Friday, July 4, 2014

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.

For the majority of my life, I've thought people with depression were just ... depressing. Not being able to get out of bed, blubbering all the time, needing drugs, talking about your feelings? Come on, now. Cry me a river. When you're done, mop up the snot puddle, pull yourself up by the bootstraps and get on with your life. Open the curtains. Put on some real pants. Stop eating Twinkies for every meal. Simple, right?

Other than a short time during my teenage years when I went slightly emo, I've always been the happy-go-lucky one. Annoyingly chipper. Make-people-want-to-bitch-slap-you bubbly. I've always been the first to throw a Bible verse and a box of Kleenex at "depressed" people and run, unwilling to sully my rose-colored version of reality with their "issues".

One day, my bubble popped. Junk happened and a huge part of my life crumbled. Then I had a baby and my hormones went haywire. I got sucked into the dark void without even realizing it. I can't recall the exact moment, but all the memories after it are fuzzy, like I'm looking at them through the fingerprint-smeared windows I am now proud owner of.

I've been on a roller coaster ever since.

I don't want to write about postpartum depression. Huge leaps have been made in de-stigmatizing it, but it's still not trendy like celiac disease, ya know? It's embarrassing and hard and it makes me cry. Who am I kidding? Everything makes me cry right now.

It's time to share, though. I'll be writing about it in the coming weeks. Feel free to throw Kleenex at me.

In the meantime, the volcano of dinosaurs in this video is really helping me fight the demons today.

Also, wine slushies.

If at first you don't succeed, alcohol.

I'm kidding. But it helps.
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  1. You're going to be all right. And you're probably going to help someone else in the process. Recognizing the problem is more than half the battle.

  2. If I can survive having three brothers, I can survive anything! :D

    I really hope others in the same situation realize they're not alone.

  3. Depression started for me when I had my second son. Back in 1969 nobody knew what Postpartum depression was. I fought it for nearly 20 years when a doctor finally diagnosed me with clinical depression. He gave me some pills and felt better soon.
    I still take a lighter dose everyday, and life is good for me now.
    Remember you are not alone. We are out here so just dump on us whenever you have the need.
    Thanks for the dinosaur volcano. It was fun to see.
    Remember you are loved.

  4. I love that song but haven't watched the video. Dinosaurs out of a volcano is my new favorite end of the world scenario.

    You've got Brooke Sheilds and Gwyneth Paltrow. You only need one more a lister and people are going to forget all about silly gluten.

  5. I could definitely handle dinosaurs. I would feed them gluten-free cookies and make them my pets. I sure it will work. ;)

    Thank you for commenting, Veronica!


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