For more than a year, I lived in a foggy bubble. Things that used to bring me joy, I was meh about. If I got excited, it was with the expectation of the rug being pulled from under me at any time. Yes, I know I shouldn't expect the bad, but I did.
We bought a house, I didn't sleep for weeks. Every time the phone rang from the time we put the offer in until the day we closed, I thought it was someone calling to tell us we couldn't have it. Thank goodness for the friends I have who kept me sane or distracted me during the whole process.
My sister-in-law had a baby in August. I was torn between wanting to cuddle him for always and not wanting to touch him. I know now why women with depression steal other people's babies. I wouldn't do it, but I understand the feeling. I realized while she was growing this life inside her was the same time my own kids were growing passed the point of needing me anymore. I built my life around my kids and I was lost. I was also nearing menopause, already showing some of the early signs. My hormones were in a disarray.
I suspected in April what the problem was but I chickened out when it came to doing anything about it. Last October, I had enough. I wasn't sleeping because I was up constantly running to the bathroom or my legs were jumping. I had no energy, no focus. My stomach almost always acted up. I made a doctor's appointment and I went. He put me on an antidepressant. I cannot tell you the difference in me. I feel like I found my brain again. I started writing again, after a year of minimal wordage.
I don't know if anyone out there feels like I did, but I hope this helps someone recognize what I didn't. In my mind, I wasn't depressed because I was getting out of bed and functioning every day. I didn't know how bad I was feeling until I started feeling better.
I urge you to call your doctor, if you don't feel like you.