Sunday, September 28, 2014

Things That Cannot Be Unthunk {PPD Part 6}

Earlier posts in this series:

I've been waffling about sharing this part. It's personal. Like, really personal. But I think the possible benefits outweigh the risks, so here goes. *gulp*

If you, yes you, stumble across this post and are dealing with suicidal thoughts, please tell someone. Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or talk to a friend or family member you trust. You are not alone.

This is where I was almost two years ago.


Ultimately, I didn't listen to the midwife.
One, two, THREE. Beautiful little humans.
But she got to me. Boy, did she ever.

My worst fears were confirmed. It was my fault. All of this. My inability to cope. My inability to attach to my child.

I simply wasn't good enough.

There was no escape from the problem because the problem was ME. 

Despair. Guilt. Shame.

I thought a thought. I don't know where it came from. It was just there in my head one day. And it could not be "unthunk."

I thought about killing myself. 

Relief. Control. Freedom.

I could give up, if I wanted to.

Rationalization. I wouldn't have to see my child die (I was still convinced something would happen at this point). My family could replace me with someone not fundamentally fucked up. There was no way out of this, anyway. It was for the best, really.


And they came with massive amounts of shame. I was afraid if I told anyone about these thoughts, I'd be in a straight jacket in a padded room faster than you can say, “mentally unstable”. Of course, the shame was a lie, too, a clever one designed to keep me from dragging everything out into the open and examining it in the light.

It was depression. And it was masquerading as me. Trying to make me think I had a choice while it worked in the background to take all my choices away. Using my screwy hormones and wacky brain chemicals. Reminding me of all the reasons I wasn't worth the air I was breathing.


This is the part where I'm going to be like, “Do as I say, not as I did.” I should have gotten help. I wish I would have. But I was choked by shame. Afraid of judgment. Convinced it really was all my fault.

I was wrong, though. It's taken me this long to figure it out and accept it and forgive myself for my perceived “shortcomings” (actually, I'm kind of still working on that one). 

It wasn't my life choices. It wasn't my circumstances. It wasn't a base character flaw.

It was depression.

And if any of this sounds familiar to you, please, please, please listen to me. You are valued. You are loved. You are special.

Don't let the lies win. 

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