It almost killed me and I didn't even notice it.

I thought, based on past experience, that I'd recognize depression in myself when it returned. I thought, based on the same past experiences, that I'd know what to say to it when it tried to "catch up".

But I guess I was wrong. I often am. This last descent (which began at least a year and a half ago) was so gradual. It's like when you see someone every day, you don't really notice how much their hair is growing, but if you haven't seen them in awhile, you notice right away how much longer it's gotten. I think the other difference is that my past experiences with depression were in my teen years and early twenties, so everything was more emotional than it needed to be. I wasn't prepared for this slow, dull, numbness.

I swore I'd never do antidepressants again. I was never fully against them, they save some people's lives, but it wasn't something I wanted to do again. In moments of emotional insanity and desperation, I realized that the time would likely come when I ingested those little pills again. But never Paxil. Oh God, no, never fucking Paxil. I had a superb memory before the Paxil days. None of this weird absent-mindedness and forgetting what I just did a few minutes ago. And never a blackout from drinking....And the withdrawal. I admit I didn't wean myself off of it the way I was supposed to, but that was one of the worst things I've ever gone through. I had sensations that I'm only truly able to explain to others who've stopped taking Paxil, and they nod in agreement with a slight look of amazement on their faces. As if they thought they were the only ones with snapping in their heads. A feeling of something physical snapping, not like "oh she wouldn't shut up, so I snapped".

This winter was really bad. I was fighting with my husband every day. Actually screaming at him and throwing things. One night I even jumped on him and tried to attack him. I was back to being the full-fledged psycho I was when I dumped my last boyfriend for him. I didn't ever want to be there again. I didn't want to repeat mistakes I'd seen older family members make. My goal had always been to learn from their mistakes, eliminating the need to make them myself. I never ever wanted to turn into Rose. I love the woman, but she's deeply troubled.

So, to save my marriage, to save my remaining friendships, to save my life, I went crawling into a doctor's office this spring. I told him about the things I've struggled with in my life and the problems that were occurring in my marriage. "You need to do something about this or one day he's going to leave you." I know. I told him about my experiences with Paxil and a few years later with Celexa. I told him the problem when I was on Celexa before was my alcoholism, and that I'd recently quit drinking (I had, at the time). After insisting that I don't drink, and agreeing that if I don't take the meds, the anxiety of life would drive me to drink and I'd stay stuck in my vicious circles until I finally hit rock bottom, he wrote me out a prescription for no-name Celexa (Citalopram).

I guess it's been three months-ish since I took my first one. Now, I can really look back and see how bad things were. I've been "happy". I've been alright with the way things are going. I was beginning to believe that I just was a negative, pessimistic, cynical piece of shit and that maybe struggling to be content was the best I'd ever have.

Until this spring. I didn't know how to take the positive feelings I was having. Many of them were so rare, and maybe even absent, in the previous 27 years, I quite literally didn't even know what they were. I was overwhelmed. I misinterpreted things. I just felt so good and it feels great to be throwing around the word "love" the way I used to throw around the word "hate", even if it makes me a dink (but I do not love Crispin Glover more than Troy. I know Troy in real life. Crispin might be a real ass).

I finally started to care about myself. To think about what I wanted to do and what I wanted out of life. That lead to some fights as I have a co-dependent personality and I finally crave independence. But the co-dependence is my fault, not his. I just have to do the things I want to do, and make time for him, instead of waiting for him to make plans for me.

But things are looking up.

Now these words have some meaning.

Two years ago, I was reading what has become one of my favourite books.