Let's Talk.

I know I've mentioned depression here on my blog before, but I don't think I've written the whole story.

I think my depression started the day Little Fox was born. I was expecting "the baby blues" but I felt like I was in a daze for months. I was angry, impatient, and frustrated all the time. I've since been told that I had postpartum depression, but at the time, I didn't know that's what it was. I knew there was something wrong. I thought "depression" was feeling sad and hopeless. I didn't feel that. I was boiling with rage and anger every day, for no reason. When the opportunity arose for me to return to work a few months before my maternity leave ended, I jumped at the chance to... feel like I was only responsible for myself and my work and nothing else for those 8 hours per day.

Around the time Little Fox turned one, Red Fox was in a car accident, and although the physical damage was pretty minor, the mental and emotional implications left Red Fox withdrawn, to say the least. I won't get into his specific diagnosis and such, because if he wanted that shared, he'd share it. Before he got treatment, he was in a whole other world (mentally and emotionally), leaving me essentially alone in raising Little Fox and to take care of us all. And boy was I angry about that. Which I really struggled with, because how could I be angry when it was something he couldn't control, and didn't even notice? When he started treatment, I met with his/our therapist, too. I described the anger I felt, and she's the one who said I had PPD, which had now become just regular old depression.

I eventually decided that I needed help, and made an appointment with my family doctor. The stress and anxiety of going to that appointment led to me getting an ulcer. So when I went to that appointment, he gave me some medication for the ulcer (which helped within days, thank goodness!) and then led me through a questionnaire, which included questions about my sleeping habits, my appetite, my activity level, etc. I fell asleep every night before 8:30 pm. I had no motivation to do anything other than what was specifically required of me.  My doctor prescribed an antidepressant, which I started immediately. The side effects the first few days and nights were terrible. The first night I got such a terrible headache that I thought I was having an aneurysm, and woke up Red Fox to help me. But the side effects wore off, and after about a month, I began to feel... normal.

One morning I went to Tim's for a coffee. The people in the car in front of me kept turning around and looking/grinning idiotically at me, which was really annoying me. When I got to the window, I realized it was because they paid for my order. About halfway back to the office, I realized I was still smiling, and it was that moment that I knew I was going to be ok again.

I took the antidepressants for about a year and a half. During the last part of that time, I decided I'd try a learn to run class. When we moved to PEI, I continued running, and I was feeling good. I discussed with my doctor the idea of weaning off the medication, and I started the process right away. It wasn't fun. I felt like my brain was spinning inside my head, and I'd get a sudden feeling of dizziness and I'd see spots. This lasted for almost a week, I think.

Since stopping the medication, I admittedly have some bigger-than-average up and down mood swings, which last longer than I think they should. But for now, they are manageable.

Running helps. I've noticed a significant increase in my overall happiness when I run on a regular basis. There are days that are just... terrible, but after a run, that runners high helps me get my mood back up. There are times when I don't want to do ANYTHING. Clean up? No. Run? No. Sleep? YES. But after a few days of this, I will finally "guilt" myself into going for a run, and that always gets me back on track.

I'm not publishing this for sympathy, or praise, or anything else. You don't even need to leave a comment. It just IS, and in the spirit of Bell's Let's Talk day, I thought I'd share. I think it's important to share stories like these. It needs to be talked about. People need to know that it's ok to ask for help, and that it REALLY CAN help. It's sometimes really hard to do the things that you know are good for you. It's so much easier to just do nothing.