Hi there. I am crazy.  Well, not exactly crazy (although my husband says that is highly debatable).  I suffer from depression. Some people who know me may be surprised to learn this. Other people will be saying to themselves “that explains a lot”. It is not something I have shared with people because, well, there is still a stigma attached to mental disorders (just the word “disorder” is humiliating and ironically depressing).  Sure, in 2016 society is far more enlightened and educated about mental disorders. But, under their breath, I think people will say “Poor retch. Isn’t she from West Virginia? Maybe inbreeding?” (actually, I’m from Virginia, but people west of the Rockies mix those states up all of the time). That is part of my disease – agonizing to the point of debilitation about what other people think. But, I have reached a point in my life (with the help of good pharmaceuticals) where I just don’t care what other people think. OK, I am trying really hard not to care what other people think. So now, I am putting my story out on there for anyone to read. And, I hope this blog will help others to share, heal and laugh.

First off, I am not a doctor or therapist. I am just a person that has struggled with depression for a long time. Any of my ideas or suggestions are based on my personal experience and observations alone. What works for me may not be right for you so I highly suggest that anyone who feels they may have depression seek the help of a professional.

I take 20 grams of an SSRI (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor) every day to stay on an even keel. I also do some form of exercise every day. Over the years, I have seen therapists with varying degrees of success. Therapy can be extremely helpful, but only if you are with a therapist who is the right fit for you. Otherwise, it can be counterproductive. Like a husband, you may have to go through a couple before you find the right one. I am currently in the process of finding a new one. Therapist, that is, not husband. I got the husband right on the second try. I just need to find the therapist that is the right fit for me. Stay tuned.

The exact cause of depressive disorders is not fully known, and may stem from multiple sources including brain chemistry and traumatic life events. Depression also seems to be hereditary, as it is in my case. My maternal grandfather was a depressed alcoholic who finally became sober by the time I was born. Although he was depressed, in his younger days if you sat down with him at a bar, he could show you a really good time. He was right out of central casting, a walking stereotype – Irish, Catholic, funny and drunk.  When my mom was a child, he would take the family to Sunday Mass, then take her and her two siblings to the local bar for the rest of the day. He would sit there and drink while the kids played around with the pool table. Quality family time was Miller time, preferably on draft.

My grandfather’s depression trait skipped a generation and landed squarely on his three granddaughters, my two cousins and me. When I was younger, my depression was kept somewhat at bay because of the 2 to 4 hours a day I spent in the pool. I was a competitive swimmer and the mood enhancing brain chemicals released from so much exercised kept me at an even keel. In retrospect, I am sure I kept at swimming for so long (from the time I was 6 until I was a freshman in college) because it made me feel good mentally. Without realizing it, I was self-medicating. At least it was healthy self-medication.

When I quit swimming, I lost those mood enhancing chemicals and things started to spiral downhill.  I suffered with depression, anxiety and mood swings for years before I finally sought help (I’ll save that story for another blog post).  I am now in a great place – happy and healthy, but knowing that I can relapse and doing everything I can to avoid it.