...and all is still meh. I feel like I'm living in a bubble. Like a piece of gauze separates me from the rest of the world. Like no one can see me or hear what I'm saying. And it's only a short step from there to wondering if anyone would actually notice if I wasn't here at all.
I know it's the effects of those good old pills, and I know that it's better that I take them. But I can't help wondering when I'll start feeling like me again.
Of course it's better that I can accomplish everyday tasks like shopping and driving without irrational panic. And of course it's better that some of the more extreme aspects of PND-me are muted. But I wish that didn't mean the whole of me had to be turned down too. Subdued. Flat.
I spent this afternoon at work and that was great. But that's just an escape. A distraction. My real life now is what I've been doing the rest of the week - juggling two children, housework and general domestic drudgery.
I can manage that, of course I can - it's not rocket science. But I want more.
I want to feel alive. I want to feel happy. I want to feel.
I want Miss T and Baby D to think of their mother as a vibrant, loving, fun person but at the moment I fear I'm more like a hologram. A reflection in water. And if you throw a pebble in, I just might disappear.
But if you reach your hand out, who knows, I might emerge...
Friday, 1 April 2011
Monday, 21 March 2011
15 weeks
Today I am mostly feeling numb. Blah. Meh.
I know it's the result of those little white pills I swallow every morning, and I know it's part of the 'treatment', but at the moment I can't help wondering whether this is better than actually experiencing the emotions that help make me who I am.
Deciding to finally take the pills was a tough one for me. In my head, I know it's no different to taking a paracetemol for a headache, but in my heart it feels like giving in.
All the time I wasn't medicated, I could pretend this wasn't really happening. 'It's not as bad as it could be, at least I'm not on happy pills.' That sort of thing.
But after a tough few days and no decrease in the often-crippling anxiety, I knew I had to do it for the sake of my family.
I think part of the problem is that this time is different to the last time. Then, I knew I was depressed. So did everyone else. There was no question about it. So anti-depressants were a no-brainer.
Now, there are still plenty of people who have no idea. I think even those I see regularly are in the dark about what things are really like. Depression, in its traditional manner of all-consuming darkness, is not really the problem.
This time, it's the invading thoughts that I have to battle. The fear that the terrible pictures I see in my mind will become a reality. The nameless dread that 'something bad' will happen.
I know all these fears are irrational. I've been doing my best to battle them. But this is another of those occasions when my best is not good enough.
So for now, I need a helping hand from those little white pills. But other helping hands are welcome too...
I know it's the result of those little white pills I swallow every morning, and I know it's part of the 'treatment', but at the moment I can't help wondering whether this is better than actually experiencing the emotions that help make me who I am.
Deciding to finally take the pills was a tough one for me. In my head, I know it's no different to taking a paracetemol for a headache, but in my heart it feels like giving in.
All the time I wasn't medicated, I could pretend this wasn't really happening. 'It's not as bad as it could be, at least I'm not on happy pills.' That sort of thing.
But after a tough few days and no decrease in the often-crippling anxiety, I knew I had to do it for the sake of my family.
I think part of the problem is that this time is different to the last time. Then, I knew I was depressed. So did everyone else. There was no question about it. So anti-depressants were a no-brainer.
Now, there are still plenty of people who have no idea. I think even those I see regularly are in the dark about what things are really like. Depression, in its traditional manner of all-consuming darkness, is not really the problem.
This time, it's the invading thoughts that I have to battle. The fear that the terrible pictures I see in my mind will become a reality. The nameless dread that 'something bad' will happen.
I know all these fears are irrational. I've been doing my best to battle them. But this is another of those occasions when my best is not good enough.
So for now, I need a helping hand from those little white pills. But other helping hands are welcome too...
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
13 weeks
Today, as I went out to deposit a stinky nappy in the bin outside for the eighth time (yes, I had counted), Miss T asked where I was going.
For a split second, I wondered myself. I knew, as did she, that I was merely opening the front door to prevent the smell spreading through the house. But as I stepped into the sunshine and saw the long road to freedom, I very nearly shut the door behind me.
Of course, I didn't. And of course, I wouldn't. But the thought of just walking away and leaving it all behind was just so tempting. No more nappies, no more wailing, no more whining. Just freedom. Peace. Space.
I know it won't always be like this. And I know today was particularly testing, with Baby D refusing to nap and Miss T in full-on strop mode.
But that feeling, that craving for something else, is why I am organising my return to work.
I know there will be raised eyebrows at my plan to work a day (or at least a half day) a week starting very soon, and to return properly in May, when Baby D will be just five months old.
But I also know that for me it is absolutely the right option.
I cannot continue like this. I cannot spend Sunday nights battling crippling surges of anxiety at the thought of another week at home alone. I cannot spend my days hoping already over-stretched friends will have a spare hour to provide that much-needed adult company and distraction from my children.
It is not fair on me and it is not fair on them. Any of them. I don't want my valued friendships to suffer because I feel disappointed they do not have more to give. I don't want my children to wonder where mummy is going when she opens the door, or to have to ask where we are going today because they know we cannot be home all day.
I don't want my identity eroded any more by days wandering through streets populated only by other nameless faces, other people with nowhere else to be.
I am a mum. But I am also a person. And I need that space to be me.
For a split second, I wondered myself. I knew, as did she, that I was merely opening the front door to prevent the smell spreading through the house. But as I stepped into the sunshine and saw the long road to freedom, I very nearly shut the door behind me.
Of course, I didn't. And of course, I wouldn't. But the thought of just walking away and leaving it all behind was just so tempting. No more nappies, no more wailing, no more whining. Just freedom. Peace. Space.
I know it won't always be like this. And I know today was particularly testing, with Baby D refusing to nap and Miss T in full-on strop mode.
But that feeling, that craving for something else, is why I am organising my return to work.
I know there will be raised eyebrows at my plan to work a day (or at least a half day) a week starting very soon, and to return properly in May, when Baby D will be just five months old.
But I also know that for me it is absolutely the right option.
I cannot continue like this. I cannot spend Sunday nights battling crippling surges of anxiety at the thought of another week at home alone. I cannot spend my days hoping already over-stretched friends will have a spare hour to provide that much-needed adult company and distraction from my children.
It is not fair on me and it is not fair on them. Any of them. I don't want my valued friendships to suffer because I feel disappointed they do not have more to give. I don't want my children to wonder where mummy is going when she opens the door, or to have to ask where we are going today because they know we cannot be home all day.
I don't want my identity eroded any more by days wandering through streets populated only by other nameless faces, other people with nowhere else to be.
I am a mum. But I am also a person. And I need that space to be me.
Friday, 4 March 2011
Late night thoughts...
I was directed to this earlier and I would recommend that everyone reading this reads it:
http://www.blogher.com/what-it-looks-when-ppd-attacks?from=sparkle
For some of you, it will be an interesting read, a moment of thought. For others, perhaps an echo of uncomfortable memories.
For me, it's a painful reminder that I may never be free of this.
I should preface the rest of this post with the fact that it is 1am, I'm listening to late-night radio and I see my therapist tomorrow so there are many thoughts competing in my head. I may not be at my most rational.
However. I didn't have to travel too far to be transported to that moment the author describes. I'm living it. I don't want to talk about it. But I don't want to be alone. I don't want to have to explain. But I want someone to know the feelings that threaten to crush me every minute of every day.
It's not just the emptiness, the awful hollowness that sees me sitting here in the early hours, knowing that I will have to deal with baby d in a few short hours, knowing that day begins for Miss T a few hours after that, but not having the energy to go upstairs and try to sleep.
It's not just the fear, the all-consuming fear that my inability to beat this will have long-term consequences for my children, and for my family. And for myself.
There's also the rage. The red, hot rage that can come from nowhere and can turn me into someone I don't recognise. Someone I have no control over. It's terrifying for me. I can only imagine how it looks to my children.
And that leads to the general unfairness of it all. Why can't I just be happy? Why can't I just enjoy what I have? I'm not living in a warzone, I have a loving family and a nice home, I have a career I love that I can return to. What is wrong with me that I let this enveloping blackness spoil everything?
Why can't I let go of my ridiculous need to be perfect?
And why does every encounter with a happy mother feel like a burning blade to my soul? They are everywhere; in the supermarket smiling sweetly as their offspring help with the weekly shop, at the school gates sharing anecdotes of their toddlers, at the only baby group I have been brave enough to attend, telling of the joy their children bring.
Don't get me wrong. I know there is light at the end of this tunnel. I know it because I've found it before. That is why this time is different to last. I know which hands to grab to pull me out of this. But I'm scared that even when I stumble out into that light I'll find it easily extinguished by moments like the one described by my fellow blogger.
No matter how quickly I overcome the blackness this time, and I believe I am heading in the right direction now, I know it will always be with me, its dark creeping fingers around my throat. I will never get back Miss T's baby days. I will never get a chance to redo these days where I've not dealt with her in the way she deserves. I can't undo the damage I've done, the moments that lead her to reject an opportunity to spend time alone with me - something that was supposed to be a treat for her and me.
I'm terrified that every day I spend finding joy in baby d's developing personality pushes me further away from her. I'm petrified that a gulf is opening between us that may soon be too wide to cross. And that if I don't find a way to beat this once and for all, that gulf will soon separate me from everyone else too.
http://www.blogher.com/what-it-looks-when-ppd-attacks?from=sparkle
For some of you, it will be an interesting read, a moment of thought. For others, perhaps an echo of uncomfortable memories.
For me, it's a painful reminder that I may never be free of this.
I should preface the rest of this post with the fact that it is 1am, I'm listening to late-night radio and I see my therapist tomorrow so there are many thoughts competing in my head. I may not be at my most rational.
However. I didn't have to travel too far to be transported to that moment the author describes. I'm living it. I don't want to talk about it. But I don't want to be alone. I don't want to have to explain. But I want someone to know the feelings that threaten to crush me every minute of every day.
It's not just the emptiness, the awful hollowness that sees me sitting here in the early hours, knowing that I will have to deal with baby d in a few short hours, knowing that day begins for Miss T a few hours after that, but not having the energy to go upstairs and try to sleep.
It's not just the fear, the all-consuming fear that my inability to beat this will have long-term consequences for my children, and for my family. And for myself.
There's also the rage. The red, hot rage that can come from nowhere and can turn me into someone I don't recognise. Someone I have no control over. It's terrifying for me. I can only imagine how it looks to my children.
And that leads to the general unfairness of it all. Why can't I just be happy? Why can't I just enjoy what I have? I'm not living in a warzone, I have a loving family and a nice home, I have a career I love that I can return to. What is wrong with me that I let this enveloping blackness spoil everything?
Why can't I let go of my ridiculous need to be perfect?
And why does every encounter with a happy mother feel like a burning blade to my soul? They are everywhere; in the supermarket smiling sweetly as their offspring help with the weekly shop, at the school gates sharing anecdotes of their toddlers, at the only baby group I have been brave enough to attend, telling of the joy their children bring.
Don't get me wrong. I know there is light at the end of this tunnel. I know it because I've found it before. That is why this time is different to last. I know which hands to grab to pull me out of this. But I'm scared that even when I stumble out into that light I'll find it easily extinguished by moments like the one described by my fellow blogger.
No matter how quickly I overcome the blackness this time, and I believe I am heading in the right direction now, I know it will always be with me, its dark creeping fingers around my throat. I will never get back Miss T's baby days. I will never get a chance to redo these days where I've not dealt with her in the way she deserves. I can't undo the damage I've done, the moments that lead her to reject an opportunity to spend time alone with me - something that was supposed to be a treat for her and me.
I'm terrified that every day I spend finding joy in baby d's developing personality pushes me further away from her. I'm petrified that a gulf is opening between us that may soon be too wide to cross. And that if I don't find a way to beat this once and for all, that gulf will soon separate me from everyone else too.
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
12 weeks
If I'd written this post on Tuesday, when it was technically due, it would have been a very different one.
But sometimes it can be worth missing a deadline - just don't tell my editor that!
Today has been a good day. Sure, there was a bit of a hitch in the middle and some frustration I could have done without, but on the whole I've been amazed at the change in my perceptions.
I'd love to report that the shift is down to a new enthusiasm for life as a mum of two, but it's much more predictable than that. There are no prizes for guessing my renewed optimism comes after a visit to my workplace.
I'm not ashamed that I had/have PND and I'm also not ashamed to say that I love my job. I worked hard for my career and I am good at what I do. There is no shame in enjoying my life out of the house. It's a balance I struggled with when I had Miss T but this time I know that time away from the children makes my time with them better.
Today I was in the office to discuss my return to work in May, and the possibility of working some days before then.
All went well and it felt so good to be me again - working Liz, a respected colleague and person in her own right.
Even better, after the meeting (and some added catching-up time), it felt good to be headed for home and my two little ones. Usually I drive homewards with a heavy heart, knowing the drudgery that awaits, but this afternoon I couldn't wait to see their little faces and to spend time chatting and cuddling.
Of course, this doesn't mean that everything in the garden (or house!) is rosy.
There are still issues, still dark days, still tears. I'm keeping a mood diary for my therapist which is an interesting experience. When I fill it in at the end of the day, when the children are sleeping peacefully, it's easy to see the positives. But if I were to complete an entry for each hour or each section of the day, I think it would paint a different story.
One of the lowest points of this week was a comment from Miss T, that the worst bit of her day was when I wouldn't read her a story because I was trying to get baby D to go to sleep. I can remember the moment clearly. He was refusing to sleep in his cot, I had already been up and downstairs seven times, and she asked if I could read to her. My answer was that I would when he was asleep. But he didn't sleep. So she didn't get her story.
The scenario was the perfect example of what I hoped to avoid, and what I dread happening. I don't want Miss T to remember moments like that. I want her to remember a childhood of love, laughter and fun.
Rationally, I know those good moments will probably outweigh the bad, but it's like a punch to hear her say that, and another reminder that I still have a long way to go.
However, today, for the first time, I could see the road I have to travel, and I believed I had the fuel to get me there.
But sometimes it can be worth missing a deadline - just don't tell my editor that!
Today has been a good day. Sure, there was a bit of a hitch in the middle and some frustration I could have done without, but on the whole I've been amazed at the change in my perceptions.
I'd love to report that the shift is down to a new enthusiasm for life as a mum of two, but it's much more predictable than that. There are no prizes for guessing my renewed optimism comes after a visit to my workplace.
I'm not ashamed that I had/have PND and I'm also not ashamed to say that I love my job. I worked hard for my career and I am good at what I do. There is no shame in enjoying my life out of the house. It's a balance I struggled with when I had Miss T but this time I know that time away from the children makes my time with them better.
Today I was in the office to discuss my return to work in May, and the possibility of working some days before then.
All went well and it felt so good to be me again - working Liz, a respected colleague and person in her own right.
Even better, after the meeting (and some added catching-up time), it felt good to be headed for home and my two little ones. Usually I drive homewards with a heavy heart, knowing the drudgery that awaits, but this afternoon I couldn't wait to see their little faces and to spend time chatting and cuddling.
Of course, this doesn't mean that everything in the garden (or house!) is rosy.
There are still issues, still dark days, still tears. I'm keeping a mood diary for my therapist which is an interesting experience. When I fill it in at the end of the day, when the children are sleeping peacefully, it's easy to see the positives. But if I were to complete an entry for each hour or each section of the day, I think it would paint a different story.
One of the lowest points of this week was a comment from Miss T, that the worst bit of her day was when I wouldn't read her a story because I was trying to get baby D to go to sleep. I can remember the moment clearly. He was refusing to sleep in his cot, I had already been up and downstairs seven times, and she asked if I could read to her. My answer was that I would when he was asleep. But he didn't sleep. So she didn't get her story.
The scenario was the perfect example of what I hoped to avoid, and what I dread happening. I don't want Miss T to remember moments like that. I want her to remember a childhood of love, laughter and fun.
Rationally, I know those good moments will probably outweigh the bad, but it's like a punch to hear her say that, and another reminder that I still have a long way to go.
However, today, for the first time, I could see the road I have to travel, and I believed I had the fuel to get me there.
Tuesday, 22 February 2011
11 weeks...doing and feeling
My therapist is fond of saying that doing leads to feeling. The theory is that if I act like a happy mum, I'll feel like one.
It worked wonders last time, when I spent months behaving in a way that did not match how I felt inside and it's time to give it a go as I battle back up that slippery slope to sanity.
So this week I'm making a conscious effort to, well, make an effort.
That sounds a lot easier than it is. It's that old cliche - when some people encounter someone who is depressed they are tempted to tell them to pull their socks up and just get on with it.
But as anyone who has been where I am knows, it's sometimes impossible to do anything other than just exist while battling the suffocating blackness.
However, I have a few more days before I have to make a decision on medication, so I'd like to see just what I can achieve without it.
So today I attempted to wrestle control back over my own life. It worked, in parts. We had a good afternoon (thanks in part to the support of one of those friends with whom you can just be) and the evening chaos was lessened by the fact that we had dinner with my big sister and Miss T is still there, enjoying a sleepover.
The morning was less successful but we all survived. And I feel more confident about tackling the rest of the week because of it.
Of course, this doesn't mean that I feel in control. Anything but. Anxiety is the latest old friend to rear its head and it's not a welcome addition.
My churning emotions are not conducive to behaving in a calm and in-control manner but for the sake of my family I have to keep trying.
So even though I feel like hiding away in the safety of my home, I'll be out and about with a smile on my face taking part in fun family activities.
At least it's a step closer to becoming the person I want to be.
It worked wonders last time, when I spent months behaving in a way that did not match how I felt inside and it's time to give it a go as I battle back up that slippery slope to sanity.
So this week I'm making a conscious effort to, well, make an effort.
That sounds a lot easier than it is. It's that old cliche - when some people encounter someone who is depressed they are tempted to tell them to pull their socks up and just get on with it.
But as anyone who has been where I am knows, it's sometimes impossible to do anything other than just exist while battling the suffocating blackness.
However, I have a few more days before I have to make a decision on medication, so I'd like to see just what I can achieve without it.
So today I attempted to wrestle control back over my own life. It worked, in parts. We had a good afternoon (thanks in part to the support of one of those friends with whom you can just be) and the evening chaos was lessened by the fact that we had dinner with my big sister and Miss T is still there, enjoying a sleepover.
The morning was less successful but we all survived. And I feel more confident about tackling the rest of the week because of it.
Of course, this doesn't mean that I feel in control. Anything but. Anxiety is the latest old friend to rear its head and it's not a welcome addition.
My churning emotions are not conducive to behaving in a calm and in-control manner but for the sake of my family I have to keep trying.
So even though I feel like hiding away in the safety of my home, I'll be out and about with a smile on my face taking part in fun family activities.
At least it's a step closer to becoming the person I want to be.
Sunday, 20 February 2011
This is not me...
I write for a living - in fact, it could be said that I live to write, so why can't I find the words to express how I feel?
It is yet another change in me that means I can't recognise the person I am becoming. I wish I could explain to those I am meeting for the first time how different this me is to the real one.
I do not hide in the shower hoping everyone will go out before I have to emerge. I am downstairs, in the thick of the action, organising a fun family outing.
I do not panic over the simple task of completing a supermarket shop with one baby in tow. I have managed that solo with two children and dealt with many more stressful situations in my working life.
I am not angry, bitter, overwhelmed by rage. In fact, I can't be bothered to be angry. I'm so rubbish at it I often forget what made me cross.
I do not spend time every day in tears. I am a happy, calm and relaxed person.
I do not depend on other people to help me deal with my own children. I am confident and independent and have arranged many solo outings.
I do not snap at my daughter just for being her. I love her funny ways and her constant chat.
I do not want to hide away because I don't know what to say to people. I am sociable and fun and love nothing more than giggly girlie nights out - not deep emotional sessions.
Lately I have been all of these things. And more. This is not me. This is what PND has done to me. And I hate it.
It is yet another change in me that means I can't recognise the person I am becoming. I wish I could explain to those I am meeting for the first time how different this me is to the real one.
I do not hide in the shower hoping everyone will go out before I have to emerge. I am downstairs, in the thick of the action, organising a fun family outing.
I do not panic over the simple task of completing a supermarket shop with one baby in tow. I have managed that solo with two children and dealt with many more stressful situations in my working life.
I am not angry, bitter, overwhelmed by rage. In fact, I can't be bothered to be angry. I'm so rubbish at it I often forget what made me cross.
I do not spend time every day in tears. I am a happy, calm and relaxed person.
I do not depend on other people to help me deal with my own children. I am confident and independent and have arranged many solo outings.
I do not snap at my daughter just for being her. I love her funny ways and her constant chat.
I do not want to hide away because I don't know what to say to people. I am sociable and fun and love nothing more than giggly girlie nights out - not deep emotional sessions.
Lately I have been all of these things. And more. This is not me. This is what PND has done to me. And I hate it.
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