Gonna have a little talk with...a trained mental health professional

I just had to start out this somewhat mentally heavy entry with a little levity. The recipe on the bag of chips today called for "processed cheese loaf" which just grossed me out and tickled me at the same time. We all know it means "Velveeta"....I don't know why we just can't say that. It sounds so much more appetizing, if cheese can be appetizing. Another writing for another day.
I want to chat a little bit about mental health and mental illness. Mental health is a fairly common subject these days, unlike when my parents were growing up. We see commercials for pharmaceuticals that help with depression, OCD, ADHD and any other letter combination you can find. I, personally, have ADHD with out the H. Why am I telling everyone this? Well for one, it is not that big of a surprise. My good friends have to get me back into focus. They can see when I have gone to the zone and need to snap out of it. Poor B has dealt with me for almost 20 years...good grief that's a long time. Secondly, mental illness is the giant elephant in the living room of my entire family. My grandfather was textbook Bipolar, or Manic Depressive as they said back in the day. He had crazy highs and terribly worrisome lows. My mom and aunt and uncle rarely talk about that aspect of their lives. It is filled with pain and shame and some anger. They have told us some good stories, but mostly we heard about my grandmother. As we got older, Granny felt we could process more of the information about him, so she gave us bits and pieces. When I say he was textbook bipolar, I mean he was shock therapy, institutionalized and majorly drugged for his condition. By the time I knew him, he lived in a group home near my grandmother. He was too much to handle by herself and the home monitored his medicine and provided him a safe place to stay. I do not want to make him sound like a monster. He was not. The hand he was dealt was a rough one. He was on some serious meds when we saw him and mostly liked his stories and to whip me at checkers. He appreciated a good old fashioned barber shop shave and a good meal. As his grandchildren, we have lived with the specter of his condition on our backs. Would we get it? How would we know? His own mother didn't tell Granny of his condition because that might make home "unmarriable". This is what we have dealt with our entire lives.
A little background, when B and I were first married , he was in a job that was terribly stressful and he hated it. When I say hated, I mean puke before going to work kind of hate. We sought a professional to help us deal with it as a couple, but it ended up the doc wanted to only hear what B said. Fine...he felt a lot better and eventually got a new job so we were done with that mess. We moved to Knoxville and, while I was excited, I was left with all the resentment of not dealing with my feelings while he had a new job to go to every day. This caused me to be very depressed. No friends to talk to in town. The family was scared because depression equalled hospitalization in their eyes. I was given the recommendation of a psychologist and minister, Dr. John Stuhl, by a psychologist friend of mine. I started to see him for sessions. It was wonderful and horrible and difficult and relieving and frustrating all at the same time. Then, a husband of a friend said, "I think people who say they are depressed and have to go to counseling are just lazy and selfish. They have to bring another person in to help them solve their problems.". I was devastated. Was that what people thought of me? I didn't go around broadcasting my counseling, but if asked I would confirm it to people. What people didn't get was why 2 or 3 sessions weren't enough. "Are you that wacko?". Or the inevitable,"Gee, I wish I could just sit and have someone solve all my problems for me.". Nothing makes me angrier. There were times I left his office free as a bird and others when I felt worse than before. I would get so mad at him....I'd cry...and swear I wasn't going back. But I did and I am so glad I did. I fear I would be in a rubber room now if I hadn't. Was I that disturbed? No. But I needed some help. I worked hard, I studied. I wrote. I did homework for him. It was tough. He told me,"Just like you have glasses to fix your vision problem, you have counseling to fix your heart and head problems.".
So, why am I telling you all this? Well, for those who haven't yet clicked over to the Icanhazcheezeburger site, I say this to explain. When I put up a sad or sketchy or depressed sounding tweet or FB post, it is not to get attention. I am desperately trying to work out my issues. With ADHD, it goes hand in hand with depression. It is very depressing to know that my mind is always going and never stops. I don't sleep well. I walk into a room to get my car keys and forget untilI I have gotten through 5 other rooms. The meds I took for this made me very queasy. It just wasn't worth it. The only way I could get my mind to slow down and focus was to play my guitar, look and the music and listen to it in my ear buds. The ADD kids who can play video games are hyper focusing with hands, eyes and ears all working together. When that synergy happens it is such a relief...I can't even tell you. Unlike some people I know, I don't want the mental health specter to be my crutch, my "thing". I want it to be the thing that I have whipped into shape. I have tender feelings. I am an easy target. I want to be liked. I allow myself to get hurt....I allow it. However this may look and read to you all, never forget this: I will not allow the differences in my brain to define me and allow me to wallow in self pity. I have my lows, my flightiness, my issues. But, I will never allow it to ruin me or rule me. I will now jump off of my soapbox on my mental health and head to bed. Fingers crossed for a good sleep....and prayers that people who read this won't look at me like I have a third eye the next time they see me. But I understand if they do....