I guess I should just jump right back into it since I left y'all hanging last night. Actually I'm pretty sure I left nobody hanging, I take so long to update this I doubt anybody tries to read it anymore.
Let's start w/the good - I had reached some sort of plateau w/my ppd and was doing wonderfully. Mommy euphoria had set in and I couldn't get enough of my snuggle bunny Toby. I was so much better that DH kept asking when I could get off the meds - b/c he doesn't understand that it's the meds keeping me on the plateau and going off them would be completely horrible. I had no anxious moments and could only focus on the positive - mostly our adorable son and this fun, fun time of him laughing, being ticklish, discovering his world w/his hands, and little milestones such as learning to twist himself around in his exersaucer or support himself on his feet (with someone holding him steady just in case). I couldn't believe how much better things had gotten and when I looked back on the first three months it is as if I wasn't even there. The entire time is a fog to me, as if it was simply someone's nightmare and I was merely a character. I feel as though I missed out on Toby's first few months of life and I find myself going back to pictures of his birth and those first three months trying to recreate the memories in a happy way. The best feelings are when I look at pictures of his birthday and I can feel all this sudden love fill me all over and I finally know just how that cheesy expression "heart swells with pride" really fits. This little boy is my whole world and I am ever so grateful for that.
It was about two weeks ago when I started to feel the depression again. It began with a simply moody day, moody enough for DH to point out and ask why I was so moody. I had no idea and guessed it was probably just hormones during that time of the month maybe. Later that day I started to be anxious about taking care of Toby, and became less and less confident in my mommy skills. Then the straw broke the camel's back when a small criticism on my mommying from DH sent me over the edge. I had never cut myself before, but never have I felt the urge so strongly then. I tried to just cry it out first, behind Toby while he sat and watched Sesame Street in his rocker chair. My cries were more like sobs and then sobbing hiccups that turned into a bad headache. DH had no clue. He was in and out of the house as he was working to help with some of the Katrina damage (the company said they'd pay him to do some of it since they can't find enough workers).
I knew I was spiraling out of control but it was like those times when I was about to go off a diet and although I was fully aware, I couldn't stop myself. I saw the road ahead and barrelled through it. Sometimes that is the only way I can get by, barrelling through. I put Toby down in the crib and turned on his mobile, I didn't want him to notice anything wrong w/mummy, and the thought of that just made everything worse. "Toby has a psycho mummy" kept going through my head and it acted like an anvil pushing down harder on my self-loathing. It soon turned into "Toby has a psycho horrible so not worth being here mummy and deserves better".
I did what I have done before and didn't really have plans of going any further - because this was the furthest I have ever gone - I tried to pry a razor blade free of my pink disposable razor with intentions to make small cuts on my leg in order to feel and see this horrible pain I was feeling inside. I had never gotten further than attempting to get the blade free and last time I was at the psychiatrist's office and told her so - she said that she didn't think I'd go any further than that anyway. Well this time I did. Imagine my surprise when the blade popped free - I actually got excited and quickly searched the floor for the blade that popped out. As soon as I found it I sat down thinking, "Now what?" This was new territory for me, not a place I had expected to be yet I felt such the desire to be there. I put the razor to the inside of my thigh on my right leg and started to cut... but it wouldn't cut. I saw no blood even though I definitely felt pain and got very frustrated. It made me try to cut even more, harder and longer each time, but no blood. I finally gave up, put the razor aside in the drawer in the bathroom for future use and tried to lie down to calm myself down. My rational self was slowly returning...
But the irrational me wasn't ready to give up. I immediately remembered those syringes I had leftover from having to give myself insulin when I was pregnant and had gestational diabetes. I searched the house for the box of syringes but for some reason they were missing - was someone thinking ahead and one step ahead of me? I looked in a drawer where I used to keep a fresh morning syringe for that morning insulin right when I woke up and voila - I found a clean, unused syringe still in its package.
Back to the bathroom and my inner thigh, and the same thing happened. I kept cutting and cutting straight lines and nothing would show. I finally gave up, DH had walked in by then narrowly missing my attempts and I asked him to take Toby w/him to the store so I could take some of my anxiety medication and take a nap.
It wasn't until after my nap that I realized my cutting worked and I did make bleeding marks on my leg, and finally the relief came. It was like a rise of relief I used to feel after lighting that first cigarette out of the pack. The punishment to myself, the pain I wanted to see on the outside - was visible. All was okay, and I wanted to do it again.
I felt so ashamed of what I had done that I didn't tell anybody and tried my best to keep DH from seeing it. Finally a few days later I had the urge to reach out to him for help since I still felt like doing it again and showed my leg to him and told him that it wasn't anytime soon that I could go off my meds.
Then I began to feel a little better. Confessing to DH made things a little more open and he knew I was a bit too fragile for simple criticisms on my parenting style. But then again a few more days later he went to New Orleans to work, spending nights there to save on gas and my anxieties and worries got the best of me again. This time the straw that broke it all was done by my mom with a simple criticism. She tried to immediately take it back and change what she had said but it was too late. That was all I needed for an excuse to cut myself again. This time I did it deeper and on my other leg. And that wasn't enough so I did it on my arm too. The arm was too painful, so I'm a bit glad about that - maybe I won't do it next time.
In between, I did call the psychiatrist and left a message. Usually she responds within 48 hours but I haven't heard from her since. I went to my church ladies' prayer group meeting that meets every Tuesday and confessed to them so that they could pray for me, and one of the ladies set me up an appointment with a great therapist who works on a sliding scale so I wouldn't worry about how much money I'd be owing her. I see her Wednesday.
I have had the urge to cut pretty much every hour on the hour since then. I have the urge to google search cutting and get tips from people who do it all the time. I feel like I've discovered a completely new vice and the only distraction is eating chocolate and peanut butter m&m's. I know the eating for comfort isn't going to help but honestly, it seems a tad healthier than cutting, doesn't it?
So that's where I have been. In my own personal mommy hell full of hormones, irrational thinking pretending to be rational, and not quite in the company of people who are able to understand just how to deal with it and me. What makes it the worst I think is that I am almost 5 months postpartum. I should be better by now - yet everything I've read on the subject shows that relapses around now are common - but try to get everyone who loves you and thinks you're completely better and need to just quit the medication to understand that.
The next few days I will be in a difficult test. Both DH and my mom are working so I will be alone with Toby. I have a sister who claims she'll help out but keeps making excuses the day of and never shows up. That doesn't help. Plus she seems to think it is the medicine making me worse - and I can't tell you just how much the frustration balloons when someone just can't understand the chemistry of it all and how and WHY you NEED the medicine to help you. I'm sure I have people just shaking their head at this thinking, "yeah right, she needs to be off those meds" and I hope they never find out what might happen if I were off of them. Just trust me okay? I've been there, I am there, and this is my crazy brain we're talking about here. Mmmkay?
So far I'm halfway into day 1 of Toby by myself since this all happened, and it has been okay I suppose. The hardest part is night when DH comes home and is too exhausted to take Toby and give me a good break and he goes straight to bed. It makes me feel as though I'm the only one here to take care of them and the pressure from that is insane, it makes me insane. It has made me resent his job and sometimes him even though he is probably the most wonderful husband and daddy in the world (and anyone who knows him can attest to that).
Anyway, I'll put a stop to this post for now. I hope that in a few days I can post that things are better, and that I'm back on the happy plateau, because that's what Toby deserves - a normal happy Mummy.
All of his new toys - Freddie the Firefly crinkly thing, a giggleball puppy, and the Winkel
Toby's first Playdate with 5 month old Carter in Mississippi - 2 weeks older yet much, much smaller. Apparently people in Mississippi are blind, when we took them both to the mall, we were getting asked, "Are they twins?". Um, yeah, different mommies, different sized babies, suuuure twins!
Toby kept trying to lean over and reach for the spoon before it could get to Carter's mouth - he thought those sweet potatoes were his for sure!
