This looks familiar...

Again. Its a word I loathe, "again". In my experience, very few momments lived well bear repeating. So if I'm living the same ones over and over again - it's because I haven't quite nailed them yet.
She's seeping in again, that bitch, Depression. We're playing our usual coy little games - the games in which I'm constantly second-guessing myself, afraid that if I give myself an inch I'll take a mile. Keeping a close eye, keeping score, keeping tabs on things like how often I lose my cool. How often I feel overwhelmed, or worse - ambivilant. How many times in a week I question whether or not pharmaceuticals made me a better parent, a better lover, or a better friend.
It starts with the negative self-talk. I'll notice my internal dialogue, as I inch closer to bedtime (when IS that, btw?) starts to become a list of things I didn't do. "I really should've done the dishes. Why didn't I just finish that proposal today? Fuck, I forgot to schedule Sam's appointment. How hard would it have been to just switch the laundry one more time?"
I don't know anymore - don't remember - where this comes from. Some of its BS from my ex (that internal dialogue is eerily similar to 10 years of dinner conversation/pillow talk) and some it is completely ligit (I am regrettably, genetically lazy) and frankly, trying to untangle the two has become a dizzingly mind-numbing exericise that I can't bring myself to believe is healthy AT ALL. I mean, I just don't get what I'm really gaining from trying to figure it out. Is it me? Is it him? At the end of the day...does it matter?
There are two ways to look at this past year.
1 - I was medicated - numbed really to the joy as much as the sorrow of life. I broke up my family. I look at my kids, I listen to them, and I realize that all the hopes I had for their experiences of growing up - all I envisioned for them as a childhood - is now beyond reach. They'll never be those kids I wanted to be - those kids whose parents were still together. Those kids who had a family I just didn't get dealt myself - and always, always covetted. I left a job I loved with colleagues I feel guilty about missing every day. I left my home. My grandfather, and hero, died. I totalled a car. Hell, I broke an ankle and couldn't drive for a month and still can't run - and as a consequence have put on 20 lbs that compliment these dire circumstances well. And, frankly, a good-sized heap of shit I'm just not willing to share here but - take my word for it - the pity-party, while pathetic, is well-earned.
Conversely...
2. - I am pharmaceutical free (yes, I'm quite fond of that rather ambiguous term). I found the courage to leave a life that left me unhappy, unfulfilled, and going through the motions. I left a relationship that, through fault of its own or not, made me feel pretty crappy about myself pretty much most of the time. My kids are both just peeking around corners they're about to turn, happier now in many ways I never saw coming. I got a job that, not to illicit envy or anything, most people would kill for. I work from home; I make good money. It's creative and engaging - I get to reasearch, and I get to write with the intent to persuade which is so challanging & fun - it's Rhetoric, really, my all-time favorite college class. I got a new car. I got a new place and some schnazzy shit to fill it up with, which was a lot of fun. I've got a guy that - God, I can't even think of a way to explain it without invoking cliche. He just...I get it now, these people that think Love is so imnportant. I see where they're coming from.
Its a no-brainer, right?
I could kill most of scenerio #1 with the right combo of Zoloft & Welbutrin...but at what cost to scenerio #2?