Diva with Depression

Real stories of a woman with depression.


“So, I faced one fear and started my blog. I hope it helps someone along the way. Thanks to my friends and family who encouraged me to at least try.”

That was one year ago. I can’t believe I survived! Lol. 

I wish I could say that my fear has decreased. I’m scared every time I press publish. I’m afraid of revealing too much, too little, too boring….. I still hold a post for a day or two before publishing. 

But I’ve gained a lot. I’ve been interacting with some amazing people. I’ve learned from other bloggers and other people coping with this illness. I’ve learned that I am not alone. I’ve learned who’s with me and who’s not. Most of all I’ve learned that this is my story. I can’t fake it. I can’t sugarcoat it. I can’t tone it down to make others comfortable. I’m a mess and it’s ok. And there are those who contributed to my mess. Truth and transparency are my goals. 

I thank all of you for your support. I appreciate everyone who reads, shares, follows, replies, and just cares. It means more than you know. 

Please continue to keep the dialogue going. It’s important. I promise to stay open, honest, and focused. Luv ya!! 

Happy Birthday to us!!! 

No I’m not Stuck Up… Or Rude…

In the past few weeks I’ve had to extend myself socially. Much more than usual. I don’t mind. I try to always be there for family and friends. 

Growing up, I was fairly quiet. I stayed to myself mostly. In school I always stuck with the quiet crowd. I remember when I started high school everyone would head to the cafeteria or outside to mingle. I hid in the library or outside with a book. I don’t think I really mingled until I was graduating. #sigh 

When I go to a restaurant or crowded place, I have to see the door. I don’t go to parades because of the crowd. Crowded spaces make me nervous. 

I’ve had most of these quirks since I was young. But the anxiety has grown by a thousand. Maybe you are bolder when you’re young. I don’t know. My sister was having a housewarming. Now there was no way I wasn’t going. I sat. I talked. I was happy to see everyone. But after an hour or two, I couldn’t control my anxiety. I left. She knows my issue and loves me anyway. Strangers, not so much… 

I went out with a friend. It took forever to get me to go because of the anxiety. He was nervous about the changes we’ve both gone through. I was nervous about having a panic attack. I think I popped one or two “courage” pills just during that visit. Then I stopped by a friend’s house. There were so many people there. But I needed to be there, so I sucked it up. There were lots of familiar faces. Old and new friends. Everyone was mingling. I was sweating like a whore in church, staring at my phone. I had to go outside. Now I’m sure those folks thought I was antisocial or rude. But I was having a panic attack and needed to calm down. By the way, I did accomplish what I went there for. Then I had to attend another event. Most of the same people. My daughter went with me because she knew what a wreck I was. More huge crowds. More old and new faces. I was so excited to see these wonderful faces. But I stayed in the back. They must think I’m so rude, is what went through my head. I was talking to one dear friend about me not attending several events. He said I should have been there because no one cared about all that “stuff” I worry about. I’m sure he thinks that it’s the usual – weight, grey hair, accomplishments. Nope. Anxiety. 

Panic attacks are real. They are scary. And in some cases, debilitating. You can go from 0-60 in a matter of seconds. And the triggers can be different every time.

I know that most won’t take the time to consider this before judging the “rude, antisocial” person in the bunch. This is just something to think about. 

But wait! You don’t understand! 

I’m pretty much a private person. There are people who have known me forever and they still haven’t heard the deep secrets. So deciding to do put my depression on front street has been difficult. 

When the most severe stage of my illness began, I kept it to myself. I was afraid of what people would think. Bad enough I had to face my kids. I didn’t need comments from outside parties. Unfortunately, they came eventually. 

Most of them were negative. Being depressed and having breakdowns, to them, was failure and weakness. 

Suffering from a mental illness is hard enough without having to worry about what people think. But we’re human and we care. 

I don’t speak out for pity. And there’s still LOTS of things I have not told. I really decided to speak out because I’ve heard from so many people who were struggling also. It’s hard when you believe that you are all alone. 

With open honesty comes rude, careless and hurtful remarks. I’ve learned to separate the categories of people. 

Rude people say things like: Get over it. You’re too old for “those” issues. Lose weight, exercise, socialize. That will cure it. 

Careless:Let it go. Pray it away. Separate yourself from the triggers. You’re too sensitive. You need to be more open. You don’t need medicine. Therapy is a waste of money. 

Rude: You’ve always been crazy. I’m not asking you to go out anymore. Everyone has problems. You brought it on yourself. What do you have to be depressed about? 

I am slowly learning who is truly concerned and who is being nosey or malicious. I’ve shut out some friends and family members, but it’s for the best. 

I’m Superior at being Inferior

I have lots of dreams. I have lots of plans. I have a notebook for each one. So you can imagine what my house looks.(that’s another story) 

I was on a group call with several other women. They were sharing their goals and projects. I stayed quiet as they rattled off accomplishments and carefully organized plans. 

I went to a vision board workshop. My board was pitiful. Not because I don’t have dreams. But because I can’t focus. I couldn’t concentrate on what my dreams actually are. Everyone else had beautiful boards. 

Insert sigh……. 

I see friends running businesses. Changing the world. Writing books. Wearing nice clothes. And here I am struggling to find my purse. 

I’m not wallowing. I know I’m smart. Talented. I just wish I could show the world my gifts. Or at least the neighbors. Geesh! 

I guess this is why social media is not good for depression. Everyone is wonderful compared to you.  

Oh how I wish depression only affected my mood, like everyone thinks. This is a life altering monster. 

I guess I’ll just continue watching the world go by while I try to find my… I can’t remember what I was looking for

WTF Just Happen?!?!?! 

Thursday I was fine. I was planning to visit a friend. I had some baking to do. I was feeling “normal”. Whatever that means. 

So I baked and created on Saturday. Finished up on Sunday. I then spent time with family and friends. I was kind of nervous. Crowds make me uncomfortable. But I wasn’t miserable. 

So why did the monster do a sneak attack? Wtf happen to cause this meltdown?

I can’t sleep. But I’m out cold for an hour or so. I haven’t gotten dressed. No makeup. Barely eating. I’ve gone from the bed to the couch then back to bed. Cooking? Nope. Cleaning? Nope. Oh, I did wash the dishes. My bad. I’ve left the house to do only the important things. I’ve been crying. I’ve been screaming on the inside. I’ve even thought about going to the hospital. 

Pasty mouth. Cotton brain. Mood swings. Exhaustion. No desire or strength to complete simple tasks. 

This is not a sympathy post. I just want people to understand how unpredictable this disease is. One minute you’re climbing the mountain, the next you’re under it. And you can’t push it off. The monster has to lift it off. 

Fucking monster. It controls everything. How does it beat Ritalin for goodness sake!! 

Well maybe I’ll see you on the upside. Or this will be the time the monster wins. 

We’ll see…. 

Dating while Depressed 

I’ve been in some state of depression most of my life. I was also in a committed relationship for about 300 years. Lol. 

I never really had to explain my “personalities” to anyone. I’ve always been good at keeping them under control. And when the monster kicked me to rock-bottom, I was in a relationship so I was sort of covered. 

I’ve had several conversations lately that got me thinking about the added stress of dating and divulging the dreaded secret. 

One person asked me if I was Bipolar based on my answer to a question. I know what he meant. And I know he wasn’t being malicious. But one can take offense to this type of question. Right? I mean, if I am, is that a bad thing? Or are they  implying that Bipolar automatically means crazy? 

What about the many “I can’ts”? Going on a date to a concert, parade, or festival. Um, yeah. Those crowds don’t work for me. Oh, come with me to a wedding-dinner-party-anything with strangers. Um, nah. I don’t do ” new” people. Feel free to add your phobia dejour. 

My favorite so far – “How are you doing today?”  After 5 or 2o “notsogoods”, they feel like you’re a Debbie Downer. “What did you do today?” Fused my ass to the couch is not attractive, huh. And how many ways can I reply to “At least you’re alive. Some have it worse.”,  in a non homicidal tone? 

I think the plague way of dating works just fine. You avoid everything remotely couplish or romantic, completely. You buy a fish and sit it next to your recliner so you’re not completely out of the social world. Hey, at least I won’t be confused with the crazy cat lady. 

Things are looking up……. #sigh 

Mom’s Crazy (page 2)

Although I didn’t know it at the time, I grew up with a depressed mother. The memories are, let’s just say they shaped my life. So I tried my best not to subject my kids to the same pain. 

I would wake up with them every morning. Get them off to school. Take my meds and sleep all day. Then get up for when they came home. I centered my monster time around their schedule. Functioning Depression is what they call it, I think. 

My oldest was, and still is, my rock. She understood more. She would help with the forgetfulness. Entertaining her sister. She pretty much helped me help them. I wasn’t proud of how things went all the time, but I kept going. I figured it was better than just sitting around letting them fend for themselves. 

My youngest just went with the flow. She knew, I believe, that she would be taken care of by one of us. She is very mature so she knew we weren’t normal. But she knew I would do anything to take care of her. And I did. 

It’s  very hard to grow up with a depressed parent. Life is so, unstable. Meds, mood swings, exhaustion. They take away from their childhood somewhat. I will always live with that.

But the one thing I always did was talk to them. I still do. Constantly. Now that they are older they understand more and express more. You have to let your kids in. Even if it’s small doses. Or else they’ll think the worst. Or that they’re responsible. 

God blessed me with amazing kids. Even in my darkest moments, they shine a light. 

The monster doesn’t just come for you. It takes down everyone and everything that’s dear to you.  It knows no boundaries. 

One day it will be easier to tame it. Until then, I just keep my babies close and look for the tiny light in the endless darkness. 

I’ll see you in 2017, 2016, 2015. 

So here we are again. The end of another year. The beginning of another. 

I’m guessing most people have made their resolutions.

I didn’t. 

See, lucky folks can embrace a new year and put the past behind them. Those of us who sleep with the monster don’t have that luxury. 

I can barely remember my thoughts from minute to minute. But you can bet your ass that I can remember my sins and mishaps of the past. And the sins committed against me in the past. 

I mean, isn’t that how the monster survives. It has us weighed down with the disappointments that have crushed our souls. Who forgets THAT year to year? Hell, lifetime to lifetime! 

So I carry into 2017 the years before. Hopefully I will drop one or two things so I don’t have too much to drag into the next one. But knowing that damn monster, something new will be added to the bag. 

Oh well. I’m not to far gone to wish you all a happy and prosperous new year. May we all find at least one bright spot during the new year. 

Love and blessings. 


I used to inhale books. One a day sometimes. Now I can hardly finish a magazine article. 

I used to add numbers in my head. Now I can’t remember 2+2.

My brain is mush. Imagine cotton between your ears. Or something stuck in your throat and you can’t remove it. 

I feel like I have dementia. Everyday gets worse. Bills unpaid. Appointments forgotten. Clutter everywhere. I have 3 planners and can’t remember to write in them. 

You know what the Dr told me? People who suffer from depression for a long time can suffer from these symptoms longer and more severe. 

WTF!!! Isn’t depression enough!! So now have age, possible resistant depression, and ADD symptoms. 

Excuse me while I hit the liquor store. 

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