It all started a few weeks ago…
Things were going pretty well. I was taking things one moment and one day at
a time. I wasn’t even thinking about being depressed or worried about the
depression coming back. I was well and
truly surviving.
Then, at a regular doctor’s appointment, I was asked a
relatively routine question, “How are you feeling in yourself?”
“Okay,” I responded and then smiled because, for the first
time in a long time, I was doing
okay. Really okay. Not I don’t want to go into hospital okay or
I don’t want to sound like a bad mom okay
or any of the other versions of the putting
on a positive front okay I’d used before. I was alright and had been for a
while. His next question, and my
subsequent answer, had me on cloud nine.
“When do you think you started getting better?” I thought
about it and smiled again. I’d been out of that weird depressive fog for a few
months! This was amazing. I was not well
yet but I was certainly on my way and the changes were finally noticeable.
Then, after 16 weeks on a waiting list, a therapist finally
called to administer one of those tests.
Part one was full of questions rating how I’d felt about
things in the last couple weeks. Result: I had my down days but actually it put
me in the normal range. Brilliant. I’ve
taken various forms of this test since first seeking help and I had never
before been even close to normal. In fact, if I’d been called a week or two
after my referral, I have no doubt I would’ve been off the charts.
Part two: how does the depression affect your daily life. My
results had the therapist asking me if I needed to be more honest with my
questions in part one. Nope, I’d been honest. It was true, in the last two
weeks I’d been fine.
But when the depression does hit, it is bad. Of course it affects everything. In the past
two years I have done little more than survive because it’s all I’ve been able
to handle. Putting one foot in front of the other is all I could manage and,
even though I’ve been feeling pretty okay the last few months, that is still
all my life is about.
Survival.
Since I tested “normal,” I don’t qualify for one to one care
I have been waiting for. I am on my own to make it from feeling better to
actually being well again. Before
hanging up, the therapist was wonderful. She practically prescribed finding
happiness and has sent me a
series of CBT ‘workbooks’ so I can essentially give myself therapy.
She advised things I’ve been telling myself, that my husband
has been telling me, and that various ppdchat ladies have mentioned to me
before. I need to do things for myself and I need to do them without
feeling guilty. It’s gone beyond
the small things. I’ve been taking naps,
making cups of tea, watching girly movies, reading books, and various other
little things since my baby was a few days old. They have been sanity savers but
they are not enough. They help me remember I am human and are immensely important
but they fall short of what I really really need.
I need time to shut off and re-charge. I am either on mom
duty, at work, or on my way from one to another all the time.
Part of me knows that yes, of course I need time to myself.
The other part reminds me that she naps and sleeps so well that I get loads of
time without her. I’m at work four days a week so that’s even more time when I’m
not around. Surely it’s not too much to ask for me to spend the rest of the
time with her or with my husband or with all of us doing things as a family
unit?
Apparently it is. I have only been ‘off duty’ from everything a handful of times in the
past two years and each and every time I vow to make it a regular part of my routine.
Then life gets in the way, my resolve wanes, and I’m not getting better because
of it.
It’s been two weeks and, despite numerous suggestions from the
#ppdarmy, I have still yet to come up with one thing that would make me happy. I’m too busy feeling horrendously guilty that
having a family doesn’t make me happy enough. I wish I could just get over
myself, realise I have so much more than many other women that manage to make
it work and to be happy doing it.
Why can’t I feel happy with a f**king glass of wine in a bubble bath after
a long day like a normal woman would?!?!?!?
Sunday morning is now mine to do with what I wish and step
one is to make it out for a run. Once a week isn’t really enough for training
and it will actually be much more difficult to get back in shape this way but
for now it’s not supposed to be about that, it’s supposed to be to give me a
break.
I have also set aside one night a week for ‘writing as
therapy.’ I tried to write on Thursday but after 1600 words of skirting the
issue of selfcare, I realised I wasn’t actually ready to share how hard it is
for me to do something nice for myself without feeling incredibly guilty.
I went to bed feeling low and even worse the next day. This
morning I woke up with a sore throat so missed out on my weekly run. Mentally,
I’ve sunk again. I feel as though I’ve failed on week one of caring about me.
I KNOW I won’t get better until I
start realising I matter. Taking time out for me will actually make me a better
wife and mother and yet I can’t seem to bring myself to do it. But even now, as
I write this, I’m trying to type as fast as I can so I don’t miss out on
quality time with my husband. I am in a mental tug of war as part of me knows
if I don’t get this out, I could very well relapse and the other part of me
thinks if I spend one more minute wallowing, I might lose him forever.
I’ve got two big hurdles that have become abundantly clear
since I started getting better enough to think straight. I need to find to find
happiness and I need to restore a relationship that is in tatters after two
years of surviving with PPD. In my
eagerness to call myself well, I tried to tackle both at once this week and I’m
suffering as a result. Seeing life in a normal light again makes me all the
more aware of how damaging depression really is. I want to be better. I do not want to walk
the lonely road from the beginning again. I know I have to go back to baby
steps but I am petrified baby steps just won’t be enough.
