Depression, what a stigma, right?

"I felt two things immediately when I got the news last night: first that the light had dimmed and, on its heels, a sense that this was inevitable; that Robin had lived for a long time with a darkness at the periphery of his vision.  What must it have been like to be present when he improvised the genie in "Aladdin" or Lovelace in "Happy Feet?" His Texan, his gay stylist, his Soviet comedian, Mrs. Doubtfire…He was a one-man menagerie.  Perhaps, just as we were swept away, so was he.

I remember the small, uncontrollable chuckle that often accompanied his flights of fancy; as if he were as amazed as we were by what was happening to him.

Who can pretend to understand a gift like Robin Williams's? Meteoric, volcanic, fast and furious…Perhaps there is a price for such brilliance.

I'm so sad he's gone and so grateful he left us so much." ~ James Taylor

So, There you have it.  That stigma, that will probably remain with Robin Williams forever, instead of the amazing, hilarious, actor he was.  How many of you remember Mork and Mindy?  Mrs. Doubtfire?  Aladdin, my favorite role EVER!!  He WAS the genie.  Yet inside his mind things weren’t quite right, I would venture to guess that in his constant light it would’ve been too serious for him to be real about it and seek help.

More often than not people tell you that depression is stupid, or not real, or just an excuse.  They tell you that you have everything, that they love you.  But you know these things.  And you know truly that suicide is not good..it's very selfish.  A lot of people with depression walk around with this darkness hiding inside them.  You won't know who they are.  It's probably someone you know very well.  But they won't tell you.  The ones with the worst depression, fake the best.  I'm not talking about seasonal depression.  I'm talking chemical depression.

4 years ago I was diagnosed with chemical depression and severe anxiety.  I went to my doctor and just admitted it.  My doctor left the practice and referred me to a new doc.  This one said I had to be tested by a psychologist (yay?).  I did it, therefore, diagnosis: Severe depression with anxiety.  At this point I wanted out of my marriage,  I had thought about dying every waking moment.  I was done.  My psychologist continued to see me and my general practitioner gave me different meds to try.  After many different medications and several months of therapy, my therapist said, I think we are good, Are you good?  I wanted to hit him, no I wasn't done.  Made another appointment.  Kevin did what most husbands would never do.  He researched it.  I had every symptom.  The whole time and he never knew it.  It blew him away.  Now how to help?  That was much harder.  He went to the Internet, blogs, etc.  realizing he was doing the opposite of what was supposed to be done.  Then he changed.  Life changed.  Marraige and our family changed.

This was my life, get up, go to work, perfect employee, happy, clean, dressed, groomed, a good dependable functional employee, like  nothing was different.  I went home, went to my room slept until dinner, got up, ate with Kevin and Anna and went back to bed.   Every day for 6 months.  One day Anna was crying and Kevin walked upstairs to wake me up and ask if I knew that she was crying and I told him yes, he asked if I cared.  I said no.  There's the straw.

On a Wednesday at work one day, I had a "trigger" as they call it in the anxiety world, and started crying to the point of unable to stop.  I called Kevin, who at this point had read every book, taken over the household and made sure I was taking my meds.  Who was even counting them to make sure that 1. I was taking them and 2. I wasn't trying to over dose.  He blogged with other husbands, talked to many people he didn't know.  The only hope he had was that I got out of bed to go to work and I was taking my medicine.  When I called him, he said, call the doctor.  So I called the doctor to ask for something different for my anxiety, they asked if I was thinking of hurting myself, this time I was honest.  I was told to go to the ER immediately, do I need an ambulance?  Can I drive myself there?  I was in the ladies room flipping out.  This WAS NOT what I wanted.  Kevin was an hour away and couldn't meet me at the hospital.  He called my mom (needless to say this was the ONLY time, I didn't really want my mom. I only wanted Kevin).  My co-worker, whos also one of my dearest friends asked if I needed a ride and if I'd be ok.  Made me promise to text her when I got there.  I knew what was going to happen.  
I spent 4 weeks in outpatient rehab.  It doesn't go away, and the medications do stop working after awhile, and life sometimes makes it more situational.  But as long as one with depression wants to get better they will.  With the right medications, doctor and supportive family. 


Right now is not my best time of my life, but I have, the right doctor, new medications, and a supportive family.  But most importantly, I do want to get better.  Some days I let the depression win, but most days I fight as hard as I can.