Am I crazy? I'm not sure. Did I take my meds this weekend? Yes. Have I been sleeping okay? Yes, as much as I normally get, no more, no less. So what is my problem? Why have I been in tears for the last two days? Oh, that's right, I have clinical depression. When I feel good, I forget about my little secret. I forget I have a medical problem that isn't visible and even harder to describe to people.

"What's wrong, why are you crying?" My answer isn't complex because I don't have one. I don't know why I'm crying and here's a news flash, I don't know what you can do to help me because I can't even help myself right now. I don't want to be here, I don't know where I'd like to be. But sleeping sounds nice, although I'm not particularly tired either. I guess I feel like escaping the world.

Once while I was rollerblading with my dog, he saw a duck in the river. He pulled me off the path and I broke my ankle in several places. This is the perfect injury because a cast is involved. And you can point to a cast to show where the bone is broken. I wish this was true for depression. I mean, I can point to my head and say my brain is broken, but it's not the same as having a cast on my ankle. When my cast finally came off, I had physical therapy because I had to learn to use that leg again. I had lost muscle, I was stiff, and it was a process. I wish there was physical therapy for your brain. If I told people I had a physical therapy appointment for my depression, it might seem and feel more legit.

Even on my favorite show, "The Golden Girls," there is an episode with Blanche going to a psychiatrist. Rose says only pyschos go to psychiatrists because that's what the word means, "psycho." It makes me laugh because I know that's what people think. If you go to a psychologist or a psychiatrist, you're crazy. It's made worse when they cut to a man who is talking to himself in the waiting room and Sofia asks, "Excuse me, are you talking to yourself?" The man laughs and replies, "Of course not, I'm talking to my Martian friend."

Unfortunately, it's the same with medication. There's a stigma there. I take two for my anxiety and depression. I know I will most likely be on them the rest of my life. But when I think about how I feel when I'm not on them, I know I can never stop taking them. Not ever. I can't live without taking them and I mean that very literally. My life feels out of control and at times not worth living. I feel like I am more trouble and chaos than I'm worth to people. I feel unloveable and raw, stupid, and hyper-sensitive. It's hard to explain to people why you take medication for depression and anxiety. With depression the response is normally, "Can't you just snap out of it? You have so much to be thankful for, people who love you, etc..." For anxiety, it's usually, "Just calm down. Take a deep breath and calm down." If only it were that easy.

Back to crying for the past two days. I don't know what it is. I don't know why I'm crying. I don't know how my friends and family can help me. I go through my checklist and I'm doing everything I'm supposed to do. So what is it? I guess I might never know the answer. I tell my students constantly not to let their disability dictate who they are or what they can become. I need to tell myself the same thing because I guess I have a disability too. Everyone has good days and bad. I'm having a couple of bad ones. I just have to get through them. I've come this far and like my students, I'm learning to deal with myself a little more each day.