Happy pills

I think my first encounter with depression happened when I was a junior in high school. No one called it "depression" then, but that's what it was. I don't recall all the details, but I do remember a succession of disappointments -- cut from the soccer team, not being selected for yearbook -- had something to do with the overwhelming sadness I felt. My parents sent me to the school counselor and I got through it.

I don't recall being especially depressed during college, though the self-medication I did at weekend fraternity parties during my freshman and senior years might have been an indication of something going on. Or that could have just been my own personal "girls gone not-quite-wild" endeavor.

My first major depression as an adult came in the form of post-partum depression after Charlie was born. It wasn't depression in the long crying jags, sort of way. It was post-partum OCD, which was characterized by what they call "intrusive thoughts" and is really not something I'm ready to write about in detail yet (yes, 15 years later), but suffice it to say, those 15 months were the darkest of my days, ever.

It was during that time that the most-wonderful-woman-in-the-world-who-quite-honestly-saved-my-life encouraged me to look at depression as a disease like diabetes. There is treatment available and it improves health and quality of life, so use it. And mostly I do.

Sometimes, though, I think "I've been doing so well, maybe I'm 'over' it." So I stop taking the antidpressant I've been on for years. And usually, I do ok...for a little while. And then my view of the world begins to change. Sometimes I get sad. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed that all I want to do is stay in my bed, or once out get back in it. Mostly, I get very irritable and the world is full of idiots who don't know what they are doing.

So duh, just take the meds, right? Well, it's not actually that easy.

When I don't take the antidepressant for several weeks, or a month or longer, I feel things I don't usually feel when the drugs are managing the chemicals in my brain. I cry at situations where normal human beings would cry, when, medicated, I find tears hard to come by. I'm a little more spontaneous and free to be silly with my kids. I actually have a sex drive. (TMI?) Is it any wonder that many of the most famous artists and thinkers in history have also been classified as a little crazy?

That's where I am right now. I didn't make a conscious decision to stop taking my antidepressant. I thought it was on auto-fill at the pharmacy and I just didn't pay attention to the fact that I'd run out and hadn't gotten a call that a new prescription was ready. A week or two went by and I thought, "Hey, I'm doing pretty well. Maybe I can handle this." Then another week or two went by and people around me kept getting more and more irritating. I could hear myself being unnecessarily snappy. Mike commented that I seemed to be on edge. I do find myself tearing up with greater ease. But I am kind of enjoying the thought of being "free." I'm not paralyzed by sadness. I'm not feeling a magnetic pull to my bed. I'm not having any crazy thoughts.

So I'm here, trying to decide where to move from here. Go back to the antidepressant which has served me well and which resolves the world of so much of its idiocy (as I perceive it to be) and takes the biting edge off my anger? Or stay drug-free? If I choose Plan B, I know I'll need to employ some other techniques for dealing with it -- things like exercise, meditation, etc. (For the record, Mike is all for Plan A.)

I'm not sure why I felt compelled to write about this. Maybe that's part of the unmedicated inhibition that I'm experiencing? Maybe because I suspect others know where I'm coming from. Who knows? I guess you can just call me crazy.

What will you remember?

Annie and I were out buying school supplies and bras (that's a WHOLE 'nuther post!) last weekend. We stopped to grab a bite to eat and for some reason I asked her when she is 40 years old, what does she think she'll remember the most about certain people in her life.

Actually, the initial question was what will she remember about ME (I'm kind of self-centered like that). Here's what she said:

Me:

"I'll remember how you are always behind your laptop." (Ouch! Did she really just say that? How's that for a ringing endorsement for reduced screen time?)

"I'll remember that when there's no radio on in the car, you sing Catholic songs really loudly." (At least she didn't say "badly.")

"And I'll remember that you like to pop my zits and blackheads." (Did I really just type that out here in this very public space? Let me note that it's not that I enjoy this task, it's just that the OCD side of me is driven batty by the sight of blemishes on the faces of those I love. If you don't live in my house, don't worry, I won't attack your zits. And I don't even pop Annie's that often -- she's strong enough to fight me off.)

Certain that I didn't want to hear any more about what she'll remember about me, I asked about Mike.

"I'll remember that he teaches my brothers inappropriate things." (Perhaps its a matter of judgement whether teaching small boys to belch the alphabet is inappropriate?) "And that he 'tries' to dance to be cool and he knows a lot about computers and everything about Star Trek."

Between the two of us, raising three normal and well-adjusted kids is gonna be a crapshoot. Still, I was enjoying the conversation, so I went on. I didn't ask about her brothers because I didn't want her to say something she might regret one day. So I moved on to the grandparents.

Grandpa? "Oh, (insert giggle here) I will always remember his crazy, long curly eyebrows." (I was braced for the "he chases us with boogers" comment, but that would fit under inappropriate things above, I guess.

Grandma? "She is always SO busy. And she can fix a lot of stuff." (Tru dat. And fix them with nothing more than a paper clip and a rubber band on most occasions!)

What about Poppo and GoGo -- Mike's parents -- I wondered? What will you remember about them?

"I'll remember that Poppo really likes poetry and going for walks outside and being in the garden. And GoGo likes to have fun and take us places. And, oh yeah, for an old lady she sure cusses a lot."

Guess as a group, we bring a whole new meaning to the word "legacy."

What do you remember about your parents and grandparents.

Self-indictment

Annie is at a friend's house. I've asked the boys to pick up the family room -- fold and put away the blankets, put the cushions back on the couch, take all the shoes to their owners bedrooms.

Charlie is reluctantly doing the lion's share of the work, while Robbie is being, well....lazy. Which made Charlie offer up the following self-indictment:

"I feel like I'm Annie and Robbie is me. The "Annie" is doing all the work and the "Charlie" is just sitting around doing nothing!"