It's after 9 p.m. on Saturday night and I've just learned something that normally would send me straight to bed. Likely crying. But I'm wide awake and I can't help but wonder if it's the double dose of anti-depressants I took this morning.

I met with a psychiatrist yesterday for the first time ever. Iv'e seen counselors before, but never for depression.

I was looking forward to the appointment. I was anxious to talk about how I got to where I was, issues that I struggle with, and I think a little validation that what I was going through was real depression and not just a wacked out personality.

I connected with Dr. L pretty quickly and easily. I imagined she'd be around my age and she was. She was easy to talk to; straight forward and rather blunt at times, which I was fine with.

"Is there anyone else in your family with a history of depression?" she asked.

"No, not that I know of."

"There has to be," she insisted.*

We talked about how I had post-partum depression with No. 1 and No. 2 and that looking back The Mr. and I realized I had signs of depression long before I was ever diagnosed with PPD. She of course asked if I had ever had thoughts of hurting myself or of suicide.

"Not exatly," I said. "I have thought on occasion ... not that I want to die, but that I just don't..."

"You just don't want to be here," she finished for me.

"Yes. That's exactly it. Sometimes I just don't want to be here."

It felt good to know that she knew what I was talking about. I felt very comfortable and at ease telling her some pretty dark things about myself.

After most of her information gathering was done (including questions about anxiety and OCD (I like even numbers, I told her)), we talked about anti-depressants; she was surprised at how well I had coped for so long on such a low dose of the medicine I was taking.

She doubled the amount I take and frankly I was pretty happy she did. I've thought for a long time (and told Dr. L) that there are times when I don't know if I'm feeling a certain way because of depression or because it's just a part of my personality. Side effects, she said, include insomnia.

Not that I'd have insomnia at 9 p.m., but the fact that I'm this awake after a pretty full day, after staying up until almost midnight working on photos last night, after receiving this emotional blow that I thought I had already overcome... I just don't see why or how I'm not glued to the bed.

*I asked a cousin after my appointment if there was anyone on my biological father's side (from whom I'm estranged) with a history of depression. Basically everyone, she said. Well then, that explains it.