PPD

A few days ago, I was asking for blog ideas. A friend that I have newly reconnected with (HI!) suggested Postpartum Depression.

Good choice.

I'm not going to be all clinical in this post. I know most everyone understands what it is. Pregnancy fucks up your body (hello, meat curtains), but it also fucks up your mind. Hormones are a bitch, and they do their best to bring you down super far.

I know there are some instances where women have experienced PPD on such a huge level that terrible things happened. It is a pretty contentious issue, so I won't go there.

What I will do is talk about what happened to me. Keep in mind that this was a long time ago, so the post will be super short since my memory is shot to hell. However, I did go back and read my super old blog posts from that time (hello, MySpace!), so I could get a feel for how bad off I was.

Apparently it was bad.

Even before I gave birth, I would have episodes where everything was wrong, and nothing felt right. I know now that PPD can happen even before birth. I remember having my son and being elated. I was happy for a few days. Then I started feeling....off again. I had heard of Postpartum Depression and had always said I wouldn't succumb to it, but you can't really control your mind like that, can you? I slowly started spiraling down that hole, with no way to stop it.

As I cared for our son, I would feel weepy at times for no reason. I would worry that I wasn't handling the baby right. I would freak out at every little thing that had to do with his care. I was so afraid that he would die because I was a terrible mother or because he had an undiagnosed illness. I don't think it helped much that I could not breastfeed, so I felt like a failure. This feeling of failure actually started the day my son was born, when an alleged lactation expert made me feel inferior ("You just need to try harder! Don't you want your baby to be healthy?"), and then tried to force my kid to latch on to something that wasn't giving him anything anyways. Yeah.

Weeks started flying by, and the depression would strike where it wanted to. Some days would be perfectly fine. Others would find me in a sobbing heap, freaking out about everything and nothing at once. There were days that I questioned why I had even had my son or why I had even gotten married. I yelled a lot. I was unpleasant. I worried so much and just felt so alone, even though I was surrounded by people. I felt like the world's worst mother and didn't feel any sort of connection to my son. That last sentence was difficult to write, but it is true.

I probably should have sought treatment for the depression, but I was young and not really certain of where to begin. I was also embarrassed. I love my family, but we never seek help when we should because we always expect to solve our own problems without involving others. We turn inwards rather than reach out for help until the situation is critical. We're slightly better about getting help now, but it was more of a private thing ten years ago. But I digress....

I think the depression started tapering off when I got a job. There were still times that I felt useless and helpless and all of those other things, but that could probably be chalked up to normal mental illnesses that have never really went away. They certainly came along when we moved across the country.

So what can I say to conclude this tiny story? If you're pregnant, know the signs of PPD. If you've just had a baby and are starting to sink into the darkness, reach out to someone. This link will give you some more insight and may help. Don't let it go. I have made it sound minor on here, but as I think on it more, I can remember and feel the days that were so fucking painful, just because my mind was out of whack. I know you feel alone, but you are NOT. Trust me.