Not Another Depression Story

I don’t know about you, but I have read a million and one stories about people coping with depression. I search out these articles and stories because we have common ground. I was diagnosed in 2009. I keep reading these stories because I am looking for something, and it’s an itch that very rarely gets scratched. The end of most of these stories is happy. These narrators have either been magically cured, or they find they don’t suffer from depression, just have very rare depressive episodes. Or they simply have post partum depression, which is not simple at all, but there is a light at the end of that shitty tunnel. While I can sympathize with these people, I don’t feel like I can completely relate, because mine didn’t go away. It’s still here, gnawing at me in the back of my head. So I wanted to write this in the hopes of reaching someone like me. Someone who has this annoying ass monkey on their back. Someone who needs to hear it from another stranger that’s in the shit, that while our serotonin deprived brains can make our lives miserable, we are still living them. Here’s my story.

The diagnosis 

Before November of 2009, I lived a normal existence. Sort of. I had a lot of difficulty. Like a lot. But the difference between then and now, is that when life or my past or whatever the hell it was, got me down, I never stayed down. I bounced up, brushed it off, and went about my business. I was happy, confident, social, and charismatic. I got engaged at the beginning of that year, found out I was pregnant in March, married in May, and had my little boy on November 18th. It was a big, happy year. During the course of this year, my husband swore in to join the Marine Corps, we were just awaiting the date that he would start boot camp, and were assured that wouldn’t happen until March of the following year. After our son was born, I started feeling the baby blues. It was around the holidays and I just brushed it off as me feeling nostalgic for my family. They were scattered all over the country and this was the first year I wouldn’t be spending it with them. We got through Christmas, and while I didn’t feel any better, I had hope. Then I got a call from my mom. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer. I felt the bottom drop out. She was eventually set to undergo a simple lumpectomy, but when they got in there, they found it had spread. She ultimately ended up getting a mastectomy and aggressive chemo and radiation treatments. Just before we found out  how bad it was, we got the call from the recruiter that my husband was leaving early. He was now scheduled to start basic training in January instead of March. If you’re not familiar with how training works in the Marine Corps, here is a run down. They go to boot camp for three months, at the end of which you see them graduate, they get leave for about a week, and then it’s off to combat training for a month. From there they immediately go to their MOS school. This is where they learn to do their specific designated job. For my husband, that schooling lasted three months. This time period was a little easier because we were able to see each other most weekends, as his school was four hours away. To say that there was a lot happening in my life was a massive understatement. I was trying to cope with all of this while taking care of our son and I just wasn’t handling it well. I went to the doctor and that is when they diagnosed me with full blown depression.

Editor’s note

As this post is already long, I’m going to be breaking it up into two separate entries. Stay tuned for more!

Editor’s note

I want everyone to know that while, yes, I do suffer from depression, I am not suffering. I have learned many ways to cope, and when that doesn’t work, I have learned to ride it out. The best thing I can do is feel my feelings. So while I thank everyone for their concerns, I am happy!

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