This is such an intensely terrifying feeling. I feel angry all the time. I feel sad that I'm angry. I feel disconnected. From everyone. From this beautiful baby. From his older brothers. From their daddy. I can't seem to get it together, I can't seem to do small things, that should be so simple. I can't make a bottle without having a breakdown, I can't hear him crying without crying with him. I'm together enough to know that I have a problem, and together enough to know what that problem is. I suffer from Post Partum Depression. That's right. The Big "P". And although I was at first, I'm not longer afraid to admit it. I realize what a big deal it is, and how hard it is, as a mother of a new baby to say those words. "I know I'm supposed to be happy, this is supposed to be the most exciting time of my life...and yet....all I want to do is cry." I realize how hard it is to face to judgement. From those you love, from your spouse, from yourself. I think the hardest part has been how hard I am on myself. Not only am I dealing with the things that come with this issue, I'm dealing with the guilt and self doubt that I have because I'm feeling this way. The truth is though, that I'm not alone. There are women all over the world suffering from PPD, and far worse than I have it.
The biggest problem I imagine is that I just don't feel like I can do anything right. I don't feel like I matter to anyone, like I'm important. What can I contribute to this little life when the life I have isn't much to be excited about. I'm 25 years old, and I haven't accomplished much. The last few years of my life have been hard, and I don't consider them a success. What can I teach him about being a grown up when I don't even know that much? How can I raise any of these kids to be decent, productive people, when I don't even feel like I am. It's a hard pill to swallow, yet I do...everyday. I wake up at 0530, for the babies first feeding of the day. I stare at him as he eats...anticipating the day before me. After his feeding, I lay him in bed next to his daddy, head into the kitchen to have a cup of coffee. During which, I wake up my other two boys, and attempt to get them dressed for the day. Once they're dressed, they sit down for breakfast, at which point I get little red dressed for the day. It's hard to get going, it's hard to function, but I do it, and for that at least, I am proud. By the end of these long days, I fall into bed, and pray for sleep. Sleep that doesn't always come because of the anxiety that comes with having a new baby. And...this new found anxiety that the house has to be spotless clean at all times. No dirt on the floor, nothing on the counters, no dishes in the sink. It drives me nuts. It keeps me up nights if it's not done before I go to bed. It's an insane feeling.
I don't think I ever realized what a big deal this could be until I began feeling it this strongly. Sometimes all I want to do is sit somewhere where it's really quiet and cry it out until it's not there anymore, and then go on with my life. I wanna talk to someone, I wanna know what to say. I wanna make sense. I wanna feel something that makes sense. Bah, well enough rambling I guess. The point in all this was simple. PPD is just like any other "illness" out there. It's depression, and it's serious. If you or anyone you know is a new mother, and things just don't seem right, encourage that person to get help, or seek help yourself. Talk to them, don't sit by idle...because you don't know how just a little help, and little intervention might help....it could make all the difference in the world.
