I like to share. I over share if given the opportunity. And lucky for me, blogging is just that platform to serve as a way for me to overshare and stay hidden. Call me a coward, but I really like to think that it's also a way to help people. And I am not doing this anonymously, so those who know me, can talk to me about it in person if they chose to do so!
Something that I have come to learn about myself, is that my background in theatre has proven to be a burden on my ability to really tell it like it is. I am pretty darn good at hiding behind a facade, by deterring difficult discussions, and by avoiding issues, simply by maintaining a persona that I feel is appropriate based on certain situations. Basically, if I pretend to be happy, and people think that I am happy, then I must be happy. Logical, right?
Except for the most important part: it's not.
So here is where I am going with this... Post-partum Depression. It is real. It is ugly. And it effects you when you least expect it. You never see it coming, until you find yourself screaming in the middle of your living room for no apparent reason. Such has been my life for the past 2-3 months.
After P was born, I was beyond happy and full of love. I did not experience the immediate "baby blues". I was tired, yes, but rightfully so as I was hardly sleeping. But I was truly happy. It wasn't until she was about 3 months old when I started to notice a major change in my demeanor. Suddenly, I had no desire to do anything at all during the day. I had no desire to leave my house, to take care of myself, let alone a baby, 3 animals, and a household. It took every ounce of motivation that I could muster just to get out of bed in the morning. I figured that the past 3 months of motherhood had just finally caught up with me and I was letting exhaustion finally set in. Then I started getting angry. More angry than I have physically ever been in my life. At the tiniest and most ridiculous things. The dogs would sit in front of me and I would start screaming at them like they had just torn apart all of our furniture. It was starting to scare me. I didn't know this person.
One day, it was only about 10:30 AM, so Matt had only been gone to work for a few hours. I was feeling myself get to this scary angry place, while I was holding Parker. I put her down, walked into the other room, and called Matt. Cue the down pouring of guilty tears... He knew it was time for me to find help. He couldn't help me, even though he wanted to. So I called my doctor. At my 6-week post-partum appointment, you have to take a silly questionnaire about PPD. I thought nothing of it, but my doctor said that I scored in the high range, and to keep an eye on things. If I felt like I needed to call her, I should. So I did. You never really understand depression, or any mental/emotional disorder, until you are actually living it. I had no clue what was going on with me. When we went to see her, she wanted to put me on meds right away.
Depression runs in my family. I had seen my mother struggle through several different depression medications trying to find one that would work for her. The struggle was just that: a STRUGGLE. It was not something I was willing to put myself through in my quest to be myself again. So I asked her if I could talk to someone before trying medication. She agreed, only if I came back to her in 3 weeks, and had actually followed through on that promise.
Enter stage left: The Looking Glass Counseling Services. Kind of ironically (and awesomely) named considering my love and obsession with Alice in Wonderland. I've been going for several weeks now, and it has helped. I am definitely not better yet, but it's helping. She gave me a journal in my first session to start writing in as often or as little as needed. At first, I wrote in it everyday. Sometimes several times a day. But as time has gone by, I wrote less and less. Now, it's at the bottom of a stack of books and I haven't gotten to it in a while.
Then I thought, wait a minute - I have a blog! That is a journal. Just and electronic and public one... But a journal, no less. So here we are.
I have good days, and I have bad days. The most frustrating part of it, is that I recognize when I am having bad days, but feel helpless to do anything about it. There are a million different ways that I could help myself, but if you've suffered from depression, then you know, you generally have no desire to help yourself. Like most difficult goals, it takes encouragement and people who love you holding you accountable. The approach is key... Because treat it like it is something I can control: and I will explode with a rage that an Italian mother cannot equal. Which is another one of the more difficult things about this disease... I can't control it. I don't wake up and think to myself, "I will not let this get the best of me today!" And it works. If that were the case, every day would be a fabulous day.
I make lists. I write down my goals. I try to get out of the house as much as I can. I try to exercise, even if its just a walk around the block. I know everything to do for myself to "get better", but some days I just can't. And that is a really difficult concept for me to accept... It's the most difficult concept for most people to accept.
So I have made a decision. I am going to use my blog as a method of accountability. I am going to try to post every day. My successes, and my failures... continue posting my thoughts, but find ways to show myself that I am getting better. That there is a light at the end of this tunnel. And more so, prove to myself that I can get through this unmedicated. I am my worst critic, and in general, pretty pessimistic (even without the PPD!) ... So, I am making this publicly known. I will be sharing my struggle. Maybe I can even inspire someone along the way :)
Parker has been sick the past few days. Translation: it's not been a good week. When you already feel out of control, having a sick baby will truly put that to the test. I was lucky to sneak in a shower yesterday; that's what kind of week we're having! But I am trying to look forward. I am trying to see that tomorrow is a new day, even if my current day still has 12 hours left and feels pretty sucky. To quote my favorite little curly red-headed orphan, "Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I'll love ya, tomorrow! You're only a day away!"
.... Nothing like a fictional orphan to put things in perspective, right? ;)
My sweet & pathetic sick little puppy :(
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