I think I can honestly say that I would not change the fact that I have depression if I could. It has made me what I am. It has gotten me to where I am today. And regardless of whether or not I feel hindered by having it at times, it keeps me in check. But living with it can be quite a draining sink in my life.
I was initially “diagnosed” with depression in 2007. I say this because my regular, everyday doctor prescribed me the medication after I went in and sobbed to him uncontrollably for reasons I cannot even remember. All I can remember is that about five months earlier I had a tubal pregnancy that had to be terminated for my health and I had been in a funk ever since. Getting out of bed was difficult. Working without crying was difficult (and I work with the public). I cried on my way to work, on my way home, at home, everywhere.
The medication helped. Got me back on my feet. Functioning more readily. My doctor had recommended I see someone for therapy to talk through things as a supplement to the medication, but I just did not have time for that. So I just took the meds and moved on. But then another pregnancy. A miscarriage. A pregnancy. A miscarriage. We weren’t trying to have children. I never really wanted children. But the miscarriages made me think there was something wrong with me. The I found out I have a negative blood type, where my husband has a positive blood type. I needed an injection during my pregnancy so that I would not have issues. But I never got the injection in time, mainly because I never knew I was pregnant and it was too late.
So resentment. Failure. Inadequacy. It all just hit me. I have always been really good at things I do in my life. I put my all into everything. And even though I did not want children, it felt like this was happening because of that lack of wanting. So I blamed myself. Then, finally, in mid 2010 I decided to go to a mental health clinic and seek further assistance. I needed to know that what I was thinking and feeling were normal and alright, and more importantly, not my fault.
The psychiatrist was great. He did a basic assessment and then reviewed his thoughts with me. He “officially” diagnosed me with “Severe Depressive Disorder with Recurring Severe Episodic Situations” and “Generalized Moderate Anxiety Disorder”. And while all of this felt like, “FINALLY!!!!!!!!!” I was also like, “Huh?” So he explained that I will have these recurring little episodes of depression. That is normal. And my anxiety may come and go. But the medication should help. He also recommended a psychologist for me to see to talk to and get my concerns out in my words.
Everything was going very well. Meds were good. Talking was good. And I had made the decision to have bariatric surgery. In March of 2014 I had the procedure and have not looked back. I found a new love in running. I found friends. People that have problems just like me. Daily issues, family issues, personal issues, whatever. But we run. We, “leave it in the dirt” as one of my coaches told me last night. Exhale all of it before bed for a clear head. Running and fitness has been one of the best things I have added to my life.
I still take my medication. I carry around a pill box that says, “Happy Pills”. And, yes, there are times when I feel fine and do not want to take my medication. And one day turns to two, then to three, then before I know it, I am a downright mess. And it can be bad. Real bad. But it always gets better. And the people around me make it better. The runners, the friends, the listeners, the family. My family. More than I could have even hoped for in my previous “life”. And you are all fabulous no matter where you are along my path. And you are why I would not change anything. I would have never had all of you in my life if I had not taken this path. And the path is long. The end is not discernible. And I can not wait to see what is ahead and to bring all of you with me and meet the new ones that come along! Thank you for joining me. I love you all!
Much Love! Keep Running.