Of Lil Blue Pills & Depression

Wanna here a story?
Well, here it goes.

About three months ago, I went to the doctor because I was having some *issues.* Under normal circumstances, I'm a baby about getting hurt or sick.

If I've stubbed my toe, I swear my nose is broken. 

If I get a paper cut, I've contracted the bubonic plague. 

I'm the kind of person who believes someone is going to poison my coffee. Any minor issues are life threatening. Add to that the sudden and shocking death of my father just shy of two years ago and I'm a mess.  Every little thing from an ache to a sneeze means I've got the big C (*whispers cancer*). I know it's dramatic. I know it's out of control. But there's this fear that plagues me that I or (worse) someone I love is going to die suddenly... again. Thusly, when I started noticing some funny things going on with my person, I decided I should head to the doctor immediately. 

After a nice little visit with the doctor and a few tests, she discovered all was well and I was experiencing the normal you're getting older and your body's gonna start falling apart right about now-ish stuff. She decided to prescribe me some lady medicine.

"I believe it'll be the perfect fit for you," she said. "And in no time at all you should be feeling much better."

To which I said, "Sign me up!"

With stars in my eyes and a bounce in my step, I headed to the local drug store that very afternoon and, upon arriving home, I took that first lil blue pill. 

The next morning, I woke up feeling a little off but nothing too bad. I chalked it up to my body getting use to the new meds. I was hopeful and determined to stay positive. 

A few days later, I was feeling decent if not  a little weepy but again I thought, "This has all got to be normal. Right?" 

But that's when I heard the first whisper:

"Nobody likes you, Angela," it said. "You're a joke and a loser and nobody cares about you."

To which I immediately said, "That is so not true. My husband and my kids and my family love me. And I've got friends. And they like me too. Plus, I'm a writer and I write things and people seem to like it."

"Is that so?" the whisper said.

"Yes," I said.

And, I know you'll think I'm being dramatic, but that's when the whisper started laughing at me. I won't get into specifics. The memories it brought up. The points it made. It would whisper names of friends and family, reasons why they didn't like me. It would point out how poorly I wrote or how dumb my ideas were. How I was in my thirties and had pimples and a hairy chin and how there were others who were so much more talented and smarter and brighter and better.

If I'm honest, these are all things I've always struggled with, but I've been able to manage these feelings. Anytime they'd cropped up, I'd look at my family and my close friends and think they love me and God made me and you know what thoughts you can go to hell. However, this was a constant bombardment, morning, noon, and night. Nonstop the whisper kept reminding me of all the reasons I was a failure. It started to change me, a little bit everyday. First, I stopped emailing and texting my friends. Then, I started making up reasons I should stay home. Then, every time I'd start to write or tweet or blog I'd realize how bad I was at it and I'd quit. Eventually, I stopped looking in the mirror because I couldn't stand to look at myself. 

And then, just this week, on Tuesday night, I was doing dishes and that's when a new thought hit me:

"Your husband and kids would be better off without you," the whisper said.

This whisper scared me more than all the others. This whisper stopped me cold. Because this attack was brand new. And the worst part was, for the tiniest of moments, I believed it was the truth.

That's when I knew something was terribly, horribly wrong. When I talked to my husband, he looked me straight in the eyes and told me how wrong I was to believe these thoughts and how much he and the kids loved me and then he just held me and I cried and cried and cried. 

Tuesday night, I took the last lil blue pill and I will never take another one again. Monday morning, bright and early, I'm going back to that doctor and I'm telling her how terrible the pills were and that I'd rather run around thinking I've got cancer than hate myself the way I've hated myself the last few months.

In the past, I've struggled with feelings of doubt or sadness, but never in my life have I ever thought that my kids would be better off without their mother. And shame on me! Because I know I'm far worse off without my dad and I'm a grown woman. I've lost loved ones to depression and I know the key is to talk, even when it's depressing, even when you feel no one will care, even when you're embarrassed and feeling stupid and like a failure. 

As little by little, I wake from this dream of sadness, I'm more grateful than ever for my family and friends. For those who are willing to listen to me and love me even when I'm at my worst. And I'm grateful for this lil blog and its faithful readers who I've come to think of as some of my dearest friends.

Thank you.