More musings...

Enough of the sappy stuff, let's get back to what we all know and love, eh? My bitching, moaning and whining.

You know, I am more than willing enough to admit I am having a serious issue with depression. As a matter of fact, I'd written about it in a previous post before Blogger's "Autosave" devoured it. And since I'm in a self deprecating mood this morning, let's explore that issue in-depth.

And yes, this is more for my benefit than any of my reading audience's and well... whatever. Don't like it, skip on to the next blog. I won't be mad or blame you if you do.

Still here?

So I sat back and thought how long have I had this lethargy of mine, how long my house has been in it's current state (more on that in a bit) and how long I've been fighting this overwhelming sadness and defeatest (defeatist? is it even a word??) attitude of mine.

And by my calculations that answer would be somewhere around January 2005. Helluva long time to be sad. In January 05, specifically the 22nd of that month, I miscarried. My baby fell into my palm and my whole world caved in on me. Naturally I mourned the loss and was confused as to why it happened. I made my peace with it, got into a whirlwind relationship that unraveled nearly as fast as it developed and eventually decided that my doctors were correct when they said the fastest way to get past the terrible loss of one child is to create another. My lost child will never, ever be forgotten, but the creation of the newest helped me move past that awful pain and I did indeed desperately want another child.

Then came the first trimester and the bleeding. Miscarriage overted, yay yay yay, on to the second trimester... yay, yay, yay. On to the third trimester, yay, yay.... uh-oh. What's that in the baby's stomach? A blockage? A tumor? Will the fetus survive? What the hell did I do God to deserve this agony and worry? The baby was fine, wasn't bothered by whatever it was but my heart, my nerves, my God. I worried myself sick, didn't look forward to the birth because I was too worried that the nurses would yank the baby out of my womb and then whisk her off to surgery before I would even get to hold her. And there was no guarantee she'd survive the surgery either since they weren't sure what the hell they were removing. Then she was born, beautiful and healthy, except for a dead, twisted ovary. Into the NICU at two days old, operated on at 5 days old and on morphine for 2 more days before being released to my waiting arms. Oh my God.

Bring on the postpartum depression, full blast. Dedication and determination to breastfeed Trinity until her first birthday prevented me from getting medication to help me get through the hormonal nightmare. Quit the booby love the week of her birthday this June and now... I've gotten medication. And quit it. And gotten more. And quit it. It seems the medications I've been on have this nasty side effect. While the first one made me feel GREAT it also made my throat constrict to the point I couldn't eat more than three bites of a meal and I'd gag when I yawned. And since I have this thing about breathing and being alive I stopped the medication. Tried another that made me feel, eh, okay, but it too had the same side effect. Not as drastic but still the same throat closing issue. Not due to go back to the doctor until the 31st so... I'm stuck in limbo until then.

And Thursday I was reading one of those Dear Help-Me-Out columns online (did I ever mention my obsession with those things? Love them.) and someone had written in about their home. How slovenly they'd become in the past several years; they wish they could have company and friends over but they were too embarrassed; how it was WAY more than packrat paradise and clutterbug cave but extended to trash, dirty dishes and their mom had a house where you could eat off her floors my God what's the problem? Oh and by the way Miss-so-and-so I've been fighting depression for a while.

*forehead slap*

Forgot bout that one. Makes sense though. When I am happy, I have no problem keeping every aspect of my life clean. But lately instead of operating out of logic, as I used to do, I operate off pure emotion. One minute I'm happy and the next I'm in the bottom of gloom lagoon. It's terrible. I can't imagine how people that are bipolar must feel. And to make matters worse I have all sorts of catalysts to trigger my plummeting spirits that I can't rid myself of. Primary antagonist du jour is my mother. I swear sometimes I wonder if she didn't pick me up off a doorstep or something. I can't be that woman's biological child, the way she treats me. I've never known anyone so discouraging, disparaging and more. But short of cutting her off completely, which I don't think I could ever fully do since we do work at the same place, I don't think I could ever rid myself of her.

So, all of this is to say, I am understanding more about my depression, but I haven't set a path of reconstruction yet because I just don't know how to. I want a quick fix for this, but I know there is none. Just like everything else it will take time.

And even if I can't rid myself of my primary antagonist, I can rid myself of other negative things and people that do me more harm than good. Right?

I just don't know anymore.