Sunday, January 26, 2014

D is for Depression

(Alternately titled C is for Crazy)

I've had a few of those days this week where I could just start crying at any moment, for seemingly no reason at all. Days where I get angry over the smallest thing and am sure that my children would be better off without me. Days where I wish I could just be normal, a normal wife, a normal mom. Not that I believe in a true "normal" but I know that not everyone feels like this, at least not as much as I do and that most women (even pregnant women with two toddlers) can make it through a day, a week, a month without feeling like they're going to lose it, seriously lose it. Normal, in this sense, I see as confidence in your ability to function through everyday activities.

My doctor attributes my depression to the hormonal changes of being pregnant, then breastfeeding, then pregnant again, then breastfeeding. And now I'm pregnant for the third time without a break.
I think I've been depressed to some extent for most of my life, or at least since puberty, I just thought the way I felt was how everyone felt or that it wasn't a big deal. After babies it just got worse.

Crazy people don't ask themselves if they're crazy, right? I've always liked (if liked is the proper word for feeling like they were accurate) the descriptions laid out in Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar on depression, but it wasn't until I was on Effexor for a few weeks that I really understood the feeling of the bell jar having lifted. I felt alive, I felt good, I felt like me. Unfortunately, with the "safer" medication I'm taking now, most days I'm back inside the bell jar, sometimes feeling like I'm running out of air.

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