I’ve always been open about my history of depression and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I’ve battled depression since I was 16 and never really had a problem with OCD interfering with my life until ten years ago. I don’t care what people think about my disability. When I have the right medication everything becomes disABILITY. When I am under an extreme amount of stress, the triggers happen and then simple things like getting out of bed, getting dressed, going to the grocery store, doing laundry, etc… become difficult to complete.

I was officially diagnosed with depression at 27 years of age coincidentally within 6 months of getting married to my first husband. He had no freaking clue what to do. He thought it was his fault because he wouldn’t engage in intellectual discussions or play word games with me. One night, I was so down he said, “If I play Scrabble with you, will that make everything better? Will that make the depression go away?” I sighed. He had gone to the counselor with me and heard her explain depression. He just didn’t get it.

A week or two later, I decided to tell my father about my diagnosis. I remember telling him over the phone and hearing a long awkward pause after I told him. Then I hear the words every depressed person loves to hear, “Why don’t you just think happy thoughts?” My brain was screaming and I fought the urge to hang up on my father. I knew right then and there, I wasn’t going to get understanding and support from him. I thanked him for the advice and told him that I would try that, then I hung up the phone and cried.

My only hope was my sister or my maternal aunt. My sister was way too judgmental and would bombard me with question after question. Yeah…talking to her would not be in my best interest. I called my aunt. She became our surrogate mom after our mother died at 50 from Emphysema. Although I was 25 at the time, I still needed my mom. I was at an age where I was getting involved in my career and living with a man who eventually became my husband. My aunt was awesome. She had been a nurse. She was a good listener and was so supportive. She informed me that my mother had a history of depression. I called my aunt every week just to update her on everything and check on the rest of my family. It was wonderful. She always knew if I was doing well or not just by the sound of my voice.

Over the years, especially when the OCD kicked in, people in my life have tried to be helpful but ended up saying the dumbest things.

• “Are you over that depression thing yet?”
• “What happened to you? Why are you so weird?”
• “Just think positive thoughts and everything will be better.”
• “Can’t you control it?”
• “You are so slow at this. Just make a fucking decision.”
• “I’m praying for you.”
• “You don’t have any reason to be depressed.”
• “Just pull yourself up by your bootstraps.”
• “You are such a Debbie Downer.”
• “Good God! It can’t be that hard to get happy!”
• “What is wrong with you?”
• “Can I get your OCD?”
• “I don’t think I can be friends with you right now. I’m too happy in my life.”
• “Are you taking your medication? You don’t seem right.”

I’ve heard all of these on more than one occasion. Most of these came from family, Husband #1, or The Man I Married (TMIM).

I have had a few people in my life want to know more about depression and OCD. They are the ones who have asked how to help when I am experiencing either disorder. It’s those who try to understand or provide support without giving advice that are the most helpful. Those are my favorite people.

~A. Mac