Peonies and Popsicles

A Little Bit of Us, My Writing, Craftiness, and Life as it is

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Depression 2

Christmas came last year and things were good.  I had three weeks off to spend with Jake while he was out of school.  When time came to go back to work, I was losing it.  I made it four days of the first week back, and then called out of work on Friday.  Monday comes, and I'm completely out of sorts.  There was no way on earth I was going to be able to work.  I call out again, and let my boss know I'm going to the doctor and will bring an excuse.  I don't bother letting her know it's depression.  That would have gone over like the proverbial poop in the punch bowl.  I made up something and left it at that.  I did see my doctor and got a work excuse to be out the rest of the week.  We changed my medication as well. 

When I went back to work the next week, Thursday came and they let me go.  Their excuse was so transparent, that I knew it was because I'd been out too much. 

I left the office crushed, but I knew there was really nothing I could have done to save the job.  I wasn't well, and that was that.  At that moment, if I had not had Jake to go home to, I would have probably done more than think about suicide.  I would never leave my son alone; I would not do that to him.  That was, however, the lowest of my lows.  I knew it meant that we would have to move in with my mother and that I was back at square one. 

Over the next few weeks, I struggled to pack, move, and clean the apartment.  I carried boxes to my car and cried.  I stood in my storage unit and cried.  The medication was not helping much at all.

By the end of February, we were moved but hardly settled in.  Both Jake and I, and I know my mom, too, were having adjustment problems.  This move was tough on all three of us.

One thing I knew was that I had to get my depression under control.  I could not find a psychiatrist who accepted my insurance.  I felt like I needed a psychiatrist who could help with the medication more than my regular family physician.  Finally, I found Dr. J.  He gave me samples of a medication and within a week and a half I was feeling more like myself.  I took the next milligram up for the rest of the trial period and was amazed at the difference.  On my return visit, we left the milligrams the same, as he said it would continue to help, and I'm to see him again in May. 

This medication in addition to the Cymbalta has been a godsend.  I'm not sleeping the days away.  I've actually been up early on the weekends, too, which for this night owl, is saying something!  I've been working with my sister to create a business for us and it's going well so far.  I've gotten things put away that had been sitting in my mother's living room since the move.  Things seem to be coming together. I even have a job interview this Friday.

I'm writing all of this to say, depression is nothing to be ashamed of, and if you need help, get it and do not be afraid to do so.  Those people who think depression isn't a real illness, who think you can get over it just by flipping a switch, they're so wrong.  Know that, and know that you deserve to be happy.  Find someone to talk to, a friend who understands, a psychologist or other type of counselor, or your doctor.  In fact, your doctor is a great place to start, as he or she can put you on the track to finding yourself again. 

Remember, there are suicide hotlines if you ever feel that you are in danger of hurting yourself.  And you know what? I'm here and can relate so feel free to contact me.

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