Twists and turns

I am still on this roller coaster of depression and anxiety, and it can be a terrifying ride sometimes. This is my second go-round, and even though I knew there would be ups and downs, the twists and turns are still catching me by surprise. Sometimes my symptoms return as scary thoughts, and they stick around for a few hours or a few days. Then, they are gone and I feel hope that I am finally getting well. Later, I find myself being hypersensitive and scared that I will lose my job, and never find one again. Other times, I become afraid that I will lose the people I love. And on days like today, I feel like there is no purpose in my life. Rationally, I know that is not true. But, that knowledge is still not enough for me to not feel like it is. With depression, the heart and the mind can become so disconnected. I can tell myself that I have a wonderful life--in fact, everything I've ever wanted--yet I my heart feels so heavy and so dark. It feels as if life may never have purpose or meaning again. During those times, reading stories and blogs about women who have survived postpartum depression and anxiety become my lifeline. I at least feel that I am not alone in this. And sometimes that's enough.

Secret Mommy-hood Confession Saturday

A secret mommy-hood confession? Hmmm....where do I start? I know....my confession for this Saturday is that I often feel jealous, angry, and selfish. I envy moms who have babies--sometimes 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and more babies--and do not experience postpartum depression or anxiety. I am so envious that they can enjoy and appreciate such a beautiful, miraculous experience without the dark hole that is depression and anxiety. Now, don't get me wrong...I know those moms go through tough times, too. I know that motherhood isn't always a cakewalk. But postpartum depression and anxiety is something that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. It is a pain so unimaginable, and so intense, that it can turn the most joyous life upside down.
My second confession is that, not only do I feel jealous about these moms, sometimes I feel angry, too. I feel like it's unfair. I feel mad that I am the one that has to go through this. I so badly just want to feel "normal", everyday stress. I want my biggest worries to, again, be about how clean my house is, if I can afford that new shirt, or if I am getting enough exercise. Sometimes I feel slighted by God that I have to experience this hell-on-earth that is postpartum depression, anxiety, and OCD.
Finally, my last confession for today is the selfishness I feel. Although there's plenty of selfishness contained in the writing above, that's not all... My selfishness can be strong at times. I find myself secretly hoping that one of my friends gets postpartum depression, so that I am not alone. So that I have someone to lean on who understands this experience. (God, please forgive me for this. I don't really mean it. Like I said earlier, I truly wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy). I have so many friends who have baby after baby, with seemingly no major stress. I want that so badly. I want to be that mom that pops kids out--one right after the next. I dreamed of having that big family, and I am so sad that will not be a reality for me and my husband.
In spite of all these negative thoughts I have, I know that they are just that--thoughts. They are not reality. They do not reflect my heart or my personality or my intentions. These are the thoughts of a mom who is in the throes of depression, and who is being so brutally honest in the hope of healing.

Before and After

Before postpartum depression, I believed:
That my husband loved me unconditionally, and that we would be married forever.
That if my husband ever did decide to leave me, that I would be okay on my own.
I believed that I was an asset to my employer, and that they were fortunate to have me.
I believed that I was born to be a mother.
Before postpartum depression and anxiety I never doubted my sanity.
I never worried about being psychiatrically hospitalized.
I never worried about "going crazy".
I believed that having a big family, and caring for them, was my calling in life.
I dreamed of being a foster parent.
I dreamed of rescuing dozens of dogs from shelters and having a home in the country.
I dreamed of being a stay-at-home mom, or owning my own business and working part-time.
I dreamed that I would give my child all of the things that I longed for in my childhood.
Then postpartum depression and anxiety hit. Hard.
And I became terrified that...
I was losing my mind.
I would never be myself again.
I would always feel depressed and anxious.
I would have to be psychiatrically hospitalized.
And that would be the end of my career. And my sanity.
I believed that I would probably become debilitated by depression and anxiety.
And that I would lose my job.
And never again be hired.
Or if I was hired, that I would soon lose that job too.
I became terrified that I would never sleep again.
That I would never find meaning in my life again.
That I would never be happy.
Or fulfilled.
I doubted that I would be able to give my son a stable or happy home.
I thought my son would be better off without me.
I became terrified that I would lose my mind and hurt my son.
I became terrified that I would lose my mind and hurt myself.
I gave up on my dream of being a foster parent. After all, I didn't believe I was capable of caring for my son, let alone anyone else's children.
I gave up on my dream of having a big family.
I became convinced that my husband would eventually realize he was better off without me.
And that I could not survive without him.
Right now, I am confused. I am not sure what to believe anymore. Actually, I think I am still in a state of disbelief. Disbelief that this has all happened to me. And I am grieving. Grieving for the confident and joyful beliefs I once held. Before postpartum depression, that is.

My Safe Place

Growing up, home wasn't always a safe and comfortable place. When I became an adult and moved out on my own, I yearned to make my dorm room, college home, and grad school apartment my sanctuaries. I tried....but I was not successful. Sure, those places were sufficient, and they were mine. But, they never really felt like home. Then, the stars aligned and I finally finished school and got a decent paying job. I married my husband, and he had a solid income. And we were able to purchase a charming, but modest home. I spent hours visualizing, planning, decorating, and rearranging my home until I felt it was just right. My home did become my sanctuary. I remember times I would be at a meeting or a class and feel nervous. I would think back to my "safe place" and imagine myself at home, cuddled up on the couch with my hubby, feeling perfectly blessed and content with life. Then, postpartum depression hit me like a ton of bricks....while I was in the kitchen making lunch for my sweet little boy and my husband. Scary thoughts that were unwanted and horrifyingly frightening entered my mind. I became a ball of shame, depession, and anxiety. I was paralyzed by my fear. And my home became the place where it all occurred. My home was no longer my safe place. It now became the place where, to me, the worst imaginable pain I could have ever imagined, overtook me. As devastated as I was to have lost that safe feeling at home....I learned that feeling safe with your mind was even more important. During the worst moments of postpartum depression, I could not trust my mind or my thoughts. I felt like I was losing my self, and my sanity. Today, my home is becoming my sanctuary again. It does not feel as comforting as it once was, though. Being home for long periods of time by myself or even with my family, can still bring twinges of anxiousness. But they are now small, only remnants of what once existed. The associations are fading over time. My mind and my thoughts are safer, too. Those memories and those fears have faded. Now I am putting my energy in my faith in God, and relying on Him through the good and the bad. When I am feeling frightened or worried, and long for that sense of complete safety I once felt, I think of God, and I think of Pslam 34:19--Many are the afflications of the righteous, but the Lord deliverth him from all of them. And I feel like I have once again found my safe place.

Drinking & Depression Don't Mix

Drinking alcohol while you're on anti-depressants is not a good idea. Let me say this again, drinking alcohol when you're on anti-depressants is not a good idea. I know this. Everybody does, right? But I have made the regrettable decision to drink heavily on two recent occasions, and both times I have majorly regretted it. Now, I didn't drink to vomitting or to the point of making a fool of myself. But I did drink enough that I had a depression hangover the next day, both times. Depression is bad enough without throwing alcohol in the mix. What was I thinking? Well, I know what I was thinking....I'm better now.....I can go out and have a good time again....Nothing's wrong with me....I am just like everyone else...Life is fun again... Drinking for me equals depression denial. And when the denial wears off, the sadness sets in. And I wonder, will I ever not have to deal with this depression? Will it always be there, lurking behind the corner, waiting to make a dramatic appearance? It seems like a cruel trick that just when I start to feel better and think I have this thing beat, that I have another rough moment or hour or day, and it feels like I am back at square one. Lesson learned. Again.

The Illness Lottery

In the illness lottery, depression is not always the best one to get. It is not as catchy or as popular as some other illnesses. They don't have many bracelets, walks, or fundraisers for depression, like they do other illness. People don't wear depression survivor pins. Depression is still--for the most part--a hidden disease. I am as guilty as the next on that. But, what we do have for depression strugglers, is a vast array of medications, therapies, and other remedies. We have, what.....hundreds....of antidepressants, anti-anxiety medications, mood stabilizers, and anti-psychotic medications. We have choices and options. And we have a lot of control over our illness that other strugglers with other illnesses do not. My mother had cancer. And she died of it. It has been the pain of my life. I am guessing my mother, and most other cancer strugglers, would gladly choose depression over cancer. At least there is an element of control, treatments with minor side-effects, and a much lower mortality rate. For many reasons, I am blessed that, for all of the illnesses and problems in the world, that I have this one.

Thanks for Drugs

I am noticing some trends in my writing. One of the trends is that I thank God and express gratitude. Right now is another one of those times. I am so incredibly grateful to pharmaceutical companies. Yes, those big, bad pharmaceutical companies that a lot of us vilianize at times. They are not perfect, of course. They spend lavish amounts of money on food and drinks, getaways for their staff or for physicians. And these are among other faults. But what profession or what group of people doesn't have faults? As long as I could reap the benefits--as I and most of the rest of society does now-- I would take all of their faults in a heartbeat. The Seroquel and the Lexapro and the Xanax that I have used through out the course of my depression in these past few years have been Godsends. They have given me hope and life and peace. Not total, but enough that I have my life back. And for that I will be forever grateful. Thank you to physicians, nurses, researchers, CEOs, pharmaceutical sales managers, and all of the persons who work for and with the pharaceutical companies to provide life-saving medications. I owe so much of my life to you. So many of us do. So, thank you.