“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.”
It isn’t a lack of sleep. I don’t need to spend more time with friends. None of this is fixed because I act normal for a while.
If I’m going to have the guts to be honest with myself and with you then I might as well try and have the guts to be honest with my friends and family as well. Because…
Because I Want A Dumpster Baby has been sober for twelve years today. If she can do that, then I can do this.
Because So Much For The Mother of The Year Award said that she was humbled to be my friend – and I want to be worthy of that sentiment.
Because my good friend Lindsey survived an abusive relationship and I was a witness to a year of it and never knew what I was seeing. Also because she is now in an amazing relationship and family.
Because Dork Dad just wants to understand what’s happening with me – and I need to stop trying to protect him from my crazy. He can’t help if he doesn’t know.
Because a woman in DC broke and is now dead and her young daughter has no idea why mommy is gone.
Because I break a little every day. Every day something happens – or nothing happens and a wound opens up in me. Sometimes I can close it with a deep breath or the smell of my baby’s neck. Sometimes I use chocolate. Or take a walk. Or write to you all. Or read amazing blogs by beautiful people. Sometimes I have to just cry until my throat is raw and my stomach heaving and I just give up and sleep. On those days I hold on with every shred of strength that I have until someone else is here to take care of the Archduke of Awwww until I can cobble myself back together.
I am blessed. I have friends and family who love me and have my back. I have a man who tells me and shows me that he loves me multiple times a day. He can hold me while I cry the ugliest cry and never make me feel ugly or alone. I haven’t let him in enough.
That’s a basic problem that I have and that this illness has amplified. I tend to pull away when I’m stressed. I shut down all but the most basic functions and socially hibernate. Depression and anxiety don’t help that any. I don’t have the energy to explain to the people in my life that nothing happened but still everything is wrong – so I fake it. I try to interact on the phone or via text and email as much as possible because it’s easier to fake it that way. When I do have to see people I think of it like one of my old improv classes. Everything is easier when it isn’t actually your life.
Lindsey told her story powerfully and beautifully on Facebook. She opened her life up to her family and friends in the hope that she could put a human face on abuse and that we would all be more understanding in the future. She said that it was time to take a page from our LGBTQ friends and ‘come out’. She’s right. It’s time.
I have Postpartum Depression and Anxiety. I am sick. This does not make me a bad mother. This does not mean that I don’t love my son. I am not weak. I am not just tired. I am ill. If you are not familiar with this diagnosis please take the time to read any or all of these pages and please feel free to ask me questions here or on my Facebook page.
If you know someone who is sick please educate yourself. If you know someone who is pregnant or has just given birth, please educate yourself. Please don’t assume. Lives are at stake.
*Dammit! I don’t even like Hemingway – but you have to admit, that man knew about Depression.