Depression

It has taken me a long time to even admit I have depression.

I have always been that strong person who denies there is anything wrong. Because if I don't acknowledge there is a problem, it goes away right? I thought that if I could plaster that smile on my face, grin and move on, that meant there wasn't anything wrong with me. I was fine.

I had never been diagnosed with depression when I was younger, though I know I had it. I had grown up in a rather rocky life, not being able to be me, living in a hoarder's house, waking up with wolf spiders all over my face. I had fought my mother almost kicking and screaming to not live in that house. Begged her not to be with her boyfriend at the time that moved us into that mess, but to no avail. I spent 3 years being made to be submissive, warped to be exactly what they wanted to be and that took a toll on who I would become later.

I moved out at 18 and things got better.

I did have it under control. I had moments every now and again that would have me slipping back to the dark side (and they lied, there are no cookies) but for the most part, I was doing okay.

Especially after I got out of my 8-year toxic relationship. I could finally admit I was ok. I was no longer sad, no longer trying to make myself someone I wasn't, no longer acting. It was freeing and I wanted to hold onto that feeling forever.

I ended up in a better relationship and things were going very well. We got our own place, did what we wanted and everything was easy.

Then I gave birth to my son and the one thing I was not prepared for was postpartum depression.

They say it can happen, but they do not tell you had bad it can be, or at least they never told me. They didn't say I would be on the kitchen floor crying over the spilled formula because I felt like a horrible mother for not being able to make a bottle at 2 a.m.

They did not tell me I was going to hate my own breasts because my son was in the NICU for three weeks and my body could not keep up production no matter what I did.

They didn't tell me that being away from my son for those 3 weeks, not having him at home with me, constantly worrying about him, was going to make me want to climb the walls and go crazy.

They also didn't tell me that it can last for years.

I just figured I would do what I always do, fix what was bothering me at that moment, and then everything would be better.

So now, I actually have to admit that there is something wrong. I cannot grin and pretend anymore. For my relationship and my son, if not for myself, I need to heal and find a way to get through this.

My therapist and my partner have been a huge help.

Talking, which is something that doesn't come naturally to me, has been the best medicine. I am opening up to my partner more than I ever have and he doesn't judge or berate me for thinking or feeling the way I do. He is a very understanding person and it is important that you have someone like that in your life that you can talk to that's like that.

One of the hardest things for me to admit is that I need to lean on people. I will not get healthy on my own.

It was a huge step for me to even agree to see the therapist, who I am getting to know and have come to like. I lucked out that I liked the one that I talked to first, but I've been told that it is important to 'shop around' when it comes to your therapist.

Mine tells me like it is and doesn't sugar coat things, which is what I really need. I need to see reality instead of what I make up in my own head because I am a writer, I'm really good at creating stories.

But no matter what, it's a process and it's not going to happen overnight.

That is something I have to keep reminding myself too.

It's a process and it's a lot of hard work.

But it will be worth it