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We found 10 result(s) that match your search "depression":

Blogging is difficult for me sometimes. Don't get me wrong, I love this website and everyone associated with the Blogabetes community. Each and every one of you continue to be an enormous help. I can come on here and rant and rave to the ENTIRE WORLD about my life with diabetes. I make friends, I laugh, I tear up, and it's all wonderful. It's fantastic and I have no doubt this will continue to be an extremely helpful thing for me and everyone else too. At times though, the only thing I crave is complete and utter privacy, freedom from the world of diabetes and from everything. The last thing on my mind is the desire to share one more personal diabetic experience with the world. (READ MORE)

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My fellow Americans...I have depression. Or, I am depressed. Or, I am a person with depression. How ever you choose to say it, depression is a condition--like diabetes--that I deal with every day.
I was first treated for depression after No. 1 was born. In retrospect, the depression seemed almost instant after he was born. It took several weeks, yes weeks, before I realized that my desire to "put him back in" so I could be pregnant for the rest of my life wasn't normal. He was about six months old when I felt confident and comfortable enough to wean myself off anti-depressants. I seemed to manage just fine after that. But one of the first questions I asked my OB when I was pregnant with No. 2 was how likely I was to get depressed again. I was devastated when she very bluntly said "pretty good." Although I thought I had beat post-partum depression, several days after No. 2 was born, I recognized the signs and promptly got back to the doctor. (READ MORE)

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Here it comes. The flood of tears that I couldn't hold back anymore. I could feel it way back in there but thought they would pass.

 

The Mr. calls and can hear the stress in my voice and I don't try to hide it.

 

"What's wrong," he wants to know.

 

"I have no idea," I say. "I guess it's hormones. I just feel like I'm going to cry and I have absolutely no tolerance for the kids acting like... kids. I just want it to be quiet and for everyone to follow directions the first time and to not have to tell anyone to STOP IT! or to SIT DOWN AND FINISH EATING. Basically I want to relinquish my Mom Duties for a while."

 

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I'm not really sure why I feel compelled to do this, but I do. It's important to me that you know that diabetes did not cause my depression. 

 

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There have been a couple of items in the news lately about type 2 diabetes and depression, stating that people who have type 2 are more prone to depression.

 

This, to me, is one of those duh articles. It makes sense that someone with a chronic disease would be more prone to depression. It's hard. Constantly thinking about food and dosing makes ME depressed sometimes - I can't imagine how it would be to have the disease.

 

I worry about this for Olivia. I suffer from depression and there's a good chance that she could inherit that tendency, too. I hope she doesn't, but the odds are there and they worry me.

 

It's not bad enough to have diabetes, to have the day-to-day drudgery of taking care of a chronic condition but to also have the threat of depression hanging over her seems unfair, like it's too much to ask of her.

 

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I’ve never been formally diagnosed with depression. After having post-partum depression after No. 1 and No. 2 were born, I pretty much recognized the symptoms. It took Harry looking at me and actually calling me on it (“How depressed are you?”) for me to finally get help for it.

 

But back then one of the reasons I didn’t seek out a more professional opinion was because I was unemployed and scraping every penny I had for everything I did. In fact, after Harry prescribed an anti-depressant for me I wasn’t able to take it because insurance didn’t cover it and I couldn’t afford to shell out $100 a month for it.

 

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I was beyond thrilled when my depression didn't get any worse after No. 3 was born. For as miserable as I was after No. 1 and No. 2 were born, I felt absolutely fantastic.

 

I also felt for a long while that this was just the way it was going to be. That in order to feel something close to normal I'd need to take a pill once a day. No big deal considering all the other medications I was taking to be sort of close to normal.

 

I started to have episodes or days when I would be aggravated and super angry for no apparent reason. And then just like that I'd be fine. I started to look up symptoms of bipolar disorder thinking that having what amounted to rather extreme mood swings was a hallmark of bipolar. But after some research I decided that I did not have bipolar.

 

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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.

 

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My last post about depression had me talking a lot. I mean, I cut like 200 words out of that post to get it to a readable length and here I am still having things to say about depression.

 

So when I left off I was an unemployed mother of two who was going through some seriously taxing financial and emotional times. On a rare day when The Mr. and I had time alone (I actually think we had gone on a date!) I admitted to him and to myself that I was depressed. I started taking Prozac and feeling better. I felt better that it was a problem that was recognized and that I was finally able to take care of it.

 

No. 2 was about two and a half when I finally found a job (and just five blocks from home!); I continued on the Prozac knowing that it wasn't just being unemployed that was making me feel so miserable.

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My eyes are heavy from crying. The crying that has been brewing for days. Driving home tonight I thought about how easy it would be to just start crying. No reason. Just need to cry.

 

A disagreement at home brought the tears to the front. The very front. At 6 p.m. on a Thursday night I found myself curled up in my dark bedroom sobbing. Still wearing my work clothes. I could have gone to sleep. I could have slept for days. I cried and sobbed. I tried not to sob too loud so I wouldn’t alert the kids, but I’m sure that No. 1 – who was sitting at the computer just outside my bedroom – heard me. It wasn’t because of the disagreement. This is what depression looks like for me.

 

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