Sigh… Ugh. Why did I decide to talk about this? I hate talking about this.
Okay, here we go.
I have depression. I was diagnosed in January 2014 with depression. So before you roll your eyes thinking I’m another attention seeking blogger desperate to be noticed, you would be right however, I have been professionally diagnosed as having Clinical Depression. Let’s get the questions out of the way.
Are you suicidal? No, not at this very moment.
Have you ever… you know….? Have I ever tried to kill myself? Yes. Yes, I have. A total of three times to be precise.
How did you try it? I rather not say, mainly because I don’t want someone to leave my name in their note as the source.
Was it over an ex? Yes and no. Does that in anyway change how I was feeling at the time? Nope.
Do you still think about it? I’d be lying if I said no. Some days are better than others.
Do you think you’ll ever try again? I don’t plan on it. I’m trying my hardest not to.
Depression and I have had a long history. I grew up in a not so emotionally stable house but started to get an inkling of what was happening when I was 14. My parents (Mom and Adoptive father) were in and out of therapy for about 80% of their 17-year marriage. It wasn’t until I was almost 18 that I learned that my maternal Grandmother had suffered from depression and as I later learned, depression can be genetic as well as brought on by other environmental factors. By the time I saw a therapist at 25, I had a department store of baggage.
- Abandoned by birth father (which I did not discover was a thing until I was 8 and my Adoptive father’s mother told me.)
- Raised by a father with an alcohol addiction
- Violent childhood
- Divorce of parents (long awaited)
- Abusive first marriage
- Recovering from a bit of a drug habit (more on that later)
- Deadbeat baby daddy
- Not so positive relationship with my mother
Baggage, baggage, BAGGGGGGAAAAAGGGGGEEEEE.
It was nice to sit down with someone and just unleashed. I broke down the second I got in that seat. I had been raised not to put your business out in public to anyone. So I was holding on to a lot. By the time I had reached therapy I had felt like I had carried the weight of my family on my shoulders forever. I was the family champion. I was strong. I was the sane one. I held down the proverbial fort. I am Meg. Hear me roar.
I am Meg. I need help.
I saw my therapist for three months before he switched practices and was no longer accepting my insurance. The last I heard from him was a call saying that he would call me later and give me his new office info. That was two years ago. I got dumped by my therapist. Talk about having abandonment issues.
Fast forward two years. I’m married. I have doubled the amount of children I have. I’m still, or should I say am once again, unemployed. How am I handling my depression?
[Insert loud shrieking cries of a mad woman]
I’m “handling” it. Like I said before, some days are better than others. Today, not so great. I’m currently dealing with a lot on my plate. Between two crazy kids and trying desperately to get a small Etsy shop to the point where I can tell people I’m starting one without being embarrassed because there is NO progress whatsoever (Oh sewing machine wherefore art thou?), I have a lot on my plate especially because I think I might possibly be diabetic…AGAIN.
Again, you question? Yes, again. While pregnant with Miniman, I had gestational diabetes which can rear its ugly head for 40% of women after giving birth but it evolves like some evil insulin hating Pokemon and becomes Type 2 Diabetes and I am currently awaiting results of my blood test.
Today was a banner day. Ida, in all her preschooler glory and after being told to do otherwise, turned her play table upside down and Maurice fell on it.He could have lost an eye. Fifteen minutes later, the same injured child, managed to get a hold of a butterknife and almost lost an eye. No exaggeration. He now has a lump by his eye. Now when things like this happen, my depression looks at it like a 90% off sale at its favorite store. Here are some examples:
- “You’re a horrible mother.”
- “Your children should be taken away.”
- “How can one person possibly fail so much at life?”
- “Your children are better off without you.”
- “Your husband is better off without you.”
- “Your husband wants someone else.”
- “You know he regrets marrying you. He could have been with someone else.”
- “You will die completely alone.”
- “You’re only going to end up hurting everyone.”
And my all time favorite:
“You’re not good enough and you never will be.”
^That one is the kicker. It’s the one I hear the most. I could be cleaning or watching paint dry. Sometimes it screams at me when I’m dead asleep. It knows just when to hit me so it will cause enough damage. It’s tiring. It’s haunting. It’s a liar.
My life is far, far, faaaaaaaarrrrrrrr from prefect right now. Yet, somehow I have matured enough to be able to say that I’m worth it and I’m going to be okay. In the next blog I’ll share some of my techniques to cope.
I’m Meg. I’m not good enough and I never will be but that’s okay because I’m still trying to become my best. I’m still going and you will too because we are way too stubborn to give up.