Tongue Depression

<Originally posted elsewhere on October 22nd, 2009>


"What brings you in today?" 

As I opened my mouth to answer, I suddenly realized that I could not.  The words that were supposed to effortlessly fall from my lips had been lost somewhere in my throat and stowaway tears came out instead.

In that moment, I realized that I truly needed to be there. 

I've been fighting depression for much of my life.  It runs in my family.  My mom has been on nearly every anti-depressant known to man and my grandma probably should have been.  I'm stubborn and have been determined to fight it on my own and thus far, I would say I've done a decent job. 

Until now. 

I haven't missed work, social engagements or anything else I regularly do.  But really, what I WANT to do most of the time is snuggle up with a blanket and watch HGTV all day. I don't know how it's possible to watch 5 hours of real estate television and not go apeshit but I've done it.  I really want to know how much a house in Minneapolis costs, what real estate intervention will be necessary to get the DC couple out of their house, and whether Single Mom decided on the cute homey cottage or the ulra modern condo.  It sounds hideously boring (and probably is) but it's been my comfort as of late. 

Lately, it's been hard to genuinely smile.  The downs have been worse than usual and I find myself wanting to cry for absolutely no reason.  The ups have been just "up-enough" to make me think I'm okay.  I'm better.  I don't need help.  And actually, for a teeny tiny second, I thought that might be the reality. 

Until I realized that I couldn't even talk about it without welling up in tears.  So, I surrender.  I acknowledge that I'm not Wonder Woman and maybe I can't do this by myself.  Despite going to therapy for years and learning all sorts of wonderful life skills, I am admitting that all the the counseling in the world cannot fix a chemical imbalance. I am agreeing with my beloved mental health professional that Wonder Woman needs a little something-something that does not come with the magic wrist bands.  

My therapist contends that you let a doctor give you medicine if you're sick and that this is no different.  My German heritage screams "Yes it is and if you work harder, you don't need it" while my Italian heritage encourages me to pass the vino and not worry about it.  So, I'm settling for somewhere in the middle. 

Hello, Welbutrin.  Hopefully, it will be nice to meet you.