After Older Girl Child was born, I had your typical baby blues. They went away, but I was a little more tired and little less patient.
After Boy Child was born, same baby blues. Thanks, hormones. Things leveled out, but I was more tired and even less patient.
After Smaller Girl Child was born, the baby blues lasted a little longer than before and I couldn't seem to shake that last lingering bleh cloud. I was even more tired and even less patient, but hey, three kids under the age of 5 and a med school husband will do that to you.
The bleh cloud progressed into the meh cloud that followed me everywhere and seemed to cover the sky completely. I couldn't feel anything. I had small breaks where I was happy or sad, but nothing lasting and nothing overwhelming. The only emotion I was able to feel was anger.
I had the patience of something that doesn't have much patience. My kids were disciplined for things that are normal kid shenanigans...if they did something REALLY wrong? I never hit my kids, but I yelled. A lot. I had no desire to be their mom and every morning I would wake up and stay in bed as long as possible to avoid the coming hours of bickering, fighting, "LOOK AT THIS!", stories about nothing that take 15 minutes to tell, and the mess. Oh, the mess.
Husband was great and would always offer to take the kids so I could go have a break and do something fun. I didn't know what was fun to me. I knew what was fun to him, OGC, BC, and SGC. I knew their favorite songs, shows, foods, colors, clothes, and exactly what it took to get them into bed relatively easy each night. I usually defaulted to staring at a burger at Red Robin and then sitting in the car, staring at the parking lot.
With depression carrying such a stigma, I never thought to reach out. I never even thought something was wrong. I wasn't refusing to get out of bed and weeping uncontrollably. I didn't want to harm myself or others (mostly, those kids sometimes...). That was depression to me. I didn't have that.
After we moved up north, I lost the few friends I did have and became pretty secluded in our little house. The women I've met here are incredibly friendly, but I had no interest in developing friendships. I was too tired, the kids were too crazy, Husband was too busy. So I retreated back a little further into the only constant I had, anger.
I began to feel intense rage over the stupidest stuff and everyone suffered. After one particularly bad explosion, Husband came into our room, sat on the bed across from me and simply said,"What's wrong?"
What's wrong...clearly something was wrong, but I didn't know what. I couldn't tell him anything except I felt so so angry all the time. I was constantly tensed and screaming at people in my head. I had zero attachment to our kids and him. I started crying because I no idea what was wrong or if I could even be helped. I was afraid to go to the doctor and hear, "It's just stress. It's normal for a SAHM. You just need a break once in awhile."
Husband told me he was pretty sure I had depression, and needed to make an appointment to figure things out. I rolled my eyes because I wasn't a sad egg rolling around or a wind up toy that's slowing down, or a woman peeking sadly over her arms as a soothing voice mentions a laundry list of side effects.
You know what one of the symptoms of depression is?
Intense anger and rage.
I started crying and Smaller Girl Child came over and said,"Mama sad? Mama so so cryin?" and she started whimpering herself. I stepped back and realized how much I affect these monsters. How much I had already affected them. I made a decision. I tried to get an appointment with a doctor up here, but the soonest I could be seen was in 2 months. I called my doctor an hour and a half away in our old town and when I asked for an appointment to discuss depression, the receptionist immediately changed her tone and asked how soon I wanted to be seen.
I got a sitter and drove down to see the PA. She asked the normal questions and typed away at the computer in front of her. Finally, she turned to me and said, "It honestly sounds like you have postpartum depression." I laughed because Smaller Girl Child was 2! She assured me that if left untreated, postpartum depression lingers and gets worse. I was told I probably had it after OGC was born which went untreated and compounded after Boy Child was born. That also went it's merry way and got even worse with SGC. Coupled with the normal life stresses, I got to this point.
I was prescribed medication and texted my mom saying, "It's official! I'm crazy!"
That's not ok. I'm not crazy. I'm not delicate. I'm not some inferior person who wasn't strong enough to man up and grow a pair.
I'm someone who battled through every day, trying to make it to bed time without any collateral damage. I'm someone who yelled at a woman at Walmart because she said something that pissed me off. Like, legit yelled at her. I'm someone who has an incredible family to support me and help and listen to me when I'm having a bad day.
I'm someone who wasn't strong enough to man up and "quit being so weird", but I'm someone who WAS strong enough to finally reach out and recognize that this was not normal.
I hope this post helps remove some of the hush hush and shame of mental illness. I hope it helps someone, somewhere (I'm looking at you random readers from Sweden) recognize their own struggles and be strong enough to say this isn't normal and get help.
I still struggle. I have to get medication adjusted because my stupid body won't let them work properly. I still yell, though not as much. I still scream at people in my head, but it's staying there instead of boiling over into the real world. But, I'm trying and that's better than nothing.
