The Beginning

If I have the funds, I can walk into any store in the United States, plop down my cash or my debit card and buy just about anything I want to buy. There is only one thing I want, though, that I can never, ever buy: happiness. Though I'm not trying to run the old saying into the ground, I will admit that it often occurs to me as I go through the checkout with my groceries and sundries. Why is it that I can buy a gun at Wal-Mart, but the simple peaceful mind I so desperately want evades me?

I've been "clinically depressed" for as long as I can remember, though only diagnosed in 1999 while in the Navy. I've tried therapy and drugs, both prescription and non-prescription, and my medicine drawer is full of roads taken...Paxil, Zoloft, Wellbutrin, Pristiq, Seroquel, Depakote, Cymbalta, Xanax, Klonopin, Geodon, Effexor, Blue Skullcap, L-theanine, St. John's Wort, Magnesium, Calms Forte...you name it, if it's for depression, I've probably tried it. And so, after throwing thousands of dollars into my insanity, I spend another night frustrated that the Ambien doesn't calm my anxiety and that the meds aren't working. In the land of plenty, I have nothing. With millions of other Americans struggling with the same thing, I am alone.

My Mom says, "Get over it!" Growing up post-Depression (haha) must've been easy. It must've been nice to determine that there was just no time to deal with those bothersome emotions when there were mouths to feed. But years of Baby Boomer-hippy touchy-feeliness has created a whole new species of person in-touch with their most painful thoughts and, hence, those of us born in the 70's use more anti-depressants than ever before....as do our kids. And, so, I lie in bed at night, wide awake, failing at willing myself to sleep, and fill myself with anxiety about what *I'm* doing wrong with my own kids. What will my depression do to them?

They are 6 and 3. I already see too much of me in my daughter. Her smile turns too quickly to tears. Her frustration at not being able to perform a task turns to anger and rage. What will her struggle be? Will she be able to overcome this all-encompassing depression? Will it eat at her insides, turning her guts to rot while she lies awake at night? Will she lie awake thinking that, just perhaps, she won't make it past 35 years old, as I have nightmares about myself dying?

I am Nikki. I am a 35-year-old Mother of two. And this is my story.