Postpartum Depression

I recognise the signs. I have been down this road in the past. The footsteps lead into a wild overgrown jungle. I know I need to follow the path carefully to emerge safely on the the other side.

My thoughts are racing. My mind in chaos. My heart a mess.

I am slipping. Falling into a big black hole. The hole is filled with quicksand. The more I struggle the more I sink. I need to calm down.

I block my ears, close my eyes. Breathe in, Breathe out. I try and put a name to my emotions, identify my feelings. They are buried to deep. I can not reach them. 

I wake up in the morning tired, frightened of the nightmares that have terrorised my sleep.
I hear my husband talking my mind drifts I can not concentrate. Focus I tell myself. It is to hard. I give up.
I look at the food in front of me. I have no appetite. I have lost the desire to eat.

I want to flee. Distract myself. Lose myself in old addictions. They beckon me to take comfort in their familiarity. My mind rebels it knows the pleasure is short lived, temporary. Self hate and guilt follow. It will only make me feel worse. 

I look at the old scars. They are faint now but they force me to stay grounded. I allow myself to cry release some of the pent up emotions.

Sometimes I wish I could run away and leave myself behind. Step out of my body. Escape the fogginess of my mind.

I wish that just for one day I could be someone else.

Just one day to know what it feels like to be normal.
One day to get up without the hole in my heart.
One day to leave the self hate and the guilt behind.
One day to wake up refreshed from a good nights sleep.
One day to know what it feels like to have a mothers love.
One day to be without memories.

Just one day that I can accept who I am.
One day that I can reach beyond my flaws.
One day that I am not hiding parts of me away.
One day that I am not fighting the pull of the dark side.
One day that my inside and outside match.
One day that I am not scared to face the world.

Just one day that feeling good is not just my imagination.

But I need to stop dreaming. I need to focus on the reality. I need to search in order to find the answers I so desire. 

Step One: Put my pride aside. Admit I have postpartum depression.
Step two: Rid myself the feeling that there was something I could have done to prevent it. This was not a test of my strength.
Step three: Make an appointment at the doctor. Anti depressants if necessary.
Step four: Talk to my therapist.

Maybe if I follow these steps I can climb out of the pit I have found myself in. Pick up the scattered pieces of my world that is disintegrating around me.

I know I can do this. It will only make me stronger. It will only help me be better mother for my daughter.  

Suicide

The topic nobody wants to talk about. The act of intentionally causing your own death.

Who wants to admit that they were in such deep pain they could not conceive living another day.

It is excruciating to see someone you love struggling with the will to live. How do you convince them that no matter how bleak the situation is death is never the answer. There really is nothing you can say all you can do is be there for them, support them and pray that they win the massive internal battle between life and death.

I know my sister has been having a really hard time recently. I've witnessed her facing this inner conflict. I sat down with her, held held her hands and begged her to choose life. I pleaded with her to not give up. Told her I couldn't survive without her.

I knew exactly how she felt I've been there myself.

After my miscarriage I fell into a deep depression. I didn't leave the house for weeks. I stopped eating and spent days in bed.

I somehow managed to hide the worst from my husband, talk to friends and family like normal not wanting them to worry but inside I was screaming. I remember the feeling of utter hopelessness and despair. I would wake up in the morning and wonder if I would still be alive to watch the sun go down. I was in such a dark place I told myself no one would miss me, were better of without me.

The only thing that made me feel any better was looking at the medicine cabinet near my bed and knowing I could end it whenever I wanted. At one point the pull was so intense I took a key and locked myself out of the house not knowing if I could resist. It was at that point I made the decision for life over death. 

I wish I could do more for my sister, make the decision for her. But it is her fight only she has that power all I can do is hope she has the strength to make the right choice.

My therapist thinks I should write a book.

I have the storyline all planned out already.

The story begins with a little girl, growing up in a close minded religious community where serious issues are pushed under a rug and ignored. Her mother has borderline personality disorder, her father physically there but emotionally a shell.

The little girl spends her days absolutely terrified of making the smallest mistake knowing that even the tinniest wrong move could set her mother off into a rage. She does her best to please her mother to avoid the physical abuse but never knowing what could upset her it is to no avail.

School is her safe place and she puts her trust into the one person who she thinks can help her. So when the teacher starts hugging and kissing her she believes it is out of love. But then it turns sexual and the little girl who is now a teenager is confused. Growing up in such a community she is totally naive and wonders if the teacher is really doing it out of love like she claims or is she using her?

With no one else to turn to or trust this continues until she gets married.

The young women and her husband leave to Israel hoping to put the past behind her, begin a new life, and start her own family.

But the months and then the years go by and and after visits to top doctors they discover they have unexplained infertility. After 3 years and expensive treatments they discover they are finally pregnant. At 13 weeks just as they beginning to believe it is real they rush to hospital at 2:00am praying that the blood doesn't mean a miscarriage. The nurse cannot find a heartbeat.

The young women falls into a deep clinical depression and begins to question her religion and why God has done this to them. She turns to the Internet to give her temporary relief from the pain and develops an addiction to self harm.

After her husband realises his wife is in danger he decides to take her back to their hometown. There she gets a job, begins to study,and with her friends and family surrounding her the depression lifts.

Fertility treatments start again and after a year the couple are overjoyed and a little nervous to find they are pregnant again.

The baby is healthy and is growing at a good rate. With all the hormones racing at 6 months the addiction returns. With the help of therapy she makes it through the pregnancy safely and gives birth to a gorgeous baby girl.

One look at the her little miracle and her world changes forever.

I am 23 yrs old, married, with a newborn daughter and this story is not a figment of my imagination it is the story of my life.

I want to write about what it means to grow up unloved, not wanted, betrayed by the people meant to protect you, live in fear of the people supposed to love you. It changes your psyche. As a child you learn things children should never know about. You struggle to adapt and do whatever you can to survive. You strive to become the person you are expected to become. You yearn to be free, shed the mask, and find out who you really are.

And then you grow up get married and are thrown into a new world with new rules. A world you have only ever looked in on from the outside. Fighting to fit in and not take advantage of the new found freedom. Resisting the pull of an addiction to return to the only world you know. A world of pain.

But this blog is not only about the my challenges it is also about the rewards. Sisters and brothers who are there for me and stand by me through everything. I have made some amazing friends and met some amazing people along this journey. People who have reached out to help me and be there for me when I needed them most.