Post Natal Depression

I mentioned at the end of yesterdays blog entry that I have an appointment pending with my GP to look at going back on antidepressants. Then it dawned on me that I don’t think I have even mentioned that topic in my blog before! Oops. So today, I thought I would share a little bit about this part of my life with you all. Post Natal Depression. Here goes...

As I have mentioned more than once, Elliott was an extremely difficult baby. He cried day and night, barely sleeping and never for more than 45 minutes at a time. This of course meant that I was never sleeping. Combine that with recovering from a difficult caesarean delivery whereby I lost a tonne of blood, mastitis, cracked and bleeding nipples from a horrible breastfeeding relationship with Elliott and it was just a recipe for disaster. That was the birth of my bout with Post Natal Depression. I had never had depression before and wanted another baby more than anything in the world, so it was quite a shock to realise that I was suffering from PND. Thankfully, after my “psychotic episode” as Mat calls it, I sought help and got things under control pretty quickly.

Oh, you want to know more about the above mentioned “psychotic episode” that I glossed over? Ok, I’ll tell you, but it is just between you, me and the back fence...not my proudest moment. Elliott was having one of those rare nap things that I’d read about in a pretentious perfect parenting book (one day, I will write a parenting book that actually makes Mum’s feel good about parenting and not make them feel like they are failing because their child doesn’t follow the perfect pattern described in these unrealistic books). Mat was home on this particular day and we desperately needed groceries. More desperately, I wanted to get out of the house so we agreed that I would go to the supermarket and Mat would stay home with the kids. Sophie begged and pleaded to come with me and I agreed, on one condition: that she sat in the trolley seat without complaint. “Oh yes, yes Mum. I will” she promised. Off we went, headed into the supermarket and chose a trolley. I lifted Sophie up so she could sit in the seat but sure enough, in true Sophie form, she kept her legs stiff and refused to sit down. Through gritted teeth and with a firm grip on her arm I demanded that she sit her backside down in that trolley. It was no use, she rates higher on the stubborn scale than I do. So I ripped her out of the trolley, left it where it stood, gripping Sophie’s arm I battled my way back out of those one way automatic opening gates (stupid things), marched back out to the car, buckled her in, got in my seat, closed the door and it was on. I just began screaming and yelling at her. My throat hurt, the veins in my neck and head bulged to the point of near explosion and I just kept yelling. I yelled at her all the way home, into the garage, out of the car and into the house. I kept yelling at her while I threw her onto her bed and ripped all of the toys out of her bedroom. I remember saying “This will teach you not to listen to me. No more toys!” and the ranting and raving continued until I had cleared her room of toys. I slammed her door and came out to a very confused looking Mat. I screamed at him about what had happened, told him he can have his f%#@ing children and I am out of here. I went through the garage door, slamming it hard behind me, I got in my car and then completely lost it. I was a sobbing mess. I couldn’t even coordinate myself to put the keys in the ignition so I wasn’t going anywhere. I just sat there, head on the steering wheel and sobbed my little heart out. Mat, confused about whether he should tend to me or Sophie eventually came to see if I was OK. Clearly I wasn’t. It was then that I realised there was something wrong with me because it is not normal to hate your children and wish you had never had them. That was how I was feeling and I blamed Mat for impregnating me too of course. I was a mess! The rest of that particular day I stayed in my bed, crying and crying and told Mat to keep the kids away from me and only bring Elliott in when he needed a feed. It was just horrible. Recalling it now has me in tears!

So that was my “psychotic episode”. An absolutely pivotal point in my life that I feel needed to happen to be my light bulb moment. From that point, I promptly sought help firstly from my GP who put me on antidepressants (they made my hair fall out but I figured I could be bald and happy or miserable with luscious locks), then I sought help from a brilliant counsellor who facilitated some great changes in me and finally from a Spiritual Centre that I know frequently attend (more on that side of my life later). It has been an ongoing healing process but I feel like I am back in the slums of depression (bluck!) I have tried to talk my way out of it, plan my way out of it, organise my way out of it and act my way out of it, but to no avail. Damn chemical imbalance! So back to square one and the healing process begins again. At least this time I am more aware of the depression and no psychotic episode has had to occur before seeking help!   

There it is, it’s out there now. Goodbye Mother of the Year Award J