Ever since I can remember, I have struggled with depression and anxiety. I was diagnosed with it at age 10 but I am positive I had them before then, maybe they were not as well developed or as acute but I am sure they were there.
As I matured and grew up, I handled my depression and anxiety on a variety of levels. I went through denying it, not taking my medicine to where I am now, compliant and accepting of my disease and doing everything in my power to handle it correctly. Still, living with depression and anxiety is hard, one of the hardest things I have ever done, and parenting with depression and anxiety is hands down the hardest thing I have ever done.
If you are not familiar with the diseases, let me break it down for you. I have chemical depression, meaning my depression is not or was not caused by an event (i.e. a death or tragedy) but rather by my brain's inability to make enough serotonin and to properly re-uptake the correct dosage of chemicals. Thankfully, modern medicine allows me to take a pill (the size of an elephant tranquilizer) that gives me enough serotonin to function on a daily level. But here's a secret few people know...while the pills make me enough serotonin, they do not "cure" the mental illness. I take my pills religiously yet I still struggle with my depression and moods on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis. Add my anxiety to it and it is no wonder some days I do not want to get out of my bed.
Being a mom, I want the best for my kids and I want to be here for kids, for everything. Unfortunately, my mental illness makes that very difficult. Most days I can handle my diseases with the practice and ease of someone who has lived with them for 20 years. Other days, it cripples me. And on those days I feel as if I am not only failing as a woman but as a wife and mother.
My depression does not always come in the same form but at some point I will start crying over what I would normally view as silly things (such as a Johnson & Johnson commercial). I also take it to the other extreme and have zero tolerance for anything---like whining or back talk or not doing exactly what I want without me having said anything. But the worst is when I am not feeling anything. That's when I know the depression has really got it's talons in me. When I do not feel anything, I know it is bad. I know it is bad and I know that I am suffering from depression yet there is little I can do. I lie in bed, knowing I am being strangled by the mental illness, I know I am ignoring my children and husband, I know I have responsibilities I am shirking yet there I lie. The problem with having depression AND anxiety is that I do not simply lie in bed under a metaphorical grey cloud but rather I lie in bed having panic attacks over what I am ignoring. Sometimes my crippling anxiety is a good thing as my anxiety over takes my depression, forcing me to get up and take care of myself and my family. Other times my depression wins and I am too exhausted-mentally, physically, emotionally-to do anything.
Being a parent is hard. Being a person with mental illness is hard. Put those two together and it makes daily life complicated, difficult, and very trying for everyone in my life. I always feel bad when I surface from my depression tsunami. My husband steps up and take cares of the kids along with the household chores for which I am grateful yet it does not relieve me of the guilt I feel for slipping down the slope of sadness. (Wow, that was a lot of alliteration.)
The only thing that matters when I get depressed is that I recover, that I pull myself out of it. I have to constantly remind myself that my life is not my life anymore, it is my husband's life, my son's life, my daughter's life. I cannot stay in bed all day. They need me and I sure as Hell need them. I can lie in bed for an extra hour or until noon on the bad days but I have to get out of bed. I have to quell the depression and anxiety because I have other people to care about.
It is hard. Every day is hard and some days are near impossible. But I still manage, some days I manage better than others but I still manage. I still get out of bed. And the days that I jump out of bed, the days that are beyond wonderful, those days keep me going. Those days keep me from staying in bed on the bad days. For other mothers and fathers out there struggling with mental illness, remember the good days. Remember this is not just your fight anymore. Remember that the bad days do not last. And remember that you are strong, you have made it this far and you will make it farther. Just get out of bed. Go hug your kids. And know you are not alone.
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