Apparently I can't post on forums anymore
I do believe my depression started when I was pregnant with my first, and it went untreated until after I had my second.
During my first pregnancy, I realized my friends felt that I wasn't talking to them anymore. That I had no time to spend with them and didn't want to see them etc etc. Even though I just felt like I couldn't. I felt stranded and isolated from the world. I had bleeding for the first 5 months of pregnancy and had to remain in bed for some time after each episode of bleeding. I felt like my friends just didn't understand. It felt as if my family was not very supportive and not understanding of my pains. My aunt would blame my aches and pains on things I did. Then it got closer to the end of the pregnancy and labor was nowhere in sight. It exasperated my feeling of isolation. It felt as if there was a club of women that were able to go into labor themselves and weren't overdue like I were. It sounds so stupid and ridiculous for me to say it now but that's exactly how it felt.
Breastfeeding 24/7 made it even worse as I do not recall any moment in the first 4 months of my daughter's life where I wasn't breastfeeding her. I'm not saying breastfeeding was at fault, but we had a problem and my baby simply wasn't growing and her diapers were constantly dry. Maybe the only reason she would latch on was that she required comfort because she sure was not getting any nutrition. Then supplementing and simply hating feeding from the breast and stopping cold turkey and the guilt that came with it.
Then, as another poster said, I mourned my life. The new responsibilities and few to no pleasures I was receiving. I mourned not being able to travel with my hubby before having a baby. I mourned not having a house of my own before my baby was born, I mourned not being able to give her her own room, and her own closet. Nothing was fun. Nothing could take my mind out of anything. Several times I envisioned myself just leaving the house barefoot in my pjs and walking as far as I could go. I told this image to my mother, but what I didn't tell her that when I envisioned myself leaving the house...I envisioned leaving to die. There was a scene in this movie, Saving Mr. Banks that actually made me cry because it was the embodiment of that image I had of myself even though I had it before watching the movie.
When I started exercising after having my daughter, I started seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. It felt like I was myself again. I felt well enough to start thinking about having another baby, and we did. We were blessed with a second pregnancy when our first was 8 months old. I gave myself pep talk and convinced myself that this time, I wasn't going to get depressed. I wasn't just going to sit there and feel like I am the only one in the world that didn't get things her way. That I was the only one in the world excluded from the "cool club". That I was going to get some new hobbies and keep myself busy. And busy I kept myself.
Somewhere along the lines, maybe late in pregnancy, I developed anxiety instead of depression. I would wake up in the middle of the night in a panic fearing that there would be a fire and my baby would be trapped. At times I'd bring her to our bed just so she could be near me, in case of a catastrophe. Whenever someone would even mention all those recent disasters that we read on the news, I would simply leave the room. My family complained that I was uptight and offensive. What they didn't understand that if I had heard something, anything- I wouldn't sleep and would keep imagining it happening to my child and I.
When my youngest was just a few months old, we were finally ready to move into our own house. You'd think I were happy and excited but nope. I imagined every horrible thing that could happen. I can't even go into lengths about the anxiety that I had because they are just too horrible for me even re-live so I've blocked them out.
After we've moved to the new house and things settled down, my anxiety also settled down. Or so it seemed. Anxiety and depression seem to be linked to the core, or at least for me they were. I became an insomniac. I would literally be up till 3 am and then wake up at 6. I stopped crying and mourning my life. I stopped feeling anything. My mother invited the kids and I to travel with her, hoping that a change of scenery would help me because she had been advising me to seek help for my condition since my first was a newborn.
On the first few days of the trip, I felt relatively normal. As close to normal as possible. It was almost as if I was able to shove the pile of crap I was living under away temporarily. But my insomnia caught up with me, and then did everything else.
I started envisioning myself joining the army in order to save the world, and ultimately, as it seems to come back to this: die. When we came back home from the trip I went back to imagining myself leave the house barefoot and walking far away, as far as my legs could take me. My mind would jump to this as if someone had pressed play on a movie right in front of me. I could not control it.
Then, due to my lack of sleep, I started seeing things. I was so sure my daughter was walking around quietly at night, in the dark. But she wasn't, because I was so unsure of what I was seeing I always checked on her straight away. I didn't have the energy to do anything. I didn't want to leave the bed. My kids were always taken care of, I just don't recall ever what was happening and what happened and who did the taking care.
That's when I finally decided to seek help.
Within a month of being on antidepressants, and having 1 psychotherapy session per week, I started to see the world differently. I started to see colors. Does that sound strange? The world had a different color and I was able to have feelings. I was able to enjoy the things I used to enjoy, like exercising, and music. I love listening to music, and dancing, and singing along loud and off-key. I was able to love, I finally realized how much I loved my kids. It felt like the state of my mental health was a dark cloud... no, not a cloud. A tornado that constantly surrounded me and clouded my thoughts and judgement. Parts of my love were somehow lost inside that constant struggle. Since that tornado had calmed, and the skies were clear... I was able to love, completely.
During my first pregnancy, I realized my friends felt that I wasn't talking to them anymore. That I had no time to spend with them and didn't want to see them etc etc. Even though I just felt like I couldn't. I felt stranded and isolated from the world. I had bleeding for the first 5 months of pregnancy and had to remain in bed for some time after each episode of bleeding. I felt like my friends just didn't understand. It felt as if my family was not very supportive and not understanding of my pains. My aunt would blame my aches and pains on things I did. Then it got closer to the end of the pregnancy and labor was nowhere in sight. It exasperated my feeling of isolation. It felt as if there was a club of women that were able to go into labor themselves and weren't overdue like I were. It sounds so stupid and ridiculous for me to say it now but that's exactly how it felt.
Breastfeeding 24/7 made it even worse as I do not recall any moment in the first 4 months of my daughter's life where I wasn't breastfeeding her. I'm not saying breastfeeding was at fault, but we had a problem and my baby simply wasn't growing and her diapers were constantly dry. Maybe the only reason she would latch on was that she required comfort because she sure was not getting any nutrition. Then supplementing and simply hating feeding from the breast and stopping cold turkey and the guilt that came with it.
Then, as another poster said, I mourned my life. The new responsibilities and few to no pleasures I was receiving. I mourned not being able to travel with my hubby before having a baby. I mourned not having a house of my own before my baby was born, I mourned not being able to give her her own room, and her own closet. Nothing was fun. Nothing could take my mind out of anything. Several times I envisioned myself just leaving the house barefoot in my pjs and walking as far as I could go. I told this image to my mother, but what I didn't tell her that when I envisioned myself leaving the house...I envisioned leaving to die. There was a scene in this movie, Saving Mr. Banks that actually made me cry because it was the embodiment of that image I had of myself even though I had it before watching the movie.
When I started exercising after having my daughter, I started seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. It felt like I was myself again. I felt well enough to start thinking about having another baby, and we did. We were blessed with a second pregnancy when our first was 8 months old. I gave myself pep talk and convinced myself that this time, I wasn't going to get depressed. I wasn't just going to sit there and feel like I am the only one in the world that didn't get things her way. That I was the only one in the world excluded from the "cool club". That I was going to get some new hobbies and keep myself busy. And busy I kept myself.
Somewhere along the lines, maybe late in pregnancy, I developed anxiety instead of depression. I would wake up in the middle of the night in a panic fearing that there would be a fire and my baby would be trapped. At times I'd bring her to our bed just so she could be near me, in case of a catastrophe. Whenever someone would even mention all those recent disasters that we read on the news, I would simply leave the room. My family complained that I was uptight and offensive. What they didn't understand that if I had heard something, anything- I wouldn't sleep and would keep imagining it happening to my child and I.
When my youngest was just a few months old, we were finally ready to move into our own house. You'd think I were happy and excited but nope. I imagined every horrible thing that could happen. I can't even go into lengths about the anxiety that I had because they are just too horrible for me even re-live so I've blocked them out.
After we've moved to the new house and things settled down, my anxiety also settled down. Or so it seemed. Anxiety and depression seem to be linked to the core, or at least for me they were. I became an insomniac. I would literally be up till 3 am and then wake up at 6. I stopped crying and mourning my life. I stopped feeling anything. My mother invited the kids and I to travel with her, hoping that a change of scenery would help me because she had been advising me to seek help for my condition since my first was a newborn.
On the first few days of the trip, I felt relatively normal. As close to normal as possible. It was almost as if I was able to shove the pile of crap I was living under away temporarily. But my insomnia caught up with me, and then did everything else.
I started envisioning myself joining the army in order to save the world, and ultimately, as it seems to come back to this: die. When we came back home from the trip I went back to imagining myself leave the house barefoot and walking far away, as far as my legs could take me. My mind would jump to this as if someone had pressed play on a movie right in front of me. I could not control it.
Then, due to my lack of sleep, I started seeing things. I was so sure my daughter was walking around quietly at night, in the dark. But she wasn't, because I was so unsure of what I was seeing I always checked on her straight away. I didn't have the energy to do anything. I didn't want to leave the bed. My kids were always taken care of, I just don't recall ever what was happening and what happened and who did the taking care.
That's when I finally decided to seek help.
Within a month of being on antidepressants, and having 1 psychotherapy session per week, I started to see the world differently. I started to see colors. Does that sound strange? The world had a different color and I was able to have feelings. I was able to enjoy the things I used to enjoy, like exercising, and music. I love listening to music, and dancing, and singing along loud and off-key. I was able to love, I finally realized how much I loved my kids. It felt like the state of my mental health was a dark cloud... no, not a cloud. A tornado that constantly surrounded me and clouded my thoughts and judgement. Parts of my love were somehow lost inside that constant struggle. Since that tornado had calmed, and the skies were clear... I was able to love, completely.
Comments
Post a Comment