Depression

In light of the recent death of Robin Williams, my Facebook page is awash with messages about suicide and depression.  It makes me somewhat introspective.

I started antidepressants at 14, and I was told at the time that it was to treat my ADHD.  Really it helped me get some sleep at night, so the anxiety about insomnia went away.  I kept up my Prozac through high school and college quite nicely.

I have tried going off my medicine at various times, and the current medicines have stopped working several times.  Good times would come along, and I'd think I'd be fine.  Several months would pass, and I'd be back in the doctor's office because if I didn't get my chemicals under control, I wouldn't be able to function or survive.  Finally, my doctor sat me down and explained that this is chronic depression and I will have to be medicated for the rest of my life.

In elementary, junior high, high school, and college, I was self-injurious.  During times of extreme emotional stress, I would use my fingernails or some other object to scratch or bruise myself.  When things aren't going well, my mantra turns to, "I wish I was dead."  It could be a late assignment, an overdue bill, or a sick pet.  None of these things being truly traumatic, wishing to be dead is not a normal reaction.

Prenatal depression caused problems.  I started out my first pregnancy without medications, but went back on in the third trimester.  As my father was terminally ill, this doesn't seem too surprising.  With the second, I didn't go off my medication at all.  My ability to function as a parent to my toddler and was so very important, and the risks of my medication during pregnancy were minimal.  Postpartum depression was awful.  I remember the anxiety and gut wrenching stress.  I don't remember first smiles and giggles.  After the birth of each of my boys, I was in the doctor's office within weeks, needing my medication upped.

Besides the postpartum depression, I have had several major depressive episodes.  I can't explain how everyone experiences it.  I just know that it was a horrible place for me- living in a poisonous fog of my mind's own creation.  I'm a pretty smart person, but there is no reasoning to it.  There are usually no traumatic events, save the illness and death of my father.  Some events are supposed to be awe-inspiring!  I can't think myself out of the fog.  "This too shall pass" doesn't push out the wish to die and be done with it all.

One thing has saved me: my own ability to ask for help.  I'm a bit of a hypochondriac with no qualms about the doctor's office.  I also have no problems with taking necessary medications, which is how I see antidepressants.  So off I go when I realize how bad its getting or how long its been since the sun has come out.  My doctor trusts me, I think, and will let me go 4-6 months between appointments.  He knows I call when I need to make an appointment because things are bad.

There is one deep dark secret I keep from him and the people around me, until now, when it seems so relevant.  Even my psychiatrist doesn't know how often I've thought about suicide and, at times, how reasonable an option it has seemed.

Please know, things went bad a few months ago, so I went in and upped my medication.  While I don't discuss the suicidal thoughts, I feel like I successfully manage them as a symptom of my mental health issues.  So don't worry about me.  However, if you're worried for yourself, please talk to your doctor.