One morning last summer, I woke up depressed. Immediately I wanted to hide under the covers and ignore my responsibilities. But I begrudgingly forced myself out of bed when my two small children awoke.
As the day dragged on, I texted my mom, “I wish you were here. I’m really struggling today.”
Not long after I sent the text, my dad called.
He asked how I was feeling, but I think he already knew the answer.
I told him I had been fine the day before but was depressed again.
He then asked about how depression felt, which I’ve never given a whole lot of thought to until then.
I’ve agonized over my word choice for this piece because I wanted to show the hell that is depression. I tried to portray what it’s like on a day-to-day basis accurately. And I hope those of you who don’t suffer from depression can better understand what it’s like for your loved ones who do.
Depression is a dark cloud that follows me around, casting its shadow over anything good in my life. No matter where I am, what I’m doing, or who I’m with, the world seems bleak to me. I feel numb because I’ve experienced so many negative emotions and don’t laugh or smile at the things I usually love. I put on a facade outside of the house. I force myself to smile and act happy as not to burden others with my problems. But just because I look okay doesn’t mean that I am.
I cry nearly every day. And when I do, it’s heavy, ugly sobs. That’s when I feel utterly hopeless, and it becomes harder to appreciate the good things in my life and see that it won’t be like this forever.
Mentally I’m checked out, I can’t focus, and I have trouble remembering the simplest things. Sometimes I have to ask the same question several times before the information sticks with me because there is so much on my mind. I’m physically exhausted, and I have to muster all the energy I can to complete simple tasks like doing the dishes or cooking. In the mornings, I don’t want to wake up, not only because I’m tired but because I don’t want to deal with the same daily monotony. Plus, it’s easier to sleep than it is to deal with life. I’m apathetic, stressed, overwhelmed, and anxious.
I’m not the kind of person and mom I want to be when I’m depressed. I want to be a fun, engaging mom who has the energy to go places and play. I want to soak up every second I can with my kids while they’re still young. Depression doesn’t allow for that, and that’s one of the reasons I’m back on an anti-depressant.
After my son was born a year ago, I had difficulty balancing motherhood. With an energetic toddler, a baby who wasn’t fond of napping, sleep deprivation, and expecting too much from myself, I became depressed. At my six-week appointment, my OBGYN stated I have postpartum depression and suggested I start taking medication. I was hesitant. I hadn’t been on an anti-depressant in the better part of a decade. I wondered am I weaker or less than other mothers I know. Aren’t I supposed to be reveling in all aspects of motherhood? Am I a bad mom because I need an anti-depressant?
I’m not.
I got my prescription, and within a couple of days, I noticed a positive change.
I don’t want to stay on an anti-depressant long term, but in the meantime, if it makes me feel better and therefore be better, then it’s worth it.
Now, I still have rough days when those negative emotions are more intense, but the medication has taken the edge off. Generally, my ability to handle the chaos has improved. I can calm myself down and think about what I need to do rather than let the anxiety take over and eventually shut down.
I’m glad I spoke up early on. There’s no shame in asking for help, and there’s no shame in taking prescribed medication when necessary because one’s physical and mental health should always be a priority.
If something isn’t right, please speak up.
