Just a glimpse

Hello there, and welcome to my blog.

If you have read my "About Me" section, you will know that I am a woman in her 20s suffering from depression;  I have a beautiful little girl who is my reason for breathing, a true lifesaver in her own right;  I have a part time job which keeps me busy while the girly is in school, and afterward I pick her up along with my little brother, and take care of them in the afternoon.  I take Mini Me to swimming and ballet, each once a week, which gives me time alone, and time with my brother, respectively.  I spend time with great friends, most of them supportive, whether it be house parties, dinner and drinks, or just coffee visits.

On paper, or in blogger text, it seems I have a full life, which I do!  So why is it that I have created a blog dedicated to depression?  Who knows?  Certainly not me.  I am content with my day-to-day life, but overall, I am sinking deeper and deeper into this black hole.

Lets start at the beginning.

March 6, 2005.

I sat in my doctor's office, nervous and shaky, waiting for her to come in and save the day.  I had complete faith in her ability to do so--she had delivered my baby, after all.  After what seemed like hours, my doctor came in and did the routine "What are we in for today?" and I lost it.  The tears wouldn't stop, and I was shaking uncontrollably.  I explained how I was feeling, how I'd always felt, that for 15 years I'd felt worthless, how I'd spent many of those years contemplating suicide and settling for self mutilation, and that more recently I was stressed over leaving my toddler at home while I worked at an office that could double as a torture chamber.  She asked me to fill out a questionnaire, and upon reading my answers diagnosed me as suffering from "Severe Clinical Depression," wrote me a prescription for antidepressants, and set up an appointment for me with a free counselor.

I saw the counselor once a week for almost a month, but it became too much for me.  I'd quit my job and was becoming quickly agoraphobic.  I was afraid to leave the house for any reason, top of the list being to go talk about unbearable feelings with a stranger.  I regret not sticking with my therapy, but I wasn't ready at the time.

It took a few weeks for my medication to start working, and once my prescription ran out I foolishly believed I could go a few days before renewing it, due to the agoraphobia.  Crying to myself in the bathroom after cutting my wrists taught me otherwise.  The amount of guilt I felt upon seeing my three-year-old angel sleeping in my bed was almost too much to handle on top of the guilt I felt on a regular basis, and I just about lost my mind.  It reminded me I couldn't resort to hurting myself in times of stress, and vowed never to do it again.  I have broken the vow a few times over the years, though.

It has been five long years since those first dark months, and I have come a long way.  Not only have I recovered from my reclusive lifestyle, but I have made several wonderful friends, gained the courage to start working again, and even smile occasionally.  Life is not perfect, however.  I still have bad days, which are starting to outnumber the good once again, which has prompted me to start thinking about looking into therapy.  I'm not sure if I will go through with it, but I will at least consider it.

The reason for this blog is to shed some light on the disease that I and so many others suffer from.  I have experienced ignorance, intolerance, and resentment from people who are only supposed to support me, but I have realized that it is just ignorance. People cannot support what they don't understand.

I also need a place to put all my thoughts when I am breaking down.  My thoughts are often all over the place, from excited to suicidal, and I think getting them out will be a helpful way to deal with it.

I only hope that as readers, you don't judge, only learn.  If you have questions, I'll be happy to answer them.