So it begins

I am a mom.  I am not just a mom.  I am a wife.  I am not just a wife.  I am Anne.

I am a stay at home mother of 2.  Griff and Addie.  I am the stay at home wife to Ozzie.  They are my everything.  For the longest while they have been exactly that.  Everything.  Anne became lost in making sure everyone else was happy.  I often thought to myself that I should be happy because I have a happy husband and children.  What reason had I to be sad or (gulp) depressed?  In the beginning it was so easy to push my wants, needs, and desires aside.  It was what was best for the family as a whole that mattered most.  Little things like going someplace I wanted for dinner, keeping plans that I had made, or something of the like.  These little things became more and more common.

It came to the point where I started to think, "Why bother?"  Why bother making plans?  I would just have to cancel.  Why bother cleaning the house?  The family would just destroy it again.  Why bother to find hobbies?  I had no private space in my house where the kids couldn't make a mess of it or my husband wouldn't stuff with his tools.  I had nothing because my everything had taken over.  There was no Anne.

I started to become agitated easier to where the simplest thing would make me angry.  My children, running around with random squeals of joy and playfulness would send me into my anger.  They are just kids doing what kids do.  Laundry would sit, clean but piled into a mound in my room for weeks with no hope of being put away.  Dishes would sit for almost a week until we ran out of clean things to either cook or eat with.  If my husband mentioned that he thought I should try something, like cleaning more, I would be angry and sad that he wanted me to change.  I felt like I was giving everything I had and they, my family, were still trying to squeeze out more.  About once to twice a month, I would not want to even get out of bed to take care of my kids.  I taught my son how to get cereal by himself, make a peanut butter sandwich by himself, and turn the TV on himself.  All so I could wallow in bed, dreading anytime they needed me to be a mother.  That is not a way to live.  My children and husband deserve better.

It wasn't everyday that I was in the depths of despair.  I had good days in between.  On those days I felt silly for thinking I was depressed or for thinking about calling a doctor.  But even on those days I was still not Anne

Ozzie tried to make sure I had time to myself.  He tried to make sure I had things I could enjoy doing.  But it is not his job to make me happy.  Only I can make me happy.  And it began to wear on him.  He started to drown trying to save me.  Everyone was giving of themselves to try to make me whole.  I finally had the guts to tell Ozzie, "Something is wrong."  It hurt so much to say those three words.  Finally admitting to myself that I wasn't well.  That was a big jump to admit I was failing and I was dragging my family with me. Ozzie's response, "Yes, there is.  What do we need to do?"

"What do we need to do?"  It is one thing to admit that something was wrong.  It is another thing to actually do anything about it.  It was finally on a day that I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed I decided that I couldn't do this anymore.  Ozzie and I are hoping to home school our children this next fall.  I can't do that if I am not healthy, or at least trying to get healthy.  I would only damage my children.  Forcing them to stay home with a depressed mother, that would do more harm than good.  It was a Wednesday.  I was still in bed at 1 PM.  The kids had survived on cereal and Blues Clues.  I finally had enough.  I called my local clinic and asked to make an appointment to see someone, anyone, to get help with my depression.

By the appointment on Friday I was feeling better and felt silly for having made the appointment.  But I went.  I was honest to the N.P. that I had an appointment with.  I told her about my long days in bed.  About how I felt about being asked to change.  How my anger is flaring at the simplest things.  I cried.  I cried that I wasn't able to handle this myself.  I cried because I couldn't just let all the other drama in my life roll off my back.  Issues with in-laws compounded with stress of parenting, compressed into one imperfect, cracked being finally came out.

My N.P. listened.  She asked what I would be comfortable trying.  Suggesting both counseling and medication.  I mentioned how I wanted to try counseling and hold off on medication.  Too many bad stories of people just wanting pills and not actually working on the issues.  She referred me to a counselor.  Before I left, she told me that I am a good mother and deserve to be able to be just a good Anne.  That it was okay.  Thousands upon thousands of people are depressed.  They are getting help and I can too.  I left feeling a little lighter.

I did get an appointment with the counselor.  It is for August 30th.  There was no way I would be able to make it through the summer as I was.  I called my clinic again.  I was able to get in that day.  All two weeks since my last appointment.  I did the same as before. I cried.  Feeling like a failure for still being weak.  There was a stigma that was inflicted on me from past drama.  I was afraid of pills.  Afraid of what would happen if this person found out I needed pills to be normal.  But I also knew I wouldn't be a good mother if I did nothing.

My N.P. and I went through the medications available to me and the side effects of each one.  We talked about the side effects I thought I could deal with and the ones I knew would only make things worse.  It is kinda fun (sad funny) how when picking medication we choose by the side effects.  I choose an antidepressant to use.  I still have my counselor appointment in August, but this will allow me to start making positive changes so I can be in a better state to give therapy my all and truly heal.

I have been on the medication for only one week thus far.  I am starting to notice change.  My temper is slowing, my energy is returning.  Heck, even my house is clean.  I am not yelling at my children over stupid things.  This is only the start.  I still haven't found myself.  I think I have just found a little direction.  I know the old Anne has changed some in the last years since I last saw her.  But I am eager to get to know her again.  Not just as a mother and wife.  But as an individual with her own will and desires.

I am hoping this blog can help others who are struggling.  I have not guaranties.  I can not promise anything for reading this blog.  But they say misery loves company.  Maybe I can help someone else by finding a way out of my own darkness.  This is only the beginning.