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.

It wasn't until I dealt with a series of pretty significant emotional blows in my life that I realized I didn't suffer from occasional PPD, I was plain old depressed. And looking back, I felt I had been that way long before I got pregnant with No. 1. While I've never shied away from getting treatment for whatever condition I have, nor from admitting what I have, one of the hardest things I've ever had to do was to say out loud, "I think I'm depressed."

It was one of the best things I could do for myself, though, because I was able to get treatment that helps me function like a normal human. However, I have felt lately that something has changed. I'm exhibiting "symptoms" that make me believe something in my treatment needs to change. One of those symptoms is my inability to get up in the morning and go for a walk. I know I'm harping on this, but the not-walking thing really bothers me because I genuinely enjoy it.

Depression and diabetes tend to hang around and antagonize each other and can make things worse. That seems to be what's happening to me lately, at least in my Dr. Kowalski opinion. I've been hemming and hawing about going to see a counselor for some time (instead of just popping pills and being done with it); now's the time when it really makes sense to go sort things out. Hopefully, with some pushing, I can get back on track in all senses.