I first showed symptoms of depression in 2007, not too long after I had my son. Being a mental health counselor, I was (and still am) self-aware and knew that something about my disposition didn’t seem quite right.
For the next few years I battled and struggled with the condition, taking meds on an “on again, off again” basis and experiencing a host of relapses in between, even a hospital stay.
Finally, I admitted to myself that this was beyond what – I thought – started out as postpartum depression; I had the full shebang. But despite this realization, I had many instances where I thought that I could “straighten up and fly right”.
I desired the normalcy of being able to control my emotions instead of them controlling me.
The normalcy of the average blue day instead of the abysmal lows that I always felt.
The normalcy of not having to pop pills just to be…normal.
Those desires for normalcy spurred me to stow away my meds in an attempt to prove to myself that I was fully capable of being a well-functioning human being on my own. I prayed, meditated and practiced coping skills. However, nothing worked.