There is a misconception that antidepressants are "happy pills" or crutches.  In my experience as a person with a genetically predisposed depressive disorder (shared by every family member, no exceptions), antidepressants make it possible for me to function on a day-to-day basis when I need them.  They are not happy pills by any means; some have rather debilitating side effects.  I have tried many different types—some gave me horrible headaches, sweats, vomiting—no, not happy pills. 

I work with my doctor (one I found after trying many different doctors, most with a cookie-cutter approach) to find the pill and dosage that will not make me more ill, a difficult and prolonged trial.  Those who are not genetically predisposed to severe depression truly do not understand how judged we feel, how the jokes and misunderstandings sting.  

At the moment I am not taking any drugs, by my choice, but that does not preclude some new wonder drug being prescribed by my doctor in the future.   Taking it or not is my call.  Breaking in a new drug is hell—it usually takes a month for one’s blood level to even out with a new drug, during which time it is tempting to give up and throw out the pills.

Feelings of hopelessness and helplessness can lead to worse actions than taking a pill.  Some of us are just trying to stay alive, literally.

Walking.  I must have logged a million miles so far in my life.  I walk to solve a problem, to get over a relationship, to stomp out anger until it is gone.  I have a consoling note a seven-year-old niece sent me, which I think is beyond her years (her name is Susan):

"Any Susan may go from place to place.  She may walk.  She may fall.  She may cry.  But how else will Susan change where she is?"

The kid is only seven and she is a certified Zenmaster, in my opinion.  I wonder what else she will do with her life.  I will frame that note.

I grew up without money, but it wasn’t until I was ten-years-old, when my parents died, that I realized my family was poor.  I had never felt poor. My parents had high standards for all five kids in school—lack of money was no excuse, not for any achievements, and this thinking impacted all of my family in a positive way.  Of the five of my sibs, three of us went on to higher education, advanced degrees, paying our own way through.  Because of my early background, I have never lived beyond my means, a philosophy which has come in quite handy during the current economic meltdown.

How much does happiness cost?  Happiness cannot be bought.  Money takes care of necessities.  Happiness is a way of thinking. 

I was raised to think that dessert was an apple or other piece of fruit. We seldom had refined sugar, except for the occasional birthday cake (five sibs!). A snack was (and still is) carrots, lettuce or something natural and munchy. I never met a vegetable I didn’t like, and I don’t touch red meat, and never cared for it as a child, either. When I was a child we couldn’t afford processed treats or fast food, and my parents did the best they could for us nutrionally. It turns out their way was an intuitive pattern I would follow my whole life.

I have never understood people my age who expect fast food to be a part of their everyday diet. I don’t judge; I honestly don’t understand the pull of processed red meat and fried potatoes. I have a rule of thumb—if it is fried, it is evil.

To this day, I use baking soda or tooth powder to brush my teeth, because standard toothpastes taste like candy, in a bad way. My only vice is an occasional diet cola for the caffeine.

I have hit the gym for rigorous, painful, Physical Therapy twice a week for four months now. Looking at my reflection in those mirrored walls gave me the dose of reality I needed to continue exercising once my knee is healed. Isn’t this all just common sense?

Identity theft is why my shredder is second nature to me.  And, if I have the slightest tinge of spidey sense about an email being spam, I delete it without opening. 

Eldebbo—I think Terri means M as in Moderation. I totally understand why she is having too much to drink after being laid off. It is a shock to the system, and a feeling of abject failure, even if she did a fantastic job at work. It does not help to know that millions of other people have been laid off, too. It is always personal.

Terri—the feelings slowly go away, and, perhaps the drinking will lessen as you see life is worth living. I truly believe this. Meanwhile, see someone you can talk to about the entire situation, a shrink, a clergyperson; see anyone who will not judge you. It does get better. Stay on this website—these folks helped me immensely after I was laid off.

The author’s overwhelming abandonment is as close as emotions get for me, also.  Why is it we blame a part of ourselves when people treat us badly? 

I adore the part where she threw her computer into the water—I lose, you lose, but you do NOT get my soul.  That was true bravery.  That was not a victim.  I absolutely love that.