2005-01-14 - 3:37 p.m.

I just did something that will most likely put me in the doghouse with my mother.

The other day we were talking about depression and she said something along the lines of "your's is just post-partum". Just post-partum? JUST post-partum?? The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. She has depression too, but she is always careful to say she has "clinical depression". Um, that means it was diagnosed by a doctor. Anyone on meds for depression could say they have clinical depression. Anyway, I found a very good article/website thing on depression and I emailed it to her, forgetting (unintentionally) to put some text with it as to why I was sending it to her since she knows what it is. In the second email to her, I told her how much she hurt me and made me feel as though she was discounting my feelings because I *just* have post-partum. I reminded her that I have dealt with depression in the past and know what it feels like.

She acts as though she's the only one who has ever felt unworthy, like she's the only person who has ever had low self-esteem. She's forgetting all the times she compared me to my brother ("Why can't you do better in school/keep your room clean/etc like your brother?") and how many times my father told me I was worthless and how I should be grateful I even had clothes on my back or food in my belly. Just because I can stand up to my father (she can't-to hers or mine) doesn't mean I never felt those feelings of helplessness or self-loathing. Just because I'm exercising more and eating better doesn't mean I don't beat myself up everytime I eat a chocolate chip cookie or crave a chicken sandwich from Burger King.

She's seeing a psychiatrist as well as taking a huge load of meds for anxiety and depression. She doesn't understand that she also has to want to feel better. Sometimes I really think if she did, she'd have a lot less stress and be more rested and actually feel good. My last bout of depression was in 1998/1999, after my diagnosis of TTP. I was dealing with PTSD and was paranoid from all the prednisone they had me on. My doctor put me on meds, sent me to a counselor, and told me to get outside and get some sunshine. After about 9 months of meds and sunshine and wanting to feel good again, I did. We weaned me off the meds and I was fine. I've tried, for a looooooong time, to get her to walk with me. It's always too hot, too cold, too tired, too much to do, had a bad night (that's her newest excuse), raining, too sunny, blah blah blah, wah wah wah. I've gotten to where I tune her out when she complains about her weight because she won't do anything about it. She eats crap food and wonders why her cholesterol is through the roof. She blames her meds not working-Um, excuse me, if you ate better you wouldn't NEED the meds-and then goes to the doctor to complain. She blames so much on the depression that I think her disorder is getting a disorder.

I'm sure when she reads my email she'll call me, in tears and then say something about how she's "just hormonal" or "it's just this damn depression" instead of owning her feelings.

Well, I just have PPD, so I'll probably be fine.

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