Tag: depression

DEPRESSION is an ugly word…

What do all of these pictures have in common?

•• D E P R E S S I O N ••

After my first pregnancy. I had depression.

During the end of my last pregnancy and after my last pregnancy, I had depression.

For those of you who don’t know, depression is NOT general sadness. It is not grief. It is not something you can change by the amount of faith you have or something you can “will” yourself out of by optimism.

If it was, I would be the poster child for that particular remedy.

Believe me, no one has more grit and determination than this girl.

It’s is different for everyone.
But for me, the first time, it was crying all of the time.

It was knowing that I should be so happy but all I could do was feel sad and then when I couldn’t feel that anymore, it was emptiness.

Then, during my last pregnancy, it was dark. It was being so overwhelmed at the thought of answering a phone call, getting out of bed, getting dressed, going to work, taking care of my child.

The thought of the next day was almost too much.

After Chloe was born, it was better but still so much emptiness.

It was dark.
It was lonely.
It was overwhelming.
It was guilt at the type of mom I wasn’t being to Landry.

Guilt over not being so happy when all I wanted was a baby.

Then guilt at not being so overjoyed at having the baby girl I always wanted.

It was guilt over not being the wife Trey deserved.

And I did feel happiness. I did feel joy, at times.
I was so thankful for my babies.
I never wanted to harm them or anyone else.
I just wanted to feel like myself again.

Luckily, after Landry, I knew depression.

I knew medication helped me tremendously the first time.

After Chloe, I accepted that this was something I had to fight.

I knew what to do.
I went back to my doctor and I got on medication.

Did I ever want to be on medication?
Nope.
Was it something I resisted and tried to explain away?
Yep.

Could I will myself out of it?
Nope.

Was my life good?
Yep.
Everything I ever dreamed?
Yep.

Did that change it?
Nope.

That last picture, the Golden Gate Bridge, 1600 people have jumped off that bridge to their death.

Because they wanted to escape the pain they felt day in and out.
An overwhelming and inescapable hole.

I was lucky.
I have an amazing support system.
I figured it out early on and know that it’s something I will likely always face.
I found something that works for me. Medication.

It’s an ugly word.
Well…for mental illness it is.
For cancer? Not so much.
Of course you would take medication for cancer, but if you take it for depression, you’re weak.

Nope. I’m strong.
I’m strong because I choose to look my illness head on and say, I see you and I’m fighting you.

I know everyone has their “theories” on antidepressants and therapy.

And guess what?
You’re wrong.
Until you’ve struggled with it, you don’t get a vote.

Anything other than your personal experience isn’t helpful to anyone that does have a mental illness.

It’s harmful.
It stigmatizes.
It makes getting help more difficult.
It makes you look ignorant.

It causes jumping off a bridge seem like an easier option than getting actual help.

When jumping off a bridge seems like a better option than seeking help, you could say that we as a society have failed.

Be kind to others.
Chances are, that person you’re talking to about mental health, may be someone diagnosed.
Or, they might know someone very close to them who is.

There are SO many people who struggle with a mental health illness.

Until we start talking about it and normalizing it, we will continue losing lives to it.

#depression #mentalhealth #stopthestigma

We meet again…

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13626359_10206825305093668_8034528150414860891_n-chloe

Photo Cred. Janean Gray Photography.

 

That baby. That boy. That husband. This life.

I have dreamed of it. All of it. Since I was little. A boy and a girl. A great neighborhood. A job I am passionate about. A husband that I adore and who adores me.

I have it all. I’ve had it all. And yet, I can’t seem to capture the happiness I should be blissfully entangled in. I know why. I’ve met her before. Our last encounter was horrible, unwelcome, and completely by surprise. Her name, Postpartum Depression.

She’s the worst. She used to tell me ugly lies. She used to make me cry for no reason. She used to make me feel worthless. That was the first time we met.

Now, I don’t cry. Ever. She makes me numb. She puts a filter on my sunshine. She used to make me feel less than, not good enough, anxious, like everything was wrong. I’ve become wise to her tricks. I have outsmarted her. I no longer think those things or feel those feelings. This time, her approach is different.

Now, she makes me tired. The kind of tired that is never relieved. The kind that is exhausted just thinking about the next day. She makes me feel nothing. Empty.

I feel happiness, most days even, but not to the extend that I should.
I feel sadness, sometimes, but not to the extent that I should.
I mostly feel nothing.
My babies, they bring me happiness. The kind that makes me laugh until I cry and the kind that makes me thank God endlessly for the sweetness he has placed in my life. Other than them, I feel nothing.

The first time we met, I was utterly and completely sad. I cried ALL. THE. TIME. I wanted so desperately to be pregnant again. The anticipation and excitement of a baby coming was over and I was distraught. I loved my boy. Blissfully so. He made me so very happy. But, I still cried. Every day. I was still sad. Every Day. Blissfully in love and yet so sad. Can those two things coexist? Yes. they can.

Those first few days after birth, you are asked to fill out the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale. It asks you a variety of questions. The fist few days after birth, I felt happy. Exhausted. But HAPPY! So…I passed that test. Each time I took it. I passed. For each child, each time I took that test, I passed. Postpartum depression? NOPE! Not this girl. Not the first month…or the second…or even the third…and then month four came and HELLO SADNESS!

I didn’t know what it was. Because, the media, and even the doctors make you think postpartum depression is being huddled in a corner, rocking back- and- forth, crying. You have thoughts of suicide, self-harm, and no attachment to your baby. Maybe even thoughts of harming your baby.

By that account, I absolutely did NOT have postpartum depression. Not. Even. Close. I cried, albeit, a lot. But not a scary crazy amount. I felt sad. But I also felt happy.
I never, not one time, thought about harming myself. I never contemplated suicide. And my baby, I was smitten. I was attached. I adored him. I never thought about harming him. Ever.

Which is why it took me until month six or seven to reach out for help. To understand that I did, in fact, have postpartum depression. That I did, in fact, need help. And… help I got. Within a few weeks of reaching out, I was SO normal again. No more crying. No more sadness. Praise GOD!

I have fought back, I have. I have worked out, ran, prayed, got out of the house, talked for hours to my husband, and here I am, still feeling nothing. I will continue to do all of those things, until my hormones even out and I am back to the girl I used to be. But it is exhausting. I know, by doing those things, it will eventually bring me back to where I need to be. I know, from experience, that this has an end. It has an expiration date. It happens. It isn’t embarrassing. In fact, it is quite common.

This time, I know how to handle her. I know her angle. I know what she plans to do. I know how to combat her. I am fighting. Every day. If she becomes too combative, I will seek help. Right now, I think I have a good handle on her.

This post is for the girl who is experiencing this and doesn’t know what to do. SEEK HELP. Talk to your doctor. You don’t have to be suicidal or even unable to get out of bed to have PPD. You don’t have to spend the first year of your sweet baby’s life with a filter over your eyes. You CAN be happy. Reach out to someone. Let them know how you feel. Let them know what is going on in your mind and your heart. Talk to your doctor if it is seriously affecting your life.

And…most of all, know that you are not alone. You are not crazy. You are not a bad mother. You did not cause this, your crazy baby making hormones did. This is not something to be embarrassed about. A lot of women suffer from this. A LOT. Society makes us think we have control over this, we don’t. Society tells you that you are a crazy lunatic. You aren’t.

Postpartum depression, She is a crazy hag. Get rid of her.

You will be happy again. You can be happy NOW.