Dealing with it on my own...
This is the first time that I have ever tried to tell the whole story before. Most people who know me only have bits and pieces of my story, I guess. My depression story starts back about five years ago, after the birth of my son. I guess I had postpartum depression. That was what I was diagnosed with. All I do know is that I wasn't the happy new mother that I should have been. I hated my life then. I felt no connection with my son. I didn't want to take care of him. It was awful.
When I called my doctor, I was put on several different meds at different times. I can't even remember what they were now. All I know is that I hated being on them. It was like even though I didn't want to take care of my son, I did it, because it was what I was supposed to do. But when I was medicated, I was living in a fog that never lifted so I felt out of control. I just wanted to sleep all the time. I had trouble finding the right kind of medicine. After trying again to get in touch with my doctor about switching meds, getting retested, etc. I never got a call back. So I just gave up and dealt with it on my own. I threw away my medicine and just focused on my fiance, my son, and my job.
Well, things got really worse after that when my fiance broke up with me. We had a very volatile relationship for the six months or so. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to be with me, get married, anything. I moved in and out of our house three times during that period. We went to couples counseling which helped for me, but he didn't like it. It wasn't until I got my own apartment that he realized that I was done and got his act together. We have been together ever since then.
It wasn't long after that when I discovered I was pregnant again. We got married when I was three months along. This pregnancy was worse though. The mood swings. I would cry all the time. My husband had suspicions that this baby wasn't his and no matter how many times I told him the opposite, he didn't believe me until I actually gave birth to our baby girl. So I pretty much spent the whole pregnancy dealing with things on my own. It was hard to go to him for support when he didn't seem to want to have me around at the time.
After I gave birth, the postpartum came again. Worse than the last time. I was afraid to go on medication again though. I didn't want to take care of two kids and work a full time job underneath that cloud again. So I started self medicating I guess you could call it, with alcohol. I would struggle all through the week, working towards the weekend, when I could just get drunk with my friends and not have a care in the world. It would work until I would start crying uncontrollably because I was drunk and out of control. One time I even went and locked myself in my bathroom and tried to cut open my wrists with a fingernail file. When my husband saw my wrists sometime the next day he was very angry and insisted that I call my doctor. So I did.
This time I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. None of my family, nor myself, thought this sounded right, but I figured that my doctor knew what they were doing. The medication was worse than before. I kept drinking every weekend and when I didn't get better, I threw out those pills too. I know that was probably not the smartest idea, but I was tired of feeling drugged. So I just dealt with it, on my own.
In October of 2007, my husband and I moved to Texas with our two small children. We both worked for the same company and transferred here with them. But right before we moved, I decided to quit and stay at home with the kids. There were two reasons for this.
One. Childcare is expensive, and before we had family that watched them for free.
Two. My husband would have more opportunity for promotion if I was here to keep the children when he had to work late, and since I would not work for the company, it would be easier on his career. (I know that sounds very vague but it is very hard to describe the situation without writing another 15 paragraphs.)
For a long time I just dealt with my "funks" as I would call them. But after the newness of the move wore off I started getting into longer and longer funks. After six months of living in an apartment we bought a house. So I had something else new and shiny to distract me. And that did work for awhile, but the "funk" came back. The I started watching a little boy during the week. But eventually I was down as ever. It wasn't until my husband came home from work one evening and found me crying alone in bed that I told him everything. And once again I had to go find a doctor.
My new doctor diagnosed me with moderate to severe depression. She also confirmed that I did not have bipolar disorder. She put me on Zoloft/Sertraline, which I have been taking for awhile now. At first I was doing great. I found my old self again. I started painting and drawing again. Things were looking up. But as it always seems to be with me, something always knocks me down.
Earlier this year my husband told me that he doesn't know if he is in love with me anymore. When he said that it put me right back into that place I was a few years ago. Ever since then, I can't seem to be able to stay on my medication. I constantly forget to take my pills everyday and it isn't until I am sitting in my closet floor crying that I realize I haven't taken anything for four days. I guess at this point I don't know what to do anymore. I know I should go see a psychiatrist, but I just can't bring myself to do it. I don't really talk to anyone about how I feel anymore. My husband is the only one I would want to talk to and he just doesn't seem interested in me anymore. Which makes everything worse.
My mother deals with depression herself so if I try to talk to her about it, I know that I just make her worry. I don't ever tell anyone how I really feel, or what I really think. No one knows that I think about death a lot. I don't know if I would ever try to kill myself. I just sometimes think it would be easier if I wasn't here anymore. I just want the pain and the sadness to go away. I know I have so many things to be grateful and thankful for, but that just makes it worse because I know I should be happy and I can't. So I feel I don't deserve what I have because I can't be happy with it. I think I am pushing my husband farther and farther away and now I am just waiting for him to leave me.
So even though I wish I had someone to talk to, I just can't bring myself to open up. I would sound ungrateful and whiny. And I hate myself for it. I don't want to be like this anymore. I am tired of this cycle. I just want it to end. I just want to be happy. So I just keep dealing with it on my own.