The deal with living with depression, and being open about it, is this: I AM NOT ALWAYS DEPRESSED! I am not a negative person all the time. Most of the time I am stable and happy – or at least in a good mood. I love my life. I have an amazing daughter. I have a great little house. I have a passion – writing – and I have been blessed with a long, successful career doing it. I have friends. I have my health. I look in the mirror and I like what I see. I would not want to be anyone else.

This is how I feel most days. I don’t stand out because on these days, I am healthy and normal. But some days my ILLNESS flares and I am depressed. I reach out for help. I write and talk about it, because that is what I have been told to do. It works. But I need to be very careful. Today I realize that when I am just feeling down, or upset or I say something stupid or negative, there are people who will chalk that up to my depression even though they do not know me: “What do you expect? Have you read what she writes? She is so focused on her depression. Of course she is a negative person.”

Who wants to be around negative energy – whether it is caused by my depression, a bad day or a just an off-hand, stupid negative comment? Bad days and negative comments happen to everyone – whether they have depression or not. But those of us with depression must understand that some people have had enough of our negativity – whether we are actively in a depression or we are just having a bad day.

They just don’t want any more of our negativity in their lives. It is just the way it is. We could belly-laugh from here to kingdom-come but we cannot take back the negative vibes that we have thrown out and they have caught. I am not going to let this stifle my right to have a bad day or say …

“and the wisdom to know the difference.”

So, it’s like this: We still don’t know who, what or where the layoffs will be but we DO know WHEN: September 1. About nine weeks. Most of the summer.

Because my little bipolar brain compulsively over-thinks everything, I have come to this conclusion: I have choices. Lot’s of them: I can CHOOSE to let this ruin my summer; I can CHOOSE to ask for help from my friends, therapist, boss and nurse practitioner; I can CHOOSE to look for another job; I can CHOOSE to have a rotten attitude at work and bring everyone else down; I can CHOOSE to have faith in my higher power (God); and I can CHOOSE to be a victim before I know I am a victim. If I CHOOSE to make bad choices, I risk falling into my black hole.

Just realizing I have these choices has given me incredible peace of mind – serenity. Having these choices means I have some control. Last week I felt like I had no control – helpless and hopeless. I could see the black hole and I was walking toward it. I cannot fix my brain but I can control the thoughts and feelings that will make my mental illnesses worse.

When I choose to believe that I have no choices, I am one step closer to a drink. I am one thought closer to unleashing a flood of chemicals in my brain that put me at risk for a depression or bipolar episode. I am one feeling away from emotion martyrdom.

This epiphany hit me in church last Sunday. The sermon was about faith (coincidence? I think not) Remember when you were a kid standing on the side of the pool and you knew you couldn’t swim? Remember your mom or dad standing in the pool saying “Come on, jump! I’ll catch you”? Remember making that jump without fear, knowing that your mom or dad would catch you?

That’s where I am today with this whole layoff situation. I’m standing on the side of the …

“Okay” is not a feeling.

“Fine” is not a feeling.

“Alright” is not a feeling.

“So-so” is not a feeling.

“Just peachy” is not a feeling.

“With my hands” is not a feeling.

These are the responses I give when someone asks “How ya feeling?” I have designed my life to avoid feelings. I hate feelings. They scare me. In my family we did not “do” feelings. When I came out of my last depression I learned that I needed to start “feeling my feelings.”

“Oh, great!,” I thought. “Psycho-babble. And how much am I paying you an hour to tell me this?”

Problem was, I could only name three feelings: happy, sad, mad. That was my life. You were either happy, sad or mad. I began going to a group and we started every session with a go round, announcing – in one word – how we were feeling. I had to get a list of feelings to learn the others besides my three. I had to really think about it when we started to go-round. “How am I feeling? Hmmmm?”

Of course I lost the list but I learned a lot of them. Nowadays I feel them all: Scared; anxious; embarrassed; silly; brave; cocky; lonely; overwhelmed; timid; uncertain; aggressive; confident; humble; and a bunch more. Who woulda thought there could be so many feelings?

What I have learned about feelings is that they are very valuable. I still don’t like them, but I appreciate their worth. When I have identified my feeling, I ask myself “Why?” Very often it has little to do with what is happening NOW but what happened THEN.

Unfelt feelings do not hibernate. They marinate. When something happens NOW that triggers an unfelt feeling from THEN, all hell can break lose. If I let that happen I risk a depression or a manic tirade. That’s what has been going on with me for the last week.

My therapist explained to me that when you have worked for a company for nearly half your life – 24 years – and you really love your job and the company – you begin to look at the company as a parent – taking care …

I have not reacted well to the news that our company will lay-off more workers. It’s been five days since the news and I have spent most of that time totally freaked out…and angry. I am angry at the boss for his oh-by-the-way-there-will-be-more-layoffs announcement, 45-minutes into a meeting about something else entirely. I am freaked out because everyone else is freaked out about losing their job in this economy. It’s contagious. And I am freaked out because this kind of news pushes all kinds of buttons that actually have nothing to do with losing my job. Abandonment, rejection, FEAR!

Anger and fear. Hmmmmm. Wonder that THAT can trigger in a 50-year-old single mom with alcoholism, bipolar and depression – who looks like Carrot Top because she tried to cheer herself up last night by coloring her hair?

Five days out I can look back – with the help of my best friend and therapist – and see what happened. My mania-switch goes ON when I am afraid. I must do something and keep doing something – like canceling my vacation and appointment to get my hair colored by people who actually know how to color hair. Gotta save money, right?

I was about to cancel my appointment with the dermatologist (at which I was going to treat myself to an anti-wrinkle procedure) when my therapist told me to STOP feeding my fear.

“Yes, you can pinch some pennies but you need that vacation and you have been saving for this “anti-wrinkle” procedure,” she said. “Do it.”

Then she helped me to think through the impending lay-offs: The first to go will be those with the least seniority. I have 24 years with the company; I have computer skills that no one else has and they need those skills; I am extremely loyal and hardworking; and I love what I do.

I would not lose my house because I am so tight with money that I squeak when I walk and could pay it off if need be. I will not go hungry. My daughter’s college is paid for. I would leave the company with months of severance pay and my medical …

Two days ago we had a meeting at the office. We have learned that when there is a meeting, something big is happening. Little things come in emails. Big things come in meetings. Last summer half the newsroom accepted buyouts after a meeting. Those of us left gathered at 1:30 pm on Tuesday.

First, the good news: looks like we have already hit bottom and are on our way up. Then, the wonk news – a new org chart. Forty-five minutes into the presentation of the new org chart came THE NEWS: There will be more layoffs. We don’t know when or how many, but sometime before the end of the year. WHAT!!!!

The new org chart became a blur. I couldn’t hear what the boss was saying about who will report to whom. I did hear the part about some folks having to re-apply for their jobs. I definitely heard – over and over – the phrase “we will be smaller”.

After the meeting I went back to work. I told myself, “You have been through this before. Last summer. You made it. Remember, we decided then that whatever happens, you WILL by okay. You did all your worrying last year. Whatever happens, you will be okay. You will be okay. You will be okay. Onward!”

Wrong.

Last night I had a horrible dream. I was laid off. Twenty-four years with this company, a single-mom with depression and a daughter headed to college next year and I was laid off, escorted from my office immediately. No good-byes. No chance to ask “why me?” Just a door. I dreamed I was not allowed in the building. I was an outcast.

Apparently, I did not do all my worrying last summer. This summer, too, will be a summer of uncertainty. Anxiety, fear and worry. Bad dreams and frenetic workdays – if I just work harder and faster they won’t lay me off. If ever there was a prescription FOR depression, this is it.

I have to pull out my toolbox again. Eat right, exercise, pray, see the therapist, call your girlfriends, pray some more, take your meds, count your blessings not the dollars …

Among the many things my father was told when he was diagnosed with lung cancer was this: Find something to look forward to. He did. Amid his chemo and radiation, I gave birth to his first grandchild. My brother gave him his second and third. My sister his fourth and fifth.

When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, she did the same. Amid her surgery, chemo and radiation there were birthdays and First Communions. Vacations. Christmas. Tea parties. Cookies to be made and books to be read.

I am thinking of my mother and father today and how well they were able to find a carrot and dangle it in front of themselves. Mentally, it kept them strong and fit during their suffering and deaths. It made us feel as though we were as vital to their treatment as their medications. It distracted all of us and gave us hope.

For the last week I have been praying and searching for a carrot. Please God, help me find a carrot today. I am sure there are carrots all around me but I cannot see them. My depression is blinding me. This is how it starts. A dash of dysthymia. A dollop of despair.

I have two weeks vacation coming up. I have nothing planned. Vacations have always been my salvation. I spend months focusing on where I will go, what I will see, who I will travel with, what I will take, what book will I read and on and on. I love to travel. Last summer I went to northern Michigan with a man I was seeing. (emphasis on “WAS”).

This year there is no vacation planned. Maybe that is a good thing. Maybe that is what I need. But I feel so empty. I almost dread taking two-weeks off. I caught myself saying to someone last week – “I have to take two weeks off next month…” I know for my mental health I must get out of here. I need to be away. I want to get away. But where? With whom?

I know have so much to be grateful for: I have a job, medical benefits, …

Among the tools I have been given in recovery is this gem: “Think it through.”

Yea, that ice cold, sweaty bottle of Corona with a lime it in looks sooooo good. But what happens after that first sip? You have another. And another, and another, and another….Then I will do or say something I will regret or I will have no memory of what I did. The next time I see these people I will have to wonder what I said or did to them after I drank 10 Coronas. In the morning I will wake up feeling like #$&*%. My head will be in a vice, my face will be blotchy and my eyes red. I will feel guilty. I will hate myself. I will get depressed.

That is how “thinking it through” works. This is how I stay sober and stable. But “thinking it through” is an unnatural act if you have bipolar, like me. When you are bipolar you think about as far ahead as the next blink of your eye. All kinds of stuff comes out of my mouth. Sometimes I sound almost brilliant and I have to look around to see if someone else said that. Sometimes I say stuff that is amazingly sarcastic and hurtful: “Did I just say that?”

This week I wanted to make a phone call to a guy I used to date. I told my best friend and she helped me think it through: “You know he’s not going to answer.” “You know you will leave a message and he won’t call you back.” “You know you will spend the next week checking your cell phone every ten minutes to see if he called or sent a txt.” “You know you will drive yourself crazy.”

Thank God for best friends. I won’t make that call today.

It’s like this: my picker is broken.

Obviously, I choose men who are not exactly compatible and then I stay with them beyond the expiration date. It has taken 50-years, two marriages and a string of unpleasant break-ups to figure this out. Obviously, I am not a quick study.

I am begrudgingly venturing back into the dating game. It ain’t pretty. Besides the gray hair, stretch marks and wrinkles there is the matter of my mental illnesses. Plural. How many dates before I throw THAT on the table? “Did I mention that I have depression and bipolar?” “Why don’t I drink? Well, I am an alcoholic.” Let me throw menopause on the menu, too. And THE BLACK PLAGUE.

Am I a catch or what?

What’s a guy supposed to say to all of that? Then there is the matter of the medications…and therapy…and meetings. “But hey, if you want to know that stuff about me, you can read my column that’s published in newspapers throughout North America or check-out my website or blog. Don’t worry, I don’t write about the guys I date anymore. I learned THAT lesson.”

Excuse me, I have a line of white knights at my front door.

Seriously, what’s a mentally ill, menopausal, addicted woman to do? It’s not like I can go to a nightclub and get wasted and dance on the bar. I know I’m a bubble off plumb. I know I color outside the lines. Do I look for a guy who is the same? Honestly, I have never been attracted to a guy who is not like me – except for the teeny tiny fact that they are not sober or don’t want to admit they are depressed. How am I supposed to turn off that switch? Experience has shown me that if I am attracted to a guy he is probably not compatible with or good for me.

How about on-line matchmaking! Beyond the fact that my teenage daughter says she will divorce me if I stoop to internet dating, there is the teeny tiny fact of filling out the questionnaire – honestly.

I don’t know. It’s too overwhelming at this hour …

“Heeeeeere comes Rusty!”

That’s the announcer at the local kennel club when a race starts. Rusty is steel rabbit on an electric track just above and in front of the greyhounds that zips ahead of the muzzled pack. The dogs don’t know why they chase Rusty. They just do.

I don’t know why I chase Rusty. I just do. Rusty can be anything in my life: A drink; a man; a raise; a flat tummy. Chasing Rusty is not good. I sprint through my life – wild eyed and out of breath – chasing Rusty. I got to thinking about Rusty this morning.

I joined a group of triathletes at the beach early this morning. I have been a competitive swimmer since I was 7 years old. I gave it up years ago and haven’t swum a lap in a couple of years. But I went to the beach this morning telling myself it was time to get back into the water – just a nice leisurely swim.

Damn, out popped Rusty – the lead swimmer was a guy at least 10 years younger than me. No matter, I had to chase. I couldn’t go for a leisurely swim as the sun rose over the Atlantic Ocean. I had to chase. What am I chasing? Why am I chasing?

I came home from the beach and took “Dog” to the pond – our morning routine. Dog runs in front of my bike, taking minor detours to chase a squirrel up a tree. There are a lot of squirrels at the pond and they have always run faster than “Dog”. Until today. Dog finally caught a squirrel. I turned around and watched his head thrashing back and forth with a mouth full of fur. By the time I got to him the squirrel was dead. “Dog” just stood there not knowing what to do. He chased the squirrel. He caught the squirrel. Now what?

Exactly. When you are bipolar you don’t ask “why?” You just go. You don’t need a reason anymore than the greyhounds need a reason to chase Rusty. You just go. If you are also an alcoholic – …

We have yet another study finding that the number of adults taking anti-depressants, anti-psychotics and Alzheimer’s drugs is rising. Pardon my sarcasm, but DUH!

This one was recently reported in the journal Health Affairs. This study found a 73 percent increase in the use of these drugs between 1996 and 2006. Experts said it shows that more doctors have become familiar with the drugs and are more comfortable prescribing them. Well, I don’t know about that. But I do know this: Critics argue that the numbers prove that Americans are overmedicated.

Undoubtedly, some are. What we don’t hear is that this decade saw the introduction of some of the most successful drugs for treating mental illness and Alzheimer’s: Lexapro 2002; Wellbutrin XL 2002; Lamictal for bipolar 2003; Celexa goes generic 2003; Cymbalta 2004; Aricept and Exelon for Alzheimer’s 2006.

No one mentions the hit-or-miss factor: Because no one knows how these drugs work, it can take months of trying different drug combinations before a doctor finds the right one or the right dose. How many of us have half empty prescription bill bottles for drugs that did not work?

And what about the Medicare Modernization Act of 2003 which greatly expanded prescription drug coverage for the elderly? Could that account for some of the increase?

Obviously I am biased. I have been on antidepressants and a mood stabilizer since 2006. They not only saved my life, they made it much, much better. We often hear horror stories about overmedicated kids and zombie grandmothers. But we rarely hear the success stories because there is so much stigma about using these drugs.

I am not going to use these numbers to say we are overmedicated. I am not going to use these numbers to prove anything. Numbers always look impressive. But they can be twisted like a strand of DNA. They are just numbers. Period.

Wait! News flash! I see another story in the paper this morning about a study that says that antidepressant use among young people has fallen – since the drugs began carrying a “black box” warning. The study also found a DECREASE in the number of depression diagnosis! Holy cow! …