Depression and Epilepsy...The Plot Thickens

Below is a link to an article I received via email today.

The Plot Thickens.

I found it very interesting, for reasons which should be obvious, and some that may not be.

The article serves as a great lead in to something I have contemplated blogging about for quite some time. The other night really brought it to the forefront, when I "lied" to a friend about my whereabouts when asked.

She had called looking for a recipe and jokingly asked where I was (after I hadn't answered my phone). I said I was at a PTA meeting. Where was I really? I was really at a meeting for this group.

I have hinted at this before (talking about my "regular" Thursday night meetings, hinting that I understood mental illness, talking about how much counseling has helped me etc) but I have never come right out and said it here. I suffer from something called, "Dysthmia", or in "layman's terms", chronic low-grade depression. I shouldn't really say that I "suffer" from it, at least not as frequently. This last bout (back in April/May) was definitely the worst ever, and this was the first time, I have really done anything serious about it (by serious I mean actually following through and sticking with counseling, taking my medication (40 mgs of Celexa every morning) and attending my Thursday night support group). It has been amazing how well all of these things actually work. I admit to being skeptical but, I basically got to a point a few months ago in which I realized that if I didn't act on my behalf, I would end up feeling like crap forever. In an odd way, turning thirty helped me too. When thinking about my impending birthday, I would often reflect on how fast the past thirty years had gone by. In turn, I would think about how fast the next thirty would more than likely go. Finally, I would say to myself, "Is this really how I want to live my life? Down in the dumps and blah everyday (give or take)?" I decided I wanted more, for myself and my family, and took the actions necessary to get it.

I am not going to say that every day is a struggle. Most days I do just fine but there are some, even with the extra "help" I am getting that I still can't seem to get out of a slump. Basically, the medication, counseling, and support group meetings have made the slumps less..."slumpy" if you will and digging out just keeps getting easier.

I have suffered with this for years before I was ever willing to admit ...to myself or anyone else that I was sick. Mostly, I think it has been a matter of pride. Some of it was denial. Still some of it was wishful thinking ("This is just a "moment"...it will go away and I'll be fine." etc).

I still have a difficult time coming to grips with the fact that nothing necessarily has to be wrong for me to not feel well. It's a hard concept to grasp. Occasionally, though not often, I struggle with the "fairness" of it all ("Why do I have to feel this way? Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this?"). I often grapple with guilt ("If I didn't have this, would I be a better Mom? Wife? Daughter? Friend?"). However, if I have learned one thing through all of this it has been that guilt is a useless and wasted emotion. So, I try to spend more time focusing on the "what's" rather than the "what if's".

It feels good to get this out here. I have wanted to do this for so long. I don't know why I haven't, except perhaps because of the stigma that is still, after all of these years attached to it. I have a mental illness that has been diagnosed by an actual psychiatrist. It still feels weird saying that but, it doesn't make me any less of a person.