by DK Sturgis

Created on: September 04, 2008   Last Updated: January 18, 2009

According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, more Americans suffer from depression than heart disease, cancer and HIV/AIDS. 30% of all clinically depressed patients attempt suicide; half of them ultimately die by suicide.

And yet, depression is among the most treatable of psychiatric illnesses. Between 80 percent and 90 percent of people with depression respond positively to treatment, and almost all patients gain some relief from their symptoms.

Most of us have suffered from depression at some point in our lives. Looking back, I recognize symptoms of depression in myself even as a teenager, although I didn't recognize it as depression at the time. I just felt sad, tired and, sometimes, hopeless. I remember being on a date with a young man who asked me what I wanted to do with my life. He said he had always known that he wanted to be a doctor, and he was excited about his future. I felt confused and envious, because I didn't really have a goal or a dream. My journal from those days expresses feelings of sadness and longing. I didn't have a word for my feelings back then.

I married when I was 18 and had 3 children by the time I was 24. I never realized the joy that children could bring, and they filled my life. Like so many mothers, I thought I was super mom, and I pushed myself to keep up with kids, their activities, church, my job and my husband.

When my eldest son suffered a devastating injury, it knocked me for a loop. My life changed in an instant. I was running on adrenalin, caring for him and exhausting myself so I didn't falI into that deep depression that I knew was possible. I took on more than I could handle. Anything to keep my mind on something other than myself.

I didn't seek help for my depression until my father and only sister passed away. It was so sudden. I was in shock, at first, and then the depression took hold of me. Time was not healing my broken heart, and the grief was relentless.

I started going to therapy and taking the antidepressants that the doctor prescribed. They did not cure my sadness, but they made it easier to bear. The therapist helped me begin to help myself. Eventually, I had longer periods of feeling up and I could usually pull myself out of those dark places.

My only brother also suffered from depression. I understand now what he was going through when he seemed distant and uncaring. We became very close during the last few years of his life. When he died, my depression was back with a vengeance.

I am my mother's

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