Constant Quest for Positivity

Whew. It's been a crazy few months. Some of you may have noticed my radio silence. I imagine those who follow my blog or twitter feed are not surprised I needed a break from social media. The break has been necessary as I work hard to be the best me I can be. However I will continue to write. Here's a tidbit of my focus as of late.

Recovery, as I have mentioned before, is a process that is not always linear, often takes steps backwards, has an indeterminate length, and requires a tremendous amount of patience. Once I began to get stronger, it also required (requires) a tremendous of work from me. 

So that, in a nutshell, is where I'm at. Facing my emotions, looking into my heart.

Taking one day at a time (sometimes one moment at a time) but trying to remember to live it, not just survive it. I am getting better and have been equipped with the tools to make the final steps. As the depression wanes, it's up to me to discover happiness again.

This means not listening when the thoughts creep in that I don't know what I'm doing, wondering what the hell I was thinking to make such a major change, thinking that I am not cut out for this. It means taking each and every one of those thoughts and turning it around.

I do know what I'm doing.

This change is a step forward.

I am cut out for this.

Reframe it.

 Accentuate the positive.

Keep on the sunnyside.

There have been times when I think of it as "fake it till you make it" but it's not really faking it. It's just grabbing hold of that little thing and holding on to it with all I've got so I can get to the other side of the darkness. 

How can I make this feel okay?

What can I do to make myself smile?

To breathe?

My runs have become my meditation. I breathe in for three steps and out for two. Three strong words are picked each day and I think them as I breathe in, breathe out and start again. A mantra. 

Strength

Love

Success

Peace 

Comfort

Home

Family

Growth

Happiness.

The words change but it fuels my run and cleanses my soul.

Each and every night, I lie in bed and list the things I'm grateful for. Often they are not about at me, but the loving friends and family I have surrounding me, the amazing people I have come in contact with, the beautiful weather I've been living in. I drift off to sleep holding these thoughts in my head instead of turning over and over the things that went wrong.

Sounds cheesy. But it's working.

The last bump I had was a doozy. I was in town, on my own, and as I hung up from a difficult phone call, I could feel the anxiety closing in, my chest tightening, my eyes glistening. 

***annnnnd breeeeeathhhheeee*

in for three, out for four
in for five, out for six.

***annnnd wallllkk**

'positive positive positive'

It'll be fine. It'll work out. It is not in your control.

Focus on what is.

I ran errands. 

One. at. a. time.

Each check mark, I stopped, reminded myself that it was a step forward, and continued to the next one.

The anxiety didn't magically disappear, but I kept it at bay. Not in a masking, ignoring, I'll have a total break down way, either. (believe me, I've been there) I was aware of it constantly. I had to stop and breathe a lot that afternoon but focusing on what I could do, what I was doing, helped me get through. I made it.

The day was good.

I Have Survived

with thanks and apologies to Gloria Gaynor 


"At first I was detached
I was sleep deprived
I felt I had no instincts
on how to keep little miss alive
I spent never-ending nights
replaying everything that I'd done wrong..."

It wasn't so much an a-ha moment as glimpses here and there. I found myself reading blogs and #PPDChat, nodding my head in agreement as I remembered how I used to feel that way.  

"...I tried my best to cover up
that sad look upon my face
I wished I could snap out of it
I was sure there was a way
If only I tried hard enough 
I could make PPD just go away..."

I started planning where to get my warrior tattoo. I began thinking about writing this post.

"...I couldn't leave. Just walk out the door.
All the crowds I used to love
Were something I couldn't handle anymore
I was scared she'd skip a nap and couldn't bear for miss to cry
If she did, my mask would crumble
And I was sure she or I would die..."

I find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop. I look over my shoulder, wondering if relapse is lurking in the shadows. But if I'm worried about relapse, then it's time I acknowledged the truth, which, as silly as it seems, is scary.

"...I used all the strength I had
and still I fell apart
I was incredibly impatient
for the good parts of motherhood to start
It's taken two long years of fighting
trying to take things day by day
Still sometimes I cry
But now there are days I also feel so damned alive
I am still me
Yet somehow new
This illness made me stronger
For all the hell it put me through..."

There are a lot of big changes on the horizon for me right now. There have been days when the insomnia returns, the bad eating habits creep in, the anxiety sky rockets. I use the tools I've learned to work through the bad moment but wonder if the triggers will get the best of me. But right now? It's time for me to say it. And Savour it.


"...and I know that I
I have survived
Thanks to all the ones who showed me love
I am here and feel alive
I remember how to live
And I've got tons of love to give.
I have survived
I have survived."

Dear friends and family, in real life, and in blog and twitter land, I couldn't have made it through this journey without you. I believe a lot of my recovery came down to time, and there were times when it seemed like it would never end. You helped me take it day by day, and when I couldn't, you helped me through the darkness. I can't say it enough. I love you and thank you all.  xx

One a Day

“Take one of these a day.”

Two years and two weeks ago my doctor said this as he handed me a blister pack of anti-depressants.

I had told my health visitor how I was feeling a few weeks prior, but despite follow up visits from her and initial sessions with a PND counsellor, I was feeling much much worse. 

The session with my doctor was much longer than a standard visit, as he listened to every fear, thought, and feeling that came tumbling out of my mouth.  I had the misconceived notion that going on anti-depressants would mean I would have to stop breastfeeding. Despite not really enjoying it, I felt like it was one of the only things I was doing right so was reluctant to give it up. He answered my questions and disproved my concerns. The medication he was prescribing had been around a long time so was tried and tested. I left his office informed and determined.

I couldn’t start taking a full dose all at once. In order to minimize the side effects, I had to gradually build up to the level my doctor had prescribed.  Then, once I reached that…nothing happened. We upped the dose again. I hadn’t wanted to turn to drugs in the first place and, with every passing day of feeling not even a tiny bit better, I wondered if I had made the wrong choice. I wondered if I was on the right medication. I wondered if medication was even going to help at all. I wondered if I just needed to snap out of it.

After several weeks on the proper level, I started to see improvement. It was a life altering relief.

There weren’t many peaks and there were numerous valleys, but I slowly began to get better. I was functioning in my daily life and exploring the many other aspects that come with battling postnatal depression. I’d been on them for over a year so even began wondering if the anti-d’s were redundant at that point.  I convinced myself that the only reason I was still taking them was because I had been too busy lazy to discuss with my doctor the option of cutting down.

We went away for a long weekend to celebrate a family wedding. It was brilliant. I wasn’t anxious like I had been at previous outings so was able to relax and have fun for the first time in a long time.

I was having so much fun, I forgot my medication.

For 24 hours. 

That night I ended up with a headache that would put a migraine to shame. 

For the next week, I struggled, teetering on the brink of relapse.  All from missing one measly day of pills. 

I made sure to take my pills everyday but resented it. I felt like a failure. Surely I should have been fine.  The “if only” game played in a loop in my head.

(Of only I’d reached out for help sooner.  If only I’d worked harder at CBT, if only I’d payed for more therapy, if only I remembered self care) 

Despite understanding that PND is an illness, I still felt like I should have been able to beat it without having to resort to pills. When I first reached out for help, I had known that I needed to, but in hindsight I wondered if I had just tried a little harder, or been just a little more prepared, I could have ensured that it had never gotten bad enough to need anti-depressants in the first place.

I worked at trying to forgive myself, to no avail. The #ppdarmy, full of love and guidance, gave me the virtual slap in the face I needed and reminded me, once again that

I DID NOT CAUSE THIS.  THIS IS NOT MY FAULT. IT IS NOT BECAUSE OF SOMETHING I DID OR BECAUSE OF SOMETHING I SHOULD HAVE DONE.

I had an “Aha moment” and suddenly my fight changed.  I stopped beating myself up. I stopped trying to make my body something it wasn’t or twist my brain to think in a way it didn’t. I accepted what the illness was putting me through, looked for ways to make it through the dark days, and took medication to help my body survive.

Somewhere along the way, recovery happened. The light at the end of the tunnel appeared.

Several weeks ago, I sat in my doctor’s office setting out a plan of action for cutting down my meds. To say I was nervous to start is an understatement. I hadn’t been eating well and insomnia had crept back in. Perhaps now wasn’t the time. My doctor smiled when I outlined all the upcoming life challenges that lie ahead for my husband and I. “How you’re feeling, Sandy.is quite a normal reaction to stress like that.” 

Well I’ll be. Normal.

I think it’s pretty poignant to realize I had to accept that I needed the anti-depressants before being able to even contemplate living without them. There is the possibility that I’ll hit a point where I can’t decrease any further and I’ll have to continue to take them. I know that, if that happens, it’s because my body isn’t making something it needs, not because I failed or because I am weak. I know now that I am strong, whether I take a daily pill or not.

I’m six weeks into cutting down and my first week of one a day is almost up.  I’ve been paying extra close attention to my sleep patterns and emotions, feeling nervous when I cry or yell or don't feel hungry, still scared of going backwards. I’ve made sure to focus on self-care.

I’ve had a few wobbly moments but the journey is good so far. 

It's Time to Live Again

I am waking up. The fog is clearing.

I laugh naturally. I get songs in my head. I make decisions. But I’ve still got a long way to go.

Small things that I used to take in stride are now hurdles looming large in front of me. I conquer them, but it takes a lot of pep talking and rather than leaping, I claw my way over using thousands of baby steps. This is hard to get used to. I want to be me again.  When I was in the throes of this battle, I knew better than to compare myself to the overachiever I once was. Now that I can see the end is near, I want to find my way back to being that person again.

I know I shouldn’t be in a hurry.  I’ve tried to rush progress before and it brought me to the brink of a relapse. I know it is better to take it one day at a time and, if things are particularly rocky, to take them one moment at a time instead.

If only life slowed down to make this possible.

It doesn’t.

I’m impatient because life is speeding along and flying past me while I continue to move at a snail’s pace.  I have clawed myself back from the deep dark depths of depression but if I don’t step up my game soon, I will find myself crushed by life itself.  I need to be able to plan ahead. I need to regain my self confidence. I need to capture my initiative, reignite my creativity, take chances, move out of my comfort zone, and live again. Surviving is all well and good but there’s no passion behind it.

It is mind numbing. It is soul destroying. 

Above all, I need to find the happy.  I was a romantic. I lived with my heart on my sleeve, following it even when my mind told me to sit still and keep my mouth shut. 

This illness made me apathetic and without fire.  I want to be passionate again.

I get out of bed in the morning because the alarm goes off.  I want to get up for something real.

I am sick of merely surviving, treading water. I am ready to move forward.

I just need to figure out how.

What makes me happy?

I have no idea.

An Open Message to PPD (AKA PND)

I know you’re still there, lurking in the shadows and waiting to pounce.

On bad days like today, you remind me of what I used to be and just how far I’ve have fallen. You tell me I am worthless, that I don’t deserve anything more, and that my child will never respect me for what I do.

You twist every one of my thoughts into a reason to hate myself. You turn them into reasons to not exist.

“You are a horrible, boring, pessimistic person with no passion, no creativity, and no love to give. No wonder no one wants to be around you. That’s why the phone never rings. That is why you spend your time alone.”

“You are broken.”

“You cannot be fixed.”

“You do not deserve to make decisions for yourself. You are not the protagonist in your own life story.  You do not matter.”

“It’s no wonder you’re back at the bottom. You were spineless enough to let them put you there. You are worthless enough so they’ll keep you there. They are laughing at you.”

Your words cut deep and leave scars so even on the good days I question my worth. I wonder how my husband can look at me with anything but distaste. I don’t attempt to reconnect with friends. I feel out of shape and ugly. I have withdrawn.

I tell myself that of course I am worth something and that I look fine. I remind myself that I haven’t withdrawn; I’m just fighting an illness. I remember that my versatility has helped me survive.

I take a break.

I breathe out the bad and breathe in the good.

I sit in a room and cry.

I sit in a different room and cry.

I sit in the dark and cry.

It has been long enough.

I am fighting hard to leave you behind.

You cannot possibly be strong enough to beat me down.

You want me to give up and to give in. You want me to withdraw from others so I sink deeper into the hole you have dug for me. You want me to believe all those terrible lies and twisted truths you fill my brain with. You thrive on it.

But I am fighting against you. I go out in public and remind myself that the anxiety is a mere whisper of what it used to be. I hold on to my emotions, remembering there was a time when I felt nothing. I repeat these victories over and over in my head as I take deep breaths and relax. 

I do not avoid you.

I write all of this down so I have to face what I’m feeling. I type these words, bleary through my tears.

I know I have come a long way. I am so close to the end that I can almost touch it, and I know that the last bit of the climb is always the toughest.

You sneer at me when I lose my footing and tumble backwards once again. I tell myself two steps forward and one step back is hard but it is still progress. I fight harder.

The dark times do not get easier but they do not last as long as they used to.

You won today.

But there’s always tomorrow.

And at some point I will kick your ass.