The Start

I've decided to start this blog so I have a place to write out my feelings, without bombarding my family blog with my crazy thoughts and feelings. I feel like I can be more open here. Some posts will be short, maybe just a thought or two I had. And then some will probably be just a big huge jumble of words. I want to be totally honest and open here. I've always felt better after writing something down, so hopefully in doing this, I can heal some more.

I've dealt with depression since Ethan was born more than 7 years ago. I remember the first time I really felt like something was seriously wrong.

Ethan had been in the NICU for two weeks. When we brought him home, I was already feeling off, but my hormones were still trying to get back to normal. I didn't have that bond with Ethan the way I felt like I should, and because nursing wasn't happening, I felt that much more terrible. I tried as much as I could to be happy...my baby was finally home, but I couldn't.

Brian was working night shift then, and one night while my mom was still there helping, I remember Ethan sleeping in his little bed next to mine, I got down on my knees to say my nightly prayers, I lost it. I started crying so hard I couldn't hardly breathe. I knew exactly why I was crying, and the reasoning probably made me cry even harder. I didn't want Ethan. I didn't want to take care of him. And I didn't know why. I wanted him to be taken care of, but I just didn't want to do it.

I felt horrible. Here was this brand new baby, perfectly fine, nothing wrong, and yet, I didn't want anything to do with him. I got up and went to get my mom. I tried to tell her through my tears what was wrong. I felt so stupid telling her that I didn't want my baby. She got on the phone and called people in my ward to see if I could get a blessing since Brian was at work. It wasn't long before a couple of guys from the ward showed up.

I was a wreck the rest of the night still. My mom was kind enough to take Ethan for the night so I could just sleep. I remember crying myself to sleep that night.

When she left, I felt this overwhelming sense of terror. I didn't know how I was going to survive without her help.

And here I am now, 7 years later, still dealing with depression. Can't say that it's post pardom depression, but it has robbed me of a lot of good. I have explained what's been going on lately on my other blog, and I really don't feel like writing all down again, so I'll just start from where I am today.

Over the weekend, I've had so many emotions, feelings, and thoughts swirling around in my head. I have had people tell me that depression is all a choice or a habit and that it's all in my head. Then I feel like even more crap because I'm not strong enough to just snap out of it. I have been trying so hard to just choose to be happy. Choose to not let things get to me. Choose to have a better attitude about things, and sometimes it works. There are days, even weeks that I'm ok and I'm not struggling to get through the day. But on the same hand, there are days, weeks and months where I feel like I can't get out of my own horror movie. Nothing I do helps and I feel like I'm barely surviving. Everything that has helped before, doesn't help now. It's a horrible place to be. It's even more horrible when I can't even figure out why I'm feeling this way. Nothing horrible happened to get me down, nothing happened differently...it just happens. It's annoying and I hate it. And then to try and explain to someone who doesn't know what depression is like, is more than I can bare. You can't understand it unless you've dealt with it yourself, or have had close family/friends who have. It's miserable.

Because I had someone say to me that it's a habit, I got online and did some searching. I found the perfect comparison. You can get on your roof and jump off. You can choose to fly. It's a decision, right? Instead of falling, you just choose to fly because it's a CHOICE. But, no matter how much you convince yourself that you can fly, you've made the choice to fly, it isn't going to happen. You are going to fall. Then the more I thought about that, I came up with my own little theory. If you want to fly, really fly, then you have to get help. Make some wings, or get a jet pack...something to HELP you fly. Then, you can jump and not fall because you have the support you need. Same with depression. The help that I need is medicine. I need something to help me fly so I can be myself again and function.

People make the comparison with diabetes, cancer or any other sickness. If you need meds, you TAKE them. I have depression, so I've decided to medicate. It isn't the first time either. I've tried several different ones, but the one I felt was helping the best, I was taking when I got pregnant with Sara. I stopped because I didn't feel comfortable taking it while pregnant. Up until now, I haven't felt like I've needed medicine again. Therapy has been so good to me, but I need a little extra help to get me through. I was able to get an RX today and I've started taking them. I have hope again. I can't wait to start feeling better, and stop pretending everything is ok.

I'm going to fly again. I know it. I just need help.