've been on an antidepressant for over a year. And my life has improved vastly.

I am happier, more self confident and I can handle disappointment much better than I ever have in the past.

Well last week, I ran out of my current meds and the pharmacy had not received a new prescription from my doctor. I tried to fill it over the weekend because I noticed I was on edge and went home empty handed. At home, my temper became shorter and shorter. My husband and I started to bicker over laundry and argument that went South fast. By Saturday night, on the eve of my thirty-seventh birthday I was wide awake at two am and feeling like crap.

I was so sad and angsty and I felt completely worthless. I was sitting on the couch watching some old movie and thinking about what a horrible person I am and how I don't deserve my children and how my husband would be better off without me and how everyone hates me and how I am all alone and deserve to be alone.

I felt so bad.

And it was weird because I know it's NOT TRUE!! But I couldn't help feeling it.

Fortunately, I had a stash of some old Prozac in my medicine cabinet. I took some and by morning the angst was gone. No really. It disappeared.
That is the power of serotonin.
It's all about the serotonin and my inability to naturally produce normal mounts of it.

This experience has been eye-opening.

I am mentally ill. I have a mental illness. I have real live clinical depression. I do.

It is very weird to realize the effect one little chemical can have on your brain. That one little chemical or the lack thereof can reduce me to a sniveling pile of goo in just a few short days.

But you know what's even worse. The fact that the feelings I was enduring that Saturday night. That used to be my normal. From the age of twelve to the age of thirty-five. That angst. That sadness. The nervousness. The insomnia. I felt it every single day for years and years.

Thirteen years of feeling like hell and fighting it. Man! What was I thinking?

I'll tell you what I was thinking. That it was shameful to take an antidepressant. That if I just tried harder I would feel better. That I somehow deserved to feel like crap most every day. I didn't know any better. And I didn't really think that a drug could help me so much. You know?

Crazy huh?

All I can say is thank goodness I found my biological family and found out I wasn't alone in this. Thank goodness I found a doctor who listened and helped me find the medicine that worked for my brain. Thank goodness I finally came to my senses and realized there might be something that would help me after all these years of fighting depression and hating myself.

It is hard to admit that a big chunk of who I am is part of a chemical reaction. That is humbling. But I am not ashamed or embarrassed that I found help in a bottle of pills.

Since starting on anti-depressants I have become a better wife, a better mom and a better friend. Heck, I was feeling so good after starting the meds, I decided to run a marathon and raise money to fight cancer. That is big. It's huge.
And I'm running another one. It's amazing!

There is a part of me that wishes I didn't need them. that I could be happy and ok without them, but my brain needs them. Thank goodness they exist.

I Think the Only Person Who Reads Here Anymore is My Mom

And that is ok. I actually like it that way.
I have to tell this story though in case someday I forget it. My mom has already heard it though. Bear with me Mom.

Riley being the younger brother, wears a lot of hand-me-downs. He even has hand-me-down underwear. Ewwww!

But he likes it really. In fact on the rare occasions that I buy him new clothes, he tells me he can't wear them because they make him look too handsome.

Seriously. He'll put something on that is brand new, take a look in the mirror then shake his head pull it off and grab for the ratty old Spiderman shirt in the bottom of the drawer.

Too handsome.

Doesn't that just beat it all?