Seven years ago today was one of the best days of my entire life.    Seven years and one day from today was one of the worst days of my entire life and the beginning of my battle with depression.   As I went that day for the first, and most devastating of two surgeries I didn’t want.   I fell asleep and woke up sobbing the day my fertility was taken from me and still to this day that’s all I can really say about it.  Maybe someday I’ll write more about it I’m focusing on other issues for now.  For today.  

I spent another year at home taking care of my babies and I stayed happy and on top of my depression, pretty well.   I recognized myself most days.   Shortly before my baby girl turned one I was forced by my husband to go back to work, he cried in our living room and told me if  I didn’t go back he’d never get to do the things he’d dreamed of and never race his car. I went back to work, against my will.   Which was the second heartbreaking thing he forced me into, the first being my surgery to take away my fertility.   Now is when the depression started to become worse.  

Another year later and my grandpa, the only real father I had ever had, began to fail.   I loved him so much and I watched him deteriorate and then I held his hand and watched him die.   Sadness crept in and the depression worsened.    But, good things were happening too.  BEAUTUFUL things.   

My two oldest got married and had their first babies.    I was blessed with being asked to be there and it was beautiful and amazing and joy pushed sadness to the back.  For awhile.  
Then four  years ago my life began to unravel some more.  I’m going to talk about it now, tonight because after another confrontation with one of my adult children that has left me locked in pain and fighting out of the sucking fog that is my depression I need to get it out.  

I had just started a new job, and started running fevers, daily and unexplained.   I also suddenly lost more than 15 lbs, AFTER trying unsuccessfully for a year to lose 10, I suddenly had 15 fall off.  My periods were getting worse and worse and one ran into another.   I was having severe pain with them and heavy bleeding.  In addition to these things the aches and pains I’d been attributing to “not being twenty anymore” were worsening.   

I scheduled an appointment with one of the docs I was working with.   During my exam she said that both my thyroid and my lower abdomen were enlarged, I was scheduled for an ultra sound of both and a bunch of new labs.  

In the crazy whirlind that followed I was found to have a multi-nodular goiter, diagnosed with Hashimoto’s thyroiditis, and sent for a biopsy by one specialist, thank God it was negative.    The other specialist was an amazing gynecologist, but the news was not so amazing.   Time for a hysterectomy.   

On February 13 2013 I had my hysterectomy.   On February 15 I received a phone call from the hospital that I had potentially been exposed to a dirty instrument and began taking the cocktail of drugs necessary in case I was exposed to AIDS.  Fortunately, that too turned out ok.  

However, depression was digging in and my physical health was deteriorating. 

The next almost two years are a blur.  I became an emotional mess at home.   I made horrible choices and decisions and grew far far away from the mother I used to be.   I was no longer able to recognize myself and my children, the older ones had trouble recognizing their mom.  

In late fall/early winter 2014 I began wanting to die.  

In January 2015 I refilled my Xanax script.   I was going to take the whole bottle.   I wanted to take the whole bottle so badly.   

The only reason I didn’t was because I didn’t want that to be how I left Maddi and Mel.  So I flushed the bottle.   I called and started seeing a counselor I changed my meds. I left my great paying but stressful job.    Some progress started to be made.  

But, my physical symptoms were getting worse.  Migraines, joint and muscle pain.   You name it.  I’m now being treated for a second autoimmune disease.   As well as my depression.  

Sometimes my physical pain really complicates the depression.   I feel like a failure.   Often.   I know that I’ve failed my children, often.   I want desperately to do better, and some days I do.   Wednesday was a good day.   I played with my girls and two of my grandkids.    We ran and we played and we laughed in the yard.  

I felt good and I saw the old me coming through like I do more and more often.  Thursday I was reminded that none of the progress I’ve made matters because I’m still a failure.   As a mommy and a mimi.   I was reminded of this by my oldest daughter.   

So now it’s Friday.  And I’m wishing for that bottle of Xanax.