One of the worst parts of being depressed is not feeling like I'm fully present for Elsa and Clio. They are brimming with energy and enthusiasm these days, drinking in life in great big gulps. I hate not being able to give them the focus and engagement that they deserve. I hate feeling like I'm only half there.
When I'm having an episode of depression -- like the one that sideswiped me two weeks ago and is just starting to lift a bit -- all I want to do is, well, nothing. Just being hurts. Sleep is good. Lying on the couch watching TV (with the exception of campaign coverage) is OK, too. But entertaining a couple of toddlers who, these days, want mommy to do everything they do -- Mommy draw! Mommy read! Mommy legos! -- is signficantly more challenging. Akin to parenting while you've got the flu or a bad cold, but worse. Because it's not just your body that feels lousy; it's your brain, too.
Last week, I kept thinking up titles for the "Bad Parent" essays I could write for Babble. Bad Parent: I let my Children Watch Back-to-Back Episodes of Curious George So I Can Lie on the Couch Moping and Sighing. Bad Parent: I Count the Minutes Until Bedtime. Or even, Bad Parent: I watched "Mad Men" and Drank a Big Old Glass of Wine at 4 O'Clock in the Afternoon While my Children Crumbled Play-Doh All Over the Living Room Rug.
And yet, it's Elsa and Clio (and Alastair) that are my saving grace when I am depressed. Because as crappy as I may feel, they can actually still make me laugh and smile. They ease the pain, even if it's just for a few seconds at a time. They make the worst days bearable.
A moment of pleasure on a not so good day, at a recent MOT club Halloween party. It's hard not to smile when you're helping two ballerinas (well, one ballerina and one modern dancer) get onto a rocking boat toy.
They also keep me from giving in to the depression completely. When there are kids to be dressed and changed and fed and read to and played with, you have no choice but to soldier on through. And yes, Alastair has done more than his fair share while I've been unwell, both this time and over the summer, when I had another prolonged episode (surprise!) And yes, I have paid for some extra babysitting to give myself a break. But having the girls pushes me to function at a higher level than I probably would if I didn't have them. And it makes me that much more determined to get on top of this thing and get better. (I realize, of course, that some people have such severe depression that even having a family they love isn't enough to keep them going. I thank my lucky stars I've never experienced those depths, and hope I never will.)
Even on the milder-to-medium side, though, it's an evil mofo, this depression thing. After the bout I had back in February / March, triggered by weaning, which I wrote about here, I thought I'd be OK. I was back on a higher dose of antidepressants, and I felt great. And then, mid July, I got hit again and was down for over a month, with a few days down lower than I'd ever been before. More medication adjustment, a couple of months of feeling pretty good, and now this, out of the blue. More adjusting. WTF?
But I'm on top of it. I'm taking good care of myself -- seeing my doctor, trying to stay active in spite of the fatigue, and going easy on the Mommy Daddy Juice. (Not that I'm some kind of wino normally, but as my friends who read this can attest ... I do so love my Sauv. blanc.) I was supposed to go up to NH this past weekend to canvass for Obama, but knowing that I was in absolutely no state to be going around talking to undecided, possibly hostile strangers, I cancelled and went to the Boston campaign HQ and did data entry instead. Minimal mental, physical and social exertion. Very smart choice. I forced myself to go running that same day, even though I totally didn't want to -- also good.
And I'm starting to feel better --- knock on wood.
You know, some people out there probably think I'm nuts for revealing all this personal stuff on the internets. Sometimes I think I'm nuts to do it, too. It's not like I go around announcing to people in "real life" that I'm depressive. Most of the time, I feel fine, and when I don't, I can usually fake my way through. I only really talk about it with family and good friends, and it's only one small part of who I am.
On the other hand, I really do think it's important to destigmatize depression (and the like). I don't know that most people will ever view mood disorders the same way they view diabetes or MS or any other chronic medical condition -- as something very physiological, as opposed to a personality trait or psychological problem. But as someone who truly is happy and well-balanced -- someone who loves her life, her family, her friends, and her work, has very healthy self-esteem and STILL suffers from periodic depression, I hope maybe I can convince a few people to see it that way, and understand it better. I am depressive, hear me roar!
Oh, and one more, very important thing: The only reason I'm dresssing the girls (roughly) alike for Halloween -- and as ballerinas, no less -- is that we already had all the necessary costume components (the tutus were a baby shower gift). I am too cheap / lazy to buy or make new costumes given that the girls themselves don't care one way or the other. (Though, in fact, at the party we went to this weekend, Elsa was clearly psyched about her costume while Clio wanted no part of it. I tried making her some bunny ears, which she wore for approximately 40 seconds before flinging disdainfully to the ground. She did, however, continue to hop periodically for the rest of the day.) Thank you.
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