Over the past few weeks, I must've typed up and then deleted 5 or 6 versions of this particular blog post. I've had a really hard time putting what I want to say into words. So I beg you to bear with me, readers (all 3 or 4 of you).
Anyway, this post isn't about that "D word," but it's about another D word that up until recently, was considered almost as taboo: depression.
I've suffered from depression for almost as long as I can remember, although I wasn't quite aware of it until I was in my late 20's. As a child and teen, my mother would always give me a hard time for being miserable, or negative, or pessimistic, or for crying for what she thought was a stupid reason. I wasn't miserable all the time, but I was miserable enough of the time. And by the time I hit my teens, I began to worry that she was right. Was I just a big drag?
I grew up. I finished college, moved out, got a job. I had my good days and bad days. I thought this was totally normal.
And then, one night, when I was 27 or 28, I came home from work on a Friday night, sat on my couch and collapsed into tears for no good reason. Usually, when I'd have a crying jag that I couldn't explain, I'd feel better after a good 20 minutes or so. But not this time. I cried all night. And all weekend. I didn't leave my apartment. I called out of work on Monday. When I came back to the office on Tuesday, I could barely function. I couldn't concentrate on my duties at the office. Instead of having lunch with my friends, I ate alone at my desk. This carried on all week, and the next week, and the next. I stopped returning my friends' phone calls and said I was busy when they planned social events. For about three months, I quarantined myself in my tiny apartment and cried. I called out of work once or twice a week. When I left the house, I looked like a slob. When my friends would ask me what was wrong, I'd tell them that it had nothing to do with them and I was just going through some stuff. When they offered to help, I'd back away. I was so lonely but felt unable to handle the smallest social interaction.
And finally, I decided that I needed help. I went online and found a therapist close to my home, and made an appointment. I started seeing her on a weekly basis and talking out some of my problems. She suggested antidepressants, but I was apprehensive to take medication for it. Luckily for me, a friend of mine who also suffered from depression talked me into it by saying "If you were diagnosed with diabetes, would you be reluctant to take your insulin?" I started seeing my friends again, and they were very happy to have me back. A few months later, I started dating Aaron. A few months later, we were in love. I left the job I hated and got a job that turned out to be even worse. Six months later, I found a job that was way better, and I'm still there.
Life went on.
My first therapist wasn't working out, so I tried a new one. I liked her better than the first, but she didn't do much beyond nod and say "uh-huh, uh-huh," so I left her after a while. I decided to take a break from the medication but that was a mistake and my family doctor put me back on. About a year ago, I found a new therapist who is awesome sauce, and things have been, if not great, then at least even.
The best way to keep going is to keep busy. When I'm interested in something, I don't have time to stew in my depression. Keeping up with blogging and wedding planning has been good for me because I haven't had time to wallow. I remember when I was going through a rough patch a few years ago, and Aaron had appendicitis. The days that he was in the hospital and then recovering were scary and stressful, but when it was over, I realized that I hadn't felt depressed in days! Keeping busy is key.
But, when I hit a bad spot, I get overcome with lethargy and apathy. I won't be able to concentrate on work. I'll get backed up with my fashion blog. And I definitely won't have any desire to think about white dresses, hair styles, colored shoes, secular readings, menu choices, guest favors, etc. It just seems so stupid. I just want to curl up with my dog under a blanket and watch old episodes of Buffy or play iPhone scrabble. Or sleep. Oh, glorious sleep. So while keeping busy always makes me feel better, I can't get motivated to be busy. Such a vicious cycle.
I've learned to accept who I am. I mean, I don't let my depression define me, but it is a part of me, and I'm okay with that. And I'm lucky that Aaron is so supportive and sweet. But planning one of the most important and expensive days of your life while struggling with depression is a big challenge. Mostly, I'm having fun planning the wedding, but I need to keep in mind that anything that will upset me or cause me stress isn't worth doing. I need to make sure that I don't let the wedding get in the way of my emotional health, and that I don't let my emotional health get in the way of the wedding. Phew!
Does anyone out there suffer from depression? Has it made your wedding planning more difficult?
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And believe me, if those shoes didn't clash terribly with the wedding colors, I'd be wearing them under my dress. But they just don't work. Boo.
