It seems really strange to me that I've been posting to this blog for nearly four years now. I can remember really well exactly what I was thinking when I started it. I thought about it for days. I'd been feeling depressed about the way things were going in my life, and I had resolved to try hard to focus on things that I enjoyed doing. Starting a blog was the first step.

I was living in Georgia then, and was newly out of my longest relationship to date. I was working at a job that I actually enjoyed, but I was struggling with depression. Reading over my past posts, that does seem to be a theme of these past four years. It really hadn't been much of a problem for me in my twenties and early thirties. I don't know really whether it's been a function of circumstances in my life, or maybe just a general hormonal shift, but it's certainly been a recurrent problem over recent years.

I'd almost forgotten how much I struggled with the idea of antidepressants until I read over some of those old posts. I was really afraid of them - afraid that altering my chemical make-up would somehow make me less me.

Last summer kind of made that debate moot. Between the scare with the MASS and the breakup with Jadyn, I'd gotten into a really bad place. Always before, no matter whether I was sick, or cold, or in pain, or depressed, I knew in the core of my being that I wouldn't always feel like this. Conditions were temporary. This time, I couldn't make myself believe that. It was scary and awful.

I just realized that in a way, having this blog was a good thing for me then. I posted what I now realize was a very melodramatic psuedo-suicide note thing on here. I don't know what else to call it. It was sincere - but also maudlin and self-pitying. I think I was hoping or expecting that someone would come to my rescue. Someone would leave a comment that was reassuring and affirming of my general worth. Instead, almost immediately, someone left me a hard, harsh, almost mean comment. I don't even remember what it said because I deleted the comment and took down the post right away, but it was something to the effect of how I was full of shit and just generally needed to grow up. Wow. I was so angry at first, and then so ashamed. But it was like a slap in the face - one that I needed. I realized I'd better get myself in hand. So I did.

I resolved to stop wallowing, for one thing. I decided that I would have to at least act like I thought things would get better. And I started taking effexor. It took a few weeks, but I did start to feel better. I was still so sad...it's hard to explain how I could still be so sad and yet feel so much better at the same time. And I still felt like myself. Effexor didn't make me into someone else -- although I had been feeling so bad, I doubt I would have minded very much being someone else, as long as that someone was happy.

I stayed on the effexor for about six months. I won't go as far as saying that it saved my life because that sounds so dramatic and I'm not sure it would have ever gotten that dire, but I'll say it helped. It certainly helped.

And that caustic comment on my blog - that helped too. I never found out who left me that comment (I had my suspicions, but the person I felt sure was responsible denied it utterly)-- but whoever you are - thank you. You're either highly intuitive or a jackass, but either way, thanks.

And now I'm in yet another state - Indiana this time. Not too far from home. I'm happily involved in a relationship that I feel great about. I'm in love. I hate my job, but I'm working on that. And I'll try to stop by here more often. I think my life is settling down enough these days that I'm starting to have the attention and energy to spare for this sort of thing. For a while there...whew.

Wish me luck on my search for a new job, and I'll keep you posted as things develop.