I want to thank those of you who left your supportive comments on my depressed blog yesterday.  Interestingly enough, my doctor did not force the weaning issue at my appointment–probably because she forgot I was breastfeeding, and I didn’t bother to remind her since she wasn’t suggesting a change in medication.  She did “jack up” my Zoloft, though, and lectured me about bolstering my local social support network because “isolation can be a self-perpetuating cycle.”  As though I needed a lecture.  Anyway, there is that.

Since several of you asked about post-partum depression, I thought I would answer here.  My depression is essentially unrelated to anything post-partum.  Although I suppose having been thrice post-partum has not helped much, I’ve been dealing with this thing for years and years.  (Okay, maybe just years.  I’m not that old.)  I decided a long time ago to be open about it–not like I introduce myself this way because I don’t define myself by a chemical imbalance (my username notwithstanding, I don’t consider mental illness a personality trait), but I don’t go to great lengths to avoid talking about it either–because I know that when people are depressed, they are so sure they are alone in their experience, that everyone in the whole world is coping except for them.  So they don’t talk to anyone about their troubles because they’re so sure they would feel better if they were just “better people” and they’re ashamed that they aren’t “better” than they are.  I still do it myself, so I know of what I speak.  Unless, of course, I’m just crazy. Anyway, I feel somewhat better today, dog troubles notwithstanding, and I’m beginning to regret something I did during a terrible bout of not-coping yesterday afternoon.  I called my step-mother and asked her to come visit me because I really needed some help taking care of the kids.  Part of me thinks I was right to do it, but the other part of me fears I’ve made a grave error.  I really love my dad’s wife, but spending copious amounts of time in close proximity–let’s say I’m a little nervous about the advent of some not-so-amusing blog fodder.  It’s not just her.  It’s me.  And Sugar Daddy.  And possibly the dog.  We shall see.

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