I didn't choose depression; it chose me

The first time I experienced depression was when I was a brand new young mother. Severe postpartum depression was the worst sort of initiation into motherhood. And the worst of it was that we didn't know what was wrong with me. We, meaning my husband and I. We tried to keep it hidden from anyone else, since we didn't know what it was. I think we mostly succeeded. Though I do remember a new visiting teacher coming to visit me during that time and saying, "I've heard that you used to be normal before you had your baby." So apparently it wasn't as hidden as I thought.

This time I know. I know what's wrong, and I know what needs to be done. It's still hard. And really it totally sucks. But I'm less afraid to share what I'm going through. Sometimes I don't know what to say. Sometimes I don't know how to tell someone I really don't want to get out of bed and have a playdate... but I'm trying. Trying to be honest with myself and others that this is hard. My husband is reading all the support materials and online forums he can to know what is me and what is my depression. And that's helpful. He knows he needs to get me off the couch, even when I beg to stay unshowered and in my pjs. I almost always feel better once I get up and out - even without any make-up on. My Mom sent me some books. My first impression was that I was embarrassed that these books were for me. Embarrassed that I can't just snap out of this, and also scared that I would find myself in these books. But I'm searching for recovery, and I'll take all the help I can get.

I have some pretty good reasons to want to get better:
Recovering is the most and the least selfish thing I can do.