Not just blue

This is not an easy post for me to write, but I feel it's important to share this information with my friends and family so that they will better understand me and also so that maybe my experience will help someone else.

I've been depressed.

Not just sad, or moody, or a little emotional. Depressed.

This isn't the first time. As I look back over my life I can see several periods when I was definitely going through depression. But this is the first time I've realized it while I was going through it and I have my mom to thank. About 6 weeks before Vander was born my mom came over with a piece of paper clutched in her hand. It was a print-out off of a site about depression, and it listed the warning signs.

--you can’t sleep or you sleep too much
--you can’t concentrate or find that previously easy tasks are now difficult
--you feel hopeless and helpless
--you can’t control your negative thoughts, no matter how much you try
--you have lost your appetite or you can’t stop eating
--you are much more irritable and short-tempered than usual
--you lose interest in activities you used to enjoy
--you have strong feelings of worthlessness and guilt
--you have trouble focusing, making decisions, and remembering things
--you have low energy, unexplained aches and pains
--you have thoughts that life is not worth living
--you have thoughts of harming yourself

I had every single one of these symptoms, except for the last two. I was amazed.

And so relieved.

For several months I had prayed every night and morning that God would help me get over whatever was wrong and that I could be the wife and mother I knew I should be. I wanted to "snap out of it." But every day I was disappointed. Nothing got better. Seemingly simple tasks were so overwhelming I would either break down bawling or retreat to my room to sleep. Annalee watched 6-8 hours of tv a day while I did that. She would wake me up every few hours when she was hungry or needed help going to the bathroom, and I would take care of her and then go back to sleep. At night I would lie awake while horrible scenarios ran through my head. I had crippling anxiety about the coming delivery. Wild, improbable scenes played out in my mind, reducing me to tears, even though I rationally KNEW that they couldn't happen.

I lost interest in things I used to love, like couponing and singing. If I did one thing each day--like unloading the dishwasher--it was a good day. I didn't make dinners. I wasn't interested in intimacy. Innocuous noises started to freak me out, like the sound of a noisy cart passing me in the aisle at the grocery store. I stopped tracking our budget and was late paying a few bills. I was weepy and emotional. I couldn't stop thinking about the delivery--it's all I talked about, to anyone. I didn't enjoy being pregnant.

During this time my poor husband stood by me and did everything he could to help me even though neither of us understood what was wrong. When we finally realized the truth we were astounded that it had taken us so long. How could we NOT have seen it? It was so obvious! But really, it wasn't. We were experiencing everything day by day, not as a big picture. It was easy to believe I was just having a hard pregnancy that made me tired, caused aches and pains, made me forgetful, and turned me into an emotional hormonal wreck. How sad that it went undetected for so long!

The same day we realized what was wrong I called my doctor and he prescribed an antidepressant. He warned me that it would take several weeks for it to kick in, but things started to get better right away because I was relieved of the guilt. It was not my fault. I wasn't a loser because I couldn't "get over it." I needed help, and I was going to get it. That night I couldn't sleep because I was on a manic high, so relieved and full of hope that things would change.

The next few weeks were better. I still had lots of bad days, but I was clinging to hope now. Knowing what was going on, my brother and parents gave me extra help. I started to enjoy my pregnancy. I found the energy to finish a few last-minute baby projects. I played with Annalee.

Then my water broke. I won't go into the whole story in this post, but basically labor did not progress and we ended up with another cesarean section, against my every wish. The surgery went far better than the last one had gone, and while I was in the hospital I was happy and grateful. But when we got home, things came crashing down again. The time off that we thought my husband would get didn't work out. I was back to where I had been before the delivery, except now I had more pain and less sleep. Annalee's new parent was the computer.

A combination of circumstances made it so I didn't get as much help I thought I would get. I already mentioned Nathan's time off that wasn't. Instead, he came home for a few minutes each day during lunch and tried to relieve my burden as much as possible, but I just wanted him home all the time. My mom had to take a trip for work. My dad had a change in his medication and wasn't feeling well. My brother started work at an internship, meaning he was gone as much as Nathan. I bawled all day, feeling alone and helpless.

My Relief Society president was aware of my problems, and the ward came together to help out. We had dinners for two weeks. Mothers picked up Annalee to go play with their kids at their houses. A sister from the ward came over to keep Annalee busy so I could sleep. For the first time, I realized how hard it can be to accept service. It would have been easy to accept dinner for a few nights, but it was embarrassing and so very difficult to admit that my problem did not have a quick fix and that I really needed help. We usually do not let other people see us at our worst. Even though we know that no one is perfect we still hide the dirty dishes before people come over. But I couldn't. I had to accept their help.

It was so frustrating that things didn't get better right away. People kept asking me how I was. I knew they wanted to hear that I was doing better, that all the help had solved my problem. So I tried to act like it had. But I couldn't hide it from my husband. It was supremely discouraging for him that after all his efforts I was still depressed. He would ask me what else he could do, desperate to do something that would make everything all better. How I wish it were that simple!

Now, a month later, things are getting better. Nathan finally got a little time off: a week of half-days. In answer to my prayer of what I should do, I was directed to accept my mother-in-law's offer to visit for a week. She has been here since Tuesday and, oh, what a difference it has made! She has helped me with housework and childcare, but most importantly she has helped me feel like I'm not alone. I've had a chance to catch up on sleep and projects, which has given me the confidence to move forward when she leaves this week.

I share this very personal story with you in the hope that you will look around you and see if someone is suffering from depression. They may not know it, and until they do, nothing will get better. Or maybe you are the one who is depressed. If so, I hope you have friends and family close by that are as wonderful as mine.

There is hope.