Depression... That looming shadow.

Depression.

God. It doesn’t matter how you say it. It sounds like SHIT.

I hear so many people loosely say "I'm depressed", "life's so tough" and "I can’t bear it anymore". And I wonder if they mean it? Is life REALLY that bad? How can I help? What can I do? And then as quickly as it's said, I’ve forgotten it just as fast. I feel terrible because I now know that I AM one of those people. The only problem is I have never said it in those terms, in fact, I’ve never said it at all. I guess in the past I have self diagnosed myself and talked myself out of the way I feel, leaving me back to where I started not wanting to take any action. I think that my problems are rather small compared to what others are going through, but after a long battle with my mind telling me to "get over it" I decided to go and talk to someone. Well, actually my doctor suggested it after I broke down in front of him after a routine "female" checkup. The poor guy, he couldn't get me out of there sooner.

Most of you that know me probably could never guess that I suffer from a form of depression, PND to be exact. There, I said it. And it's bloody hard to say it as I'm usually the happy one, the one that oozes positivity. But sadly that positivity left my heart the day I lost my second parent. Another death, another parent gone, and as upsetting as it was, I needed to go on. And I did, but my head and heart are two different entities and both were/are at war with each other. My head keeps telling me to move on and live life, but my heart keeps pulling me back, and pulling me into a big deep cave full of emptiness and failure. Where did this all come from? Fucked if I know. But it's there, and it's annoying the shit out me.

I knew there was something wrong soon after Leo was born. No matter what I did, I never felt good enough. Wow, that's such a common term, but so cruel. After the end of the day, I never felt as if I achieved anything. Things started spiralling out of control after 2 years of his existence and my anxiety didn't go away. Whenever I planned an outing, I immediately wrote out a list (yes, a list on paper) of worse case scenarios, and after writing to the bottom of the page of what "could" go wrong, I ended up locking the door and staying inside. WHERE DID AMY GO? This was NOT me. I used to jump at every opportunity to get out, but now I had a temperamental small child that sometimes turned into a heap of mess and I realised I couldn't deal with it. No matter how often or how hard my husband tried to tell me how amazing I was, and what I'd achieved, it still wasn't good enough. I didn't know who I had to prove everything to, and it was killing me why I cared so much.

So, I upped and took myself to a physiologist. And as I filled out the forms in her office, that big question came up "Have you ever self harmed or wanted to self harm?"". It's safe to say I have NEVER had those thoughts, and doubt I ever will, so then I second guessed myself thinking maybe my current state of mind couldn’t warrant a visit to the therapist. Was I just overreacting? Maybe I just had a bad week, and before she could get my info sheet off me I was already running out the door. I felt I had failed myself. I couldn’t even commit to this. So the next week, I swallowed my pride and sought help.

Now I'm not going to go into details about what we talked about, but all I can say is that I feel like a HUGE weight has been lifted off me, and we've only done three sessions. I've found someone I can connect with and in that hour per week she IS THERE FOR ME. No one else, it's all about me. I know I've always loved attention, I love being part of the spotlight, but this is a different attention, and all I can say is I am so thankful that there are people out there that CAN help.

I'm far from better or cured so to speak, in fact, I know it'll be a long road, but thinking that my problems aren't valid is a HUGE part of the issue, so realizing that and getting help is the best move I can make. No one is is going to do it. Also being ashamed to feel this way was weighing down on me so much, my confidence levels were at an all time low. Any kind of constructive criticism or dig at me would leave me having a restless night sleep caring about why the other person said what they said. WHO CARES? WHO GIVES A SHIT? Me apparently.

Anyway, it's an ongoing battle, but it's getting easier as I go along, and that dark road is getting a little nicer each step I take.

So, next time you see me, don't ask if I'm okay, because I am. I'm fine, I'm happy, I'm thankful. I have two beautiful little ones, an amazing and loving husband, and a supportive family. And for now, that's just fine with me.

​x Amy.