Suburban Oblivion

My husband stuck it out for exactly 2 1/2 weeks before deciding me working is maybe not such a great idea. He officially asked me to quit my job.

And I almost did.

And then he pissed me off.

And then I told him suck it up and deal with it.

Update to follow soon I’m sure, one way or the other.

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When I posted the piece on depression the other day, I admit I was a little concerned. Although I joke quite often that I’m “not quite right in the head”, it’s a whole other ballgame to lay it out on the table and give people a realistic view of what it’s like to experience this problem.

I was diagnosed with mild clinical depression at the age of 20, and then with post-partum depression after my 3rd child was born in 2005. Until my bout of PPD, I’d never been on any kind of anti-depressant. I knew the mood swings and depression had gotten considerably worse, so I talked to my OB and was given a prescription for Zoloft. Although it made me a little sick to my stomach, the relief I got began within days. I noticed right away an increase in energy, my moods were more stable, and I just felt more normal. I took it for several months, and then gradually went off it. Then in November of last year I started to have trouble again, only with the depression came constant anxiety. I am not the most mellow person to begin with, at this point I was wound tight as a tick, and I felt like I was a bomb just waiting to explode. I called my doctor, and they called me in a prescription for Celexa. This stuff was a godsend for me, and for the first time as long in as I can remember, I felt like a normal human being. I have been on it since, with the exception of a few weeks here and there where I get lazy and slack off. I never have withdrawal symptoms, but before long the mood swings, exhaustion, and anxiety start up again(like this past weekend) and it’s clear that I do much better on the medication than off.

For the most part I am ok with that. I’m not big on taking any kind of pills, but between that and the depression I’ll deal with taking medication. I know there is something of a backlash right now against anti-depressant use, but I didn’t realize how much so until I came across a thread on a message board yesterday debating whether or not prisoners should “be allowed to take anti-depressants”. I thought it was such an odd question, until I saw a couple of comments about how “That’s why they are in prison, they SHOULD feel bad about what they’ve done!”, and “Why should they get pills to make them happy when they’ve committed a crime?”. Luckily that was not the opinion of the majority, but I was startled that this kind of ignorance still exists. If there was one thing I wish people understood about anti-depressants is there is no such thing as a ‘happy pill’. These drugs do not make you happy, they make you stable, so you are able to feel the same emotions other people do, and on the same scale.

I realize people who haven’t struggled with depression could not hope to understand it, but it’s frustrating to hear people spout such opinions on things they haven’t experienced. Unfortunately this attitude is not isolated to a couple of people, I’ve heard all over how these drugs are bad, and how if people just took more vitamins, exercised more, or had a more positive attitude, they could get over it. (Underlying implication, “I was once depressed and I got over it that way, anyone should be able to.) If it were that easy, we’d all be investing more in vitamin B and fish oil supplements rather than pharmaceutical companies. But it’s not. Depression is not having a bad day, or even a bad week. It’s normal emotions, amplified. Minor annoyances become rage, forgetting something at the store turns into a crying breakdown, and you are so exhausted a simple load of laundry is as overwhelming as a trip up Mount Everest.

In reading more about as I call it the ‘anti-anti-depressants’ attitude, I came across this quote. It says a lot about the way people look at medicating for mental illness versus medicating for other things.

If a pill was developed that could restore the body after spinal injury without painful physical therapy, everyone would rejoice; well, everyone except unemployed physiotherapists. But the reaction is so very different to pills that restore the depressed mind without a need for emotionally-harrowing therapy.

Antidepressants are routinely dismissed as “Band-Aids” that merely hide the real problem, or they get smeared as being nothing more than nice little earners for “Big Pharma”. On the other hand, the talk therapists who oppose medication are portrayed as standing up for their patients, rather than as professionals protecting their own jobs and interests.

But why should those who already suffer from an illness have to suffer more to recover? Why, if medication works, shouldn’t they take a chemical shortcut to a healthier mind? Since mental health is not a struggle for most people, why do we demand extra work from those for whom it is?

Imagine waking up one day and looking out the window to very gray skies. Rain is coming, and there will be no playing outdoors today. All you want to do is stay under your blankets where it is warm, but life calls.

You get up, but you are tired. Breakfast time, but nothing sounds good, even your favorite 3-cheese omelet. It will probably just add another 5lbs anyways, why bother? Grab a Pepsi and chug it, waiting for the rush of caffeine and sugar. Ahhh, a little bit of energy, finally. Only 6:20 and kids are whining for juice, breakfast, a different cartoon. Holy hell, I only just woke up, lay off already!! Do what needs done and collapse in the chair. Maybe they’ll leave you alone for 5 minutes now.

Nope. Diaper changes, spilled milk, the dryer buzzer goes off. The phone rings, the dogs want in-out-in-out. The kids have the tv up too loud, AGAIN. Turn it down before I unplug the damn thing! There is a list of things to do before naptime, but the list has disappeared, like everything else these days. Keys? Debit card? Hairbrush? The dryer gnomes got them all; they are nowhere to be found. You know you should clean the bathrooms, only the chair feels so good and you are so tired, the bathrooms aren’t going anywhere. Do it tomorrow. The phone rings again, it’s the cable company with a polite reminder your bill is overdue. Shit, shit, shit!! I knew I forgot something!

Naptime is far too short, and if they don’t nap at all your day has just sunk like the Titanic. You try not to snap at the kids, but every sound grates on you. Best to ignore them for awhile. Whats on tv? Oh, look at that, it’s nearly 5. Did you just say 5? Hubby is on his way home and will be expecting dinner. The thought of cooking is as appealing as the thought of taking a vegetable peeler to your fingers. Frozen pizza, again. Hubby comes in annoyed- didn’t we have pizza Monday? Did you call so-and-so? Did you remember to pick up…. from the store? No? What did you do all day? *sigh* Another day you can’t do a single thing right, so why try? Why? Because something is not right, you know it isn’t. You want to have your energy back, you want to play with your kids, you want to feel more than just tired and anxious all. the. fucking. time.

This is depression, from the inside.

(Note to readers, I am fine, but had a really bad day Sunday, and was inspired to write this post, which has been a draft in my head for months now.)