Too Honest for Comfort

When I brought Corbin home I was sore, tired, and bleeding- the same as every other mom. My husband did his best to stay home and considering his two jobs and classes he has- he was around a lot. I had a wonderful sister who stayed and took the night watch over my newborn. The days were long, and almost dreamlike where I rarely knew what day it was, let alone what time it was, and I did nothing more than watch television and play Sudoku while I fed and held my little son.

I got sleep. I got food. I knew how to calm and care for my son. For a time, as crazy and as strange everything felt, I felt like me still.

Then my sister had to go back home to her life and it was me, hubby, and Corbin. I got some sleep. I got some food. I even went to my own classes by then end of that week. Life as a little more hectic, but I was managing… at least that’s what I wanted to believe.

My “moments of motherhood” post describe pretty well the first signs of my own personal demons. I knew that Post-Partum Depression was a possibility. I’ve seen the physical and familial effects it can do to a family and individual- though I still had no real idea what the emotional and mental effects could entail.

I thought that because I loved school so much, that it would provide a little stability to my now flipped inside out life. I mean, school would provide an hour of adult conversation and really using my brain. It would give me time to get some exercise to walk to and from class. It would give me something to do at home that would make me feel productive. And for a while, I kept up. I may have missed class because my son wouldn’t sleep till 5:00 AM and I slept through my alarm, but I stayed up to date on what we were doing in class. I refused to let myself get behind. I’d wait till an opportune quiet, hand free moment to do my school work only to have what felt like the fussiest baby in existence. So I’d wait till the next nap… and then the next one.

Screaming was the soundtrack to my life. My chest hurt from his insistence to eat every hour.  I barely had time to take care of him… let alone myself.

There I was trying to maintain control… while my house got dirtier, television grew boring, and waking up became less and less appealing.

I’ve come to learn that you don’t go to sleep and wake up the next day depressed. It creeps up on you, like ivy on the side of house.

Another day started like it always did, but this time I knew that something was not right.

Corbin screamed just like he always did, I lay in bed hoping that hubby would take his turn, after all, I had let him sleep all night without feeding or changing Corbin, surely he could at least get his son. We lay there for probably only ten minutes, but it felt like an hour of just endless screaming. I lost the battle of wits. I picked up my son and crawled back in bed to feed him with my very sore chest. Hubby attempted to do his usual morning cuddle and I pushed him away as fast as I could. I even remember telling him in a cold dark voice “don’t you dare touch me.” I sat there, huddling on the edge of my bed, feeling like my body was just a tool for someone else.  

Usually my next thought would be “I want to hide” but that day the thought was “I want to end.” I was scared. Not just because I thought it, but because how valid it felt. The floodgate for the demons had been opened. Demons (the negative thoughts as I call them) were telling me that my husband was going to leave now that I was broken. He would be better off without me anyway since I was lazy and was a terrible wife and mother.

We did talk though, and I told him everything. I told him why I was mad that morning and I admitted to him the demons that had been plaguing me that day. But I didn’t think that I was depressed. That was just a bad day. Everyone has bad days. And for the next few days I felt a little better, my son even slept a little more, and I felt a little bit productive.

Another thing I’ve learned about depression. Not every day is soul sucking torment.

However, the bad days are more frequent and the things that I enjoyed now cause me panic attacks or seem meaningless. I know I need help. I do. But I feel stuck. When it feels like I need to quit school, but my demons tell me I’m a failure for not sticking to it. When I feel like I need to see a medical professional, but the demons say it’s pointless because insurance ends soon and finances are tight as it is. When I feel stir crazy for being stuck in my house for a week, the demons tell me there isn’t anything to do outside anyway. When I feel lonely and want a friend, the demons tell me that if I tell them everything that’s going on that they will never be my friend anymore, or worse, I’ll make them depressed. I know these demons weave a web of lies, but even on the good days their lies linger.

On the bad days, I want to run away from everything and everyone and never come back. I wouldn’t even feel guilty for leaving a baby behind- but I’d miss my husband. If I took hubby with me, he’d make me come back. So the demons tell me that if I really want to be free of life and its miseries then I’d have to take hubby and baby with me- I couldn’t do it otherwise. Which in a way is a good thing because I’d be less likely to actually harm myself, but it’s kind of scary because my demons like to help me think of efficient ways to destroy me and my little family. The sad stories you hear about a dad or a mom losing it and killing their family and then themselves – kind of makes sense to me. And that too scares me.

My mind is far scarier than any horror film or book because what I think could one day actually be 

reality.

Another truth about depression, it affects everyone around you.

My husband recognizes that this isn’t just something that goes away. He does everything he can to help me find the help I need to face these demons, these negative and terrifying thoughts I have, so I can get back to being Daria.