The Pit of Despair {PPD Part 3}

I have two disclaimers.

First, I'm (obviously) not anything special. Duh. I don't even know why this needs to be a disclaimer. LOOK AT ME.

Okay, besides the fact I'm a ninja.

In the Beginning, There was Hair Color {PPD Part 2}

If you missed the last post, click here. Your reward is a video of a dinosaur volcano. You're welcome.

A lot of the information I'm about to dump on you does not fall neatly into the category of postpartum depression. And a lot of it is going to sound really weird if you're not familiar with the modern non-denominational church of 'Murica. Bear with me. I believe these circumstances played a part in my first skirmish with the PPD monster.

This Never Happened

Heyyy,

First of all, thank you so much for the outpouring of support after my last post about my struggle with postpartum depression <<< and reading that horrifically constructed sentence.

I've been writing about it and it's helping tremendously. Today I even put on real clothes! Most of what has come from these writing therapy sessions is weepy drivel, so I hope to make it readable and release it into the universe soon. Again, thank you so much. You guys are all stuffing squeezers ... which will only make sense if you make it to the end of this post, so ...

For now, let me just ask you one semi-uncomfortable question.

The Monster Is Back and It Won't Do the Dishes {PPD Part 1}

I've had an unfinished post staring at me for over a year. It's blank. I don't know what to say. I don't want to know what to say. I wish I could forget it even existed, but I made a promise to myself to be honest about it, to get my story out no matter how long it took. All the Internet's a stage and all the players merely bloggers. Unfortunately for you, you're the audience to this Shakespeare-butchering drama. I need to share the gory details of my battle with the evil life-sucking monster that is postpartum depression. It's trying to come back and it's screwing junk up. I think writing about it will help, so ... sorry in advance. Feel free to stick your fingers in your ears and yell, "DEPRESSION IS STOOOOOPID!". I won't judge.

I used to be one of you.

Spammy

I'm getting a bazillion spam comments on one or two posts. Hopefully this isn't a sign something is wrong with the bloggy, because I actually kind of like them. The off-kilter grammatical structure juxtaposed with a completely random link is just really funny to me for some reason.

Sleep deprivation. That's the reason.

Here's a few of my favorites: