the history pt. 1

i've always enjoyed melancholy, even as a child. My favorite tv shows - Little House on the Prairie, Our House, Life Goes On...tearjerkers everyone. So when I hit puberty and the real angst kicked in - heaven. I enjoyed every minute of it: painted my fingernails black, listened to The Cure, REM, and The Smiths for hours on end...I was really in my element.
When I got to high school and came across an awesome English teacher (thanks Mr. Boehne) - of course I fell in love with Shakespeare, Frost & Plath, and decided to write...you know (are you gonna make me say it?)...the great American novel. And all of the sudden it made sense - all the melancholy. o\Of course! I was a tortured artist. I felt things more deeply than others. Suffered for my art. It was my cross to (proudly, enthusiastically even) bear.
College brought a little maturity - I realized that the discipline required for novel writing was WAY out of my league, at any rate. It also brought something magical: the discovery of self-medicating. I was a drinker and occasional pot smoker in high school, but college was a whole new ball game. I soon found a reason & method to obtain an altered state of mind at least 4 out of 7 nights a week. And life was good.
Six years later (yes, six - no surprise) I graduated, engaged to my now-husband, and - for reasons I won't delve into here - ended up back in my hometown. Apparently I have a fondness for cliche. A couple years go by, there's a wedding (a gorgeous one, btw) and talk of having babies. I realize it suddenly matters how I take care of my body, so I decide to quit smoking. After, i don't know...eight attempts, we'll say, I start this brand-new, raved-about drug called Zyban. And everything - I mean EVERYTHING - changed...again.
For one, I no longer enjoyed melancholy. Whatever kick it was that I got out of wallowing in misery...the Zyban (wellbutrin) blocked the receptor in my brain that made it possible. There was just no emotional pay-off all of the sudden. At first, this was heart-breaking. The only thing I ever really enjoyed - misery - and now I couldn't even enjoy that. What's more, I couldn't even muster up any righteous indignation over the loss of my love...of...er, misery. I was too damn...content.
No, really - happy. I had become one of those women iI so prided myself on despising: trying on wedding dresses, tasting cakes, reading (insert shudder of disgust) women's magazines - and loving every minute of it. What had become of me?

Intro

Hmmmm....I guess more than anything this will be a blog about living life as a stay-at-home-Mom (HATE that phrase, btw) who also happens to have (rather than 'suffer from') moderate depression, and is medicated accordingly. Its a niche, I know.
But I can't help but be surprised when I look for kindred spirits in the the great big "out there" and find so few. If you google "Mom Depression" three out of the top four results have to do with the affects on the families - "Mom's depression affects baby's sleep" or "Mom's depression leads to children's misbehavior". Are you kidding me? How about "Mom's Depression leads a generation of women to stumble through their half-lived lives wondering why they don't have the gumption to improve them"? That's the link I'm looking for. That's the link people need.
Not that I have any hope that "people" will benefit or respond. This is, more than anything, a creative outlet for a self-absorbed woman who spends her days focused on others, and must make up for it at night with a glass of wine (or two) and a blog. I have no misconceptions about that.
But - if you've ever lied to your children about bedtime because you knew a half hour more would lead to a meltdown (yours, not theirs), braved a conversation with your 60-year-old, male family doctor about whether or not its normal to crave sleep 14 hours of the day, or faked a quiet, serene voice through gritted teeth when your husband asks why you'd rather stay up till midnight on Facebook then go to bed with him...then you might find something entertaining here. I hope you do. Entertained is, at least, better than ambivalent ;)