Depression on My Mind

Living with Depression Articles

My Depression and Our Pursuit of Happiness

Friday, August 26th, 2011

depressed womanMy mother was not a particularly happy person. She worked very, very hard. She was a devoted mother, dutiful wife and she fulfilled her responsibilities in a state of resignation.

I am not a doctor but I believe she suffered from dysthymia – chronic, low-grade depression. Just before she died, during one of our many conversations in her room at hospice she said something that guides my life: “I just wanted for you kids to be happy.”

Happy.

I thought about this yesterday after my conversation with a woman who has been verbally abused by her husband for years. She is not happy. She has been so unhappy for so long that she has come to believe that happiness is not important.  Happiness is not a goal for her. She values discipline, commitment, hard work, responsibility and respect above happiness.

“I don’t believe in my heart that happiness is necessary,” she said.

The Secret Lives of Recovered, Dual-Diagnosed Alcoholics

Thursday, August 11th, 2011

depressed womanRecovered alcoholics have two birthdays. Our belly-button birthday – the day we took our first breath – and our sober birthday – the day we took our last drink. We get presents for both.

I’m telling you this not because my sober birthday is coming up – August 27 is 13 years without a drink – but because we live a life divided. Our sobriety has given us a new life but it comes with price. Secrecy. Anonymity. I am speaking about the life we lead among our clan of fellow recovered alcoholics.

We have sayings – “Keep coming back it works if you work it” – and we have tokens of devotion – colored poker chips to denote lengths of sobriety. We have clubhouses and private meetings. But there are no dues for membership.

I am not knocking any of this. I love my sober life. I am telling you this because this is not always an easy way to live. Especially if you are a dual-diagnosed recovered alcoholic. For many of us, we have spent much of our lives either denying we had a problem, convincing ourselves that we could handle it, ignoring all of it and covering our tracks.

It Took More Than a Prescription and a Glass of Water to Swallow My Antidepressants

Friday, August 5th, 2011

I had a hard time taking off my cape, cuffs and boots. I believed I was Wonder Woman and I was going to pull myself up by my bootstraps and out of this depression, dammit. I didn’t need no stinkin’ help.  But things got worse. I stopped eating. I couldn’t work. I slept and slept and slept or struggled with insomnia. My thoughts raced. I looked like hell. But dammit, I was going to lick this.

Then one day I was sitting with some girlfriends who insisted that I do something. This was getting serious, they said. You need to see a doctor and get on some antidepressants. No freakin’ way. I’m not going to take drugs, I told them. Not me.  Nuh-uh.

Then one of the girls – a woman who is fabulously successful, brilliant, funny and whom I admire immensely – said something that I will never forget: “Hey, I’m always on either hormones or antidepressants.” I had no idea. She said it like it was no big deal – like taking antidepressants was no bigger deal than taking Lipitor for high cholesterol.

Me and My Depression: What if I Beat the Odds?

Tuesday, July 19th, 2011

pretty woman with a flower in her hairHow long will I be like this? How long will this last? Maybe it will always be like this.

Thank God.

I went to see my nurse practitioner yesterday for my three-month check-up. She asked the usual: “So, how are you doing?”

“I’m great,” I said. “I have never been this good for so long. I keep waiting for it to end.”

She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. But seriously, how long will I be like this? How long will this last?

I have never been this stable for so long. Life is good. I have patience and I have never been accused of being patient. I have contentment and serenity and all that goofy stuff they talk about in those self-help books. My nightly prayer before I go to sleep is one “Thank you God…” after another.

How in the hell did this happen?

About My Depression…Do You Even Want To Know?

Thursday, July 7th, 2011

attitudes toward depressionWe are not alone…at least when it comes to stigmatizing depression.

TWO in five people in Ireland would not want to know if a loved one was experiencing depression and almost a quarter of people still think depression is a “state of mind” rather than an illness, according to the 2011 Mental Health Barometer, commissioned by the pharmaceutical firm Lundbeck (developer of Lexapro). The report, released this week, has assessed Irish peoples’ attitudes towards depression, anxiety and mental health as well as the stigma since 2006.

I don’t know what the findings would be in the United States but it would not surprise me if the numbers were the same. What I find intriguing is the question: Would you want to know if a loved one was experiencing depression? I have read a lot of studies on stigma and depression but I have never heard that particular question posed in a study.

Laughing at myself, my bipolar and God’s bipolar

Tuesday, June 21st, 2011

Bipolar is not funny. I know. I have Bipolar II. But sometimes, you just gotta lighten up and laugh at…bipolar disorder. People have gotten seriously ticked off at me for occasionally taking pot shots at bipolar disorder. But THIS is funny. It ran in The Onion 10 years ago and it still makes me chuckle…

NEW HAVEN, CT –In a diagnosis that helps explain the confusing and contradictory aspects of the cosmos that have baffled philosophers, theologians, and other students of the human condition  for millennia, God, creator of the universe and longtime deity to billions of followers, was found Monday to suffer from bipolar disorder.

Rev. Dr. J. Henry Jurgens, a practicing psychiatrist and doctor of divinity at Yale University Divinity School, announced the historic diagnosis at a press conference.

“I always knew there had to be some explanation,” Jurgens said.  “And, after several years of patient research and long sessions with God Almighty through the intercessionary medium of prayer, I was able to pinpoint the specific nature of His problem.”

Managing Depression, Bipolar & Alcoholism: No booze, No Stress and No Twizzlers

Wednesday, June 8th, 2011

managing depressionA friend with bipolar reminded me last night that work is work. I’m not talking about “work” work – the kind that pays your mortgage. I’m talking about the work of staying mentally healthy. It ain’t easy.

For me, it’s a 24/7 job. Literally. It starts as soon as I get up. I check my mood. If it’s bad, I ask myself “Why?” Usually, there is no reason. Like this morning. There is nothing really wrong in my life right now. The checks aren’t bouncing. The air conditioning works and I’ve been having some pretty good hair days. So, the feeling I have this morning is not a fact. It feels real and I respect it, but it isn’t real. It’s my brain playing tricks on me.

Breakfast. It only took me 50 years to figure out that caffeine jacks my mania. The last thing I need when I’m manic is a stimulant. D’uh. So, I quit caffeine. I suppose for some people it’s okay to have a cup of coffee or a Diet Coke. But I am also a recovered alcoholic and there is no such thing as A cup of coffee or A Diet Coke just like I could never drink A Long Island Ice Tea.

As for food, I went gluten-free, dairy-free, soy-free and Twizzler-free after my last depression. It took a few years to cut that stuff out of my diet, especially the Twizzlers. I did some research and realized that these things probably weren’t helping my depression.

My Depression: Ruminating the Day Away

Wednesday, June 1st, 2011

can't stop ruminatingThe bad dreams are back.  I don’t know why. I had a perfectly wonderful day. I am visiting my daughter – who just happens to live by an outstanding outlet mall – and we are power shopping. Everything fits, looks good and the prices are so low I have to ask the clerk if there has been a mistake. She says, “No and it’s another 40 percent off of that.”

What more could a mother and daughter ask for?

So, why are the dreams back? Why am I waking up in a sweat with the anvil of anxiety on my chest? I have been healthy and feeling good for months. Why did I just dream that I fell into another deep depression and my bosses were going to fire me? The bosses who, during my last depression, were so understanding and kind.  The anxiety engulfs me.

Depression & Therapy: We’re Not Closing the Gender Gap

Wednesday, May 25th, 2011

Ever had one of those moments where you realize you are not as enlightened as you thought you were?

I had one Sunday morning, reading a front page story in The New York Times, Need Therapy? A good man is hard to find. Seems the number  of male therapists is  dwindling. Only 10 percent of the members of the American Counseling Association are men, down from 30 percent in 1982. “Some college psychology programs cannot even attract male applicants, much less students,” according to the article.

“The result, many therapists argue, is that the profession is at risk of losing its appeal for a large group of sufferers – most of them men – who would like to receive therapy but prefer to start with a male therapist.”

The bitchy little feminist in me says, “na-na-na-na-boo-boo. Now you know what it’s like for us to go to male gynecologists!” But in this battle, that kind of thinking is fatal. Of the four people I have known who committed suicide in the last five years, all were men.

Fatal Depression: Hope vs Physical Pain

Monday, May 23rd, 2011

fatal depressionOne of my girlfriends called last night and left a message. I played it this morning. Her boyfriend killed himself. He was such a great guy. Probably one of the kindest, gentlest men I had ever known and equally manly – a commercial fisherman.

He was only in his 40s but his rheumatoid arthritis had gotten really bad over the last few years. He had an ankle replacement and picked up one of those horrible infections in the hospital that nearly killed him.

He was in constant pain. Unrelenting pain – non-stop fuel for depression. He didn’t bring it up unless you asked but you would see it in his face and the tightness of the muscles in his back and shoulders. He couldn’t work. He couldn’t do any of the activities he loved to do. My girlfriend, a saint, became the sole provider. It was hard on her. It was hard on him. Throughout it all there was the physical pain. He hated taking the pain medication but without it, the pain was too much.

I won’t go into the details but he was thoughtful to the end, leaving a note and doing “it” far from their home.

Hoping for a Happy Ending
Check out Christine's book!
Hope for a Happy Ending: A Journalist's
Story of Depression, Bipolar and Alcoholism
Christine Stapleton
Recent Comments
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