Depression

Dear Anxiety: It’s Time for You to Go

Hey, you!

Yeah, you — I’m talking to you. You’ve interfered with my life for long enough. It’s time for you to sit down and listen to what I have to say:

Anxiety, you have got to go. You have overstayed your welcome, that is, as if you were ever welcomed in the first place. You’ve held me down. You’ve got too involved. You’ve hurt my relationships and friendships time and time again, and you are now getting too involved with my relationship with my son. You have got to go.

Years ago, when we first met, I was around 15 and I thought you were a product of my teenage hormones. Together with your good friend depression, you’ve toppled right over me and led me on this ridiculous roller coaster of emotions and mental illness for the past 20-plus years. You started out slow and then totally took over. You’ve grabbed the steering wheel to my life and I want it back for good.

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Things You Shouldn’t Say to Someone Struggling With Depression

I’ve lived with depression and anxiety for over 20 years. Throughout this time, people have felt it necessary to put their two cents in regarding my mental illness. They’ve said unhelpful things to me that people who have never experienced mental illness might say. Here are a few things people have said to me and I’m sure I’m not the only one who has heard them.

1. “But you have so much good in your life.”

What those who don’t have a mental illness may not understand is what I have in my life makes no difference to my mind. Yes, I have a pretty good life. I have a wonderful husband, a wild and amazing son, an awesome dog, great friends and a wonderful family. My depression and anxiety don’t give a shit about all that. What others don’t get is that my mental illness is due to a mixture of biological and environmental factors. Sure, bad times in my personal life can trigger episodes, but sometimes there is no reason for an episode. I’ve been known to be happy despite things not going my way and I can be anxious and depressed when everything is “right.”

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I Knew I Could Have Postpartum Depression And Still Wasn’t Prepared

I’ve lived with depression and anxiety for over twenty years. Throughout that time, I’ve seen psychiatrists, psychologists, and social workers. I’ve been on and off medication, I’ve self medicated, and I attempted suicide three times in my teenage years.

I am still here, but I know mental illness is something I will deal with for the rest of my life.

Then, two years ago, I had my son — the most glorious time in a parent’s life — but it wasn’t glorious for me. I knew before my son was born there was a good chance I’d go through postpartum depression, but everything started out terribly: I had an awful pregnancy, I was ten days overdue, and eventually I had to have an emergency c-section.

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My Decision to Go Back on Mental Health Medication

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My decision to go back on medication was not taken lightly. It certainly wasn’t a decision I made overnight. It’s been a lingering thought I tried to push back for months now. I’ve exhausted all my self-help go-tos and now I’m ready to admit to myself that I need to go back on medication. This isn’t the first time, and I don’t believe it will be the last.

I’m not sure why it took so long to make this decision. I’ve been on medication before. In fact, I’ve been on and off medication for the past 20+ years. This is nothing new to me. And while I want to be able to fight my battle “on my own,” the rational part of my mind is telling me enough is enough. I need help. Take the help. I’m ready to admit I need it.

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I Was Ready to Have My Son Until I Wasn’t – Depression’s Toll on Motherhood

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I was ready to have my kid when I first got pregnant.
I was ready to have my kid after I felt it’s first kick.
I was ready to have my kid when I first found out I was having a boy.
I was ready to have my son after what felt like a long, hard, and painful pregnancy.
I was ready to have my son when he was due.
I was ready to have my son when he was ten days overdue.

I was ready to give up my son when he had his first non-stop cry fit at the hospital while I was still recovering from an emergency C-section and couldn’t calm him down.
I was ready to give up my son when I first breastfed him and felt discomfort and pain.
I was ready to give up my son when I first brought him home.
I was ready to give up my son every day for the first six-weeks of his life.

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