I'm certain some of you may think I fell off the face of the earth or decided to quit blogging, but rest assured that is not the case. Normally, I would hesitate to divulge such personal issues but I feel this is not only therapeutic for me to write down, but also may benefit others who could possibly be facing similar situations. So, apologies for those who dislike reading, but this is somewhat lengthy but important for me to get out.
For years (ever since adolescence) I have battled depression. To say I had a poor childhood would be akin to stating that the sky is blue- fairly obvious since the majority (in my mind anyways) of people would contend that they had some sort of childhood which lacked in love, sympathy, toys, or whatever the case may be. So simply stating my childhood was not satisfactory may be seen as a lame excuse, and even saying it sounds so stupidly cliche I hate that I even mention it. But yes, my childhood sucked, to put it blatantly. Not all of it, mind you, there were quite a lot of fond and enjoyable memories of times spent on vacations, with friends, etc. But as most people know, childhood development is extremely important and can alter the direction of one's growth. One's upbringing can have quite an impact on how one turns out later in life. Suffice it to say, with all the hell I went through (and I'm not simply saying I didn't get enough toys or something silly like that, trust me, it was much worse that I care to explain) it was no wonder I grew up battling depression, anxiety and a feeling of low self worth and a fear of abandonment and rejection. I have had three different mothers not including my biological one I only met two years ago, and the only father I've ever known died a couple years ago just as we were forming a real relationship. Stupid high school issues like boyfriends, etc. made the home drama that much worse, and as I grew older, my lack of patience, quick temper and sadness become more than I could handle. The turning point came when I became pregnant with Lia last year. Never have my emotions been so screwed up so much so that after I decided I had to be put on antidepressants. I'd been on them before in my teens, but never regularly so I thought I'd try them again. After trying like four different ones, I became a zombie, with no energy or motivation to do anything, while also battling massive postpartum depression as well. I found myself staring at the computer day after day not accomplishing anything. About a week and a half ago I decided I'd had enough and decided to quit taking them. Cold turkey. Dumb move. Most medicines don't give you enough details or facts about what happens when you stop. Any time you've built something like that into your system you have to taper down slowly to minimize withdrawals and such.Well, I didn't and I've been paying the price. On one hand, my energy has returned; unfortunately it is more often then not a panicky energy and I find myself full of anxiety. I am constantly crying randomly and feel as if all hope is lost and I have nothing to give or accomplish. I always thought I'd have a career, but now being a wife and mother I think that chance is gone and perhaps this was what I was meant to do with my life instead. I understand many are happy to do so, but if this is my purpose in life than I find myself unable to accept that I wasn't meant for more. Pure vanity, in some ways. However, I'm getting better and taking each day as it comes. I have no plans on giving up blogging as I feel lit has helped me connect with others I wouldn't have been able to otherwise and I've made some real friendships along the way.
