Eight weeks plus...

So two weeks ago there was light in the darkness and a fighting spirit.
But two weeks is a long time - it's a quarter of baby d's life.
And I'm sorry to say those spirits are weakening.
Part of the reason this post is late is that I did not want to have to write it. I didn't want to admit to myself the truth I have known for a while.
I have brushed aside the hours I have spent quietly sobbing to myself while Miss T is at school, or in bed, as just a bad day or the results of sleep deprivation.
I have crushed the feelings of failure, ignored the self-loathing, and stepped back from the rising tide of anxiety.
But today I am finally admitting to myself - and indirectly, in this post, to others - that it's time to ask for help.
What form that help will take I'm not entirely sure. I know I don't want to start popping pills again, but I also know that decision may not be a rational one.
But perhaps rearranging my next therapy appointment for sooner than the beginning of March would be a good start, or visiting the GP for an honest conversation, or even braving the health visitor again.
I'm sure I don't have to spell out to you, lovely readers, the disappointment I feel as I write those words. In myself, mostly.
I feel I have let myself down in succumbing once more after all the work I put in to fight this. I feel I have let baby D down in failing to give him a PND-free start to life.
I feel I have let Mark down in not being able to give him the sane wife who copes calmly with family life that he deserves.
And most of all I feel I have let Miss T down in replacing the in-control, fun mummy with an emotional wreck who can't give her the stability she so desperately needs.
I wrote some time ago that I felt Baby D was my chance to do this "right". And it's hard for me to accept that history is repeating itself.
Of course, this time it is different in some ways. Part of the reason it is taken so long to admit I am losing the fight is that it feels so different to last time. I can bear to spend time with Baby D. In fact, I enjoy doing so. I do get out of bed each day - but mostly because I have no other choice. I do still have some days where the sun shines.
But I know in my heart it's not right. I know it's not normal to dread going home if it means I will be alone with both children. I know it's not a good sign that very few days pass without tears. I recognise that the thoughts creeping into my head that stop me from sleeping need to be tackled. For the sake of my family, if not myself.
I know all these things can be dealt with. I've travelled this road before.
But I hope this time the journey will be quicker and perhaps less bumpy.