I have made the decision to make this blog a bit more personal. When I was sixteen I was diagnosed and began treatment for depression. Although I assume and believe I was depressed long before diagnosis, my symptoms and the crazy growing inside me, manifested themselves right around adolescence. I was never one to mope and cry. My chemical imbalance took the form of anger. Pure unadulterated anger. Since I was a girl (still am last time I checked) I didn’t get into fights and break things all that often. I was verbally nasty. I said things to hurt my mother (sorry Mum) and brothers- often times intentionally. I’m sure I said things that hurt my Dad too but I never did that on purpose.. I guess that’s part of being a total daddy’s girl. I know now that I did and said these things because I was angry at myself, not my family, but at the time I’m sure that was of little comfort to them. The crazy runs deep in my family. I won’t get into specific details because I’m not sure how much info my family would be comfortable with me sharing about them. I will say that I don’t need a scientific journal to tell me that depression can be hereditary. I hated middle school. I hated high school a little less. I was miserable. I was picked on for every possible reason – I have red hair, I had dandruff, pimples, I am short, weird… you name it, I was teased about it or bullied over it. I had salt and flower dumped on me, although to this day I’m not sure why, or what point that was supposed to make. Every day I went to school from the 4th to the 12th grade was an uphill battle, in the rain, with a nine iron. I never stood up to the assholes who bothered me. I never told on them or reported any of it. I should have. Maybe that would have helped. Instead I took all that hate and animosity and internalized it. Then I took my anger home and unleashed it on my unsuspecting family. Epic suck. For them and for me. How stupid was I? The only purpose this behavior served was to make my home life as stressful and upsetting as my life at school. I don’t believe that internalizing my anger and being verbally abusive to my family was a totally conscious decision. I was very young when the feelings of total desperation and overwhelming anxiety started. I’m not sure I had the capacity to deal with my very intense feelings in a more adult manner. (Please note: this is NOT an excuse, just a stab in the dark at explaining my behavior) So…. After a particularly knarly break up with the boy I dated in high school, I decided (along with my parents) that we’d all had enough and that my crazy had grown to such a size that it required medication. Off I went to my pediatrician, where I was given a high dose of Paxil. Now I’m not sure if it was the drugs, or the move to Boston, but my life got much better, very, very quickly. I was happy and social and making friends for the first time in my life. I felt really good. Too good. I soon had to leave college and return home to connecti-shit due to an overabundance of socialization, which led to bad grades. In a some-what related story that I will tell another time, my move home was needed and resulted in me eventually meeting my husband and best friend, so very awesome and totally worth it. After a few months of being back in my home state the doctors decided it would be a good idea to take me off the Paxil. I was ok for a while as I prepared for my return to my beloved Boston. I was even ok while I was living in Boston. My life was great at this point while I was un-medicated. But only for a short while. Once I got settled in our new house my crazy started to rear its ugly head again. I’m actually quite proud to say that I took a very proactive approach towards my depression this time around. With my husband’s and family’s support I returned to a doctor’s office and was given a script for Prozac. Now is where I take a minute and profess my absolute love of Prozac. Prozac keeps me stable. Instead of having a problem and immediately going to that dark place where the world stops turning, and the death of our universe it imminent, I can see clearly that there is a positive way to resolve the problem and move forward. I was less frustrated the second time around. I have an amazing husband, a nice little house, I’ve carved out a little comfy niche for myself. Life is pretty damn perfect sans my chemical imbalance. I will admit that I don’t even consider going off my meds. No way, no how, not ever. My marriage and the connections I have with my family and friends are just too important and precious to me. I don’t want to jeopardize any of the goodness that is my life right now. I do feel badly about the way I treated my family and my ex high school boyfriend. Sorry guys, I brought the crazy every day and I have no idea how hard that could have been for you. I’m in no way perfect now, I’m a work in progress. And since there is no way to photograph depression, here is a photo of my foot.
