Let's go to a place I didn't think I would ever be able to go.
Let alone on a PUBLIC Internet blog.
Post Partum Depression.
Those are the 3 scariest words I have ever had to face. Just looking at them now, all typed out, in black and white, is making me tear up. It is only now, coming out on the other side, that I feel like I can address it. I've spent the past 2 months embarrassed, ashamed and terrified to admit this to anyone. Mr B knew, as well as a few close friends and family members... But even to those who knew, I never spoke about it. Not even to Mr B.
I never wanted to be the poster child for PPD. I never wanted to have it, and once I did have it, I wanted to deny it. I tried to run & hide from it. Eventually I had to seek help and take medicine. I feel better now. I feel like the rain clouds have lifted and I can finally enjoy this adventure called motherhood.
I felt OK for the first 4-5 weeks after my son was born. I thought that meant I was "In the clear". I patted myself on the back, and thought I was one of the lucky ones. Then I hit week 5. That was the week I became a crying, hysterical, angry mess. That was the week that I realized I was scared of a 10 pound baby. That was the week that EVERYTHING Mr B did annoyed me.
I felt like I was in WAYYYY over my head. I thought I had made a mistake. I had second thoughts and doubts about being a mother. I had a raw gut-wrenching pain in my stomach. I knew something didn't "feel right"... But, in my mind it was because of the lack of sleep, the infant who cried all night, or my new stretched-out-deflated stomach. I didn't want to believe that it was PPD. I had convinced myself that I would not get this horrible monster of an illness. One day Mr B sat me down and explained in his nurse voice that this was PPD. I needed to seek help. I needed to get help for myself, and also so that I would be a better wife and mother. He never told me I was a "bad mom", although I felt it in my heart. He stuck by me, holding my hand... offering a shoulder... and encouraging me.
I yelled. I cried. I denied. I was bitter. I was angry. I broke down. I said I hated him for this. I wanted to hate him for throwing this in my face.... That was the illness taking over. PPD was not how I expected it to be. I was OK for about 80% of the day. It was the other 20% of the day that was hard. That was when the emotions kicked in and nothing could satisfy me. I felt crazy. Surely no sane person could go from crying hysterically, with blood shot eyes, to sullen and quiet, and back to happy in a matter of minutes.
Finally... Here we are 2 months later, and I feel like I am starting to get back to "me". This baby thing doesn't seem quite so overwhelming.
I finally feel OK. I finally feel like this manageable, even enjoyable. It was a long road, with a rocky path, but in the end I made it out alright... with a smile on my face and love in my heart. <3
