Chronic dysthmic disorder

I'm surprised I'm still alive, to be honest.

Here's some info about my diagnosis obtained in 2002:

http://www.depressionplace.com/dysthymia.html

http://www.webmd.com/depression/guide/chronic-depression-dysthymia

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dysthymia

"According to the DSM's definition of dysthymia, it is a serious state of chronic depression, which persists for at least 2 years; it is less acute and severe than major depressive disorder.^[3] As dysthymia is a chronic disorder, sufferers may experience symptoms for many years before it is diagnosed, if diagnosis occurs at all. As a result, they may believe that depression is a part of their character, so they may not even discuss their symptoms with doctors, family members, or friends."


Yes, that's me - mildly depressed between bouts of severe depression and anxiety.

It's hard to write about it and to remember the experimenting with medication, the way I have been treated by my family (childhood abuse, neglect, sexual abuse) and my ex-husband (violence, abuse, psychological abuse). There was a drawn out family court process in which my ex, who had abandoned us all so he could go partying with his 19 year old mistress, used every lie he could in order to hurt me and try to take the children from my care by claiming I had neglected them (I hadn't). The last time I had a severe episode was when my father died in combination with family feuding over his estate and a boyfriend who dumped me to run off with his ex while I was attending Dad's funeral interstate. I wanted to die as the world was a bleak place. I hung on for my children as I didn't want them to grow up motherless and to be hurt if I abandoned them but I wasn't living, was just existing.

Then there came the tropical fish we were given in 2012 which kept me busy - their very water quality depending on me: I had to drag myself out of bed and take care of them. They are beautiful but then someone couldn't take care of their ragdoll kitten and gave her to me... then I decided to foster cats so that she wouldn't be lonely and I could help save some lives.

Those animals, they saved my life. Not the other way around.

I still have bad days and will do for the rest of my life - that's the nature of my mental illness. Medication takes the sharp edges off life but I have a disease that makes life pretty dreary and pointless at times. But the cats in my home as well as the ones I can't directly help, they have given me purpose.

This is patchy and without chronological reference but it's the best I can do for now. Remembering how much I wanted to die to turn off my relentless pain is not a fun process. But the days now are much more sunny and full of purring and playing and the pitter patter of little paws. I rely on them more than they rely on me.

Fostering unwanted kitties saved my life.