Note to Reader
Chrissie
Hi there! Thanks for stopping by! This blog is no longer active, meaning I no longer post here. I keep it available as a memorial and reference to my battle with perinatal and postpartum depression and illness.

You can follow me over at In My Dreams Awake where I continue to share my ongoing journey as a mom of three who struggles with depression well past postpartum years but continues to overcome. You can overcome also! :)


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A Hope and a Future
Chrissie

I went back this morning and read posts on this blog from the last year about my struggles with postpartum depression (PPD). It is so scary to think about what I went through. I can see my posts through two different filters. My “normal” filter; this is from the perspective of someone who doesn’t have PPD, has never had it, and maybe even has never suffered with depression of any kind. From that perspective, it seems as if I was just having a few bad days. The other filter is the “PPD” filter. From this perspective, the feelings are as raw as they were on the days when I wrote the posts. I have to put the brakes on when reading through this filter. Reading the posts was like gently pushing a door open a crack, just enough to let the feelings through. But then I had to slam the door shut and step back for fear of being sucked into the dark, dark room and having the door slammed behind me, the way it will when you have windows open in the house. Maybe it’s still too fresh. I’m still on the precipice, finding my footing, inching away from the edge. Looking back has dangers. It’s important to see how far I’ve come; I need the encouragement, but looking back for too long puts me in danger of losing my progress. I think of Lot’s wife; she looked back to the past and lost her future. (Maybe she suffered from depression too?)

However, I think that the subject of holding onto the past with one hand while reaching for the future with the other is a subject for a different day. I struggle with this frequently as well. What I really want to emphasize is how deep and dark those days were for someone who may gloss over those posts or think I was just being a whiner and complainer.

I have struggled with panic, anxiety, and depression for much of my life. I have been medicated, not medicated, in treatment, out of treatment, and tried various methods of self-treatment that were or were not effective. But the days, weeks, and months after the birth of my 3rd and last child were the darkest I have ever known. I was trapped in a private hell and no one could get to me. No one. It was the loneliest, most terrifying, emotionally shattering existence imaginable. How do you even put into words the pangs of desperation that emanated from my center and permeated every cry I managed to put forth? Every tear contained such agony that begged for an end. I’ve seen movies and read about POWs who were being physically tortured and saw the look of desperation in their eyes and how they pleaded with their captors to end the suffering. Now, I realize how much that sounds like an exaggeration seeing as how these were prisoners of war (!!) but PPD is a war too. Though, the enemy and torturer are invisible. There is no face to look into, no body to throw yourself at the mercy of. It is like fighting a battle with no weapons or armor and having to defend not only yourself, but your baby/ies (who have to see your suffering) as well. You are defenseless and incredibly vulnerable. The worst part is that there is, in most people’s experience, no one to come running to your aid because they can’t see what you’re up against. They can’t know what you’re experiencing and even if they know, most people don’t know how to help.

I can remember collapsing to the cold tile floor in the kitchen, curling into a tight ball, and crying so hard that my entire body ached and burned. I remember begging and pleading with my husband not to leave me alone to go to work in the mornings. One morning, in particular, I collapsed crying, holding tightly to his ankles and he had to drag me behind him as he went through the door. The fear and panic that followed when he shut the door behind him was blinding and dizzying. I hyperventilated, screamed, scratched, covered my face, and prayed for...anything. Oh, that I could have just died instead!

I never knew how I was going to get through the days. Somehow I did, though. And time (both a friend and an enemy) passed. Here I am 14 months later still plugging along. I am pleased to say that I have more good days than bad and the bad ones are nothing compared to the hell that those first few months were. In the midst of those days I knew with certainty that I wouldn’t survive it. But I did. I have joy again. I am able to enjoy my life and my kids much more. I can feel the sunshine on my face and actually smile. I can look into my kids’ faces and laugh and feel my heart want to burst with love. I have Hope again. I make plans and set goals for my future. A future!! Yes, there is a future after PPD.

I love the song that I have on this blog page, Run Forward by Audrey Assad. The words are so fitting for the struggles that PPD sufferers face and it speaks of Hope. “Grace will come and clear your path.” I thank God for carrying me through the bleakest time of my life and pray desperately for all still living in the darkness. “And now I know His strength.” May He lead you back into the Light. 


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On the Ebb and Flow of Progress
Chrissie
I'm definitely ebbing. ::sigh:: One step forward, two steps back. Always. Be careful of the moment that you feel well enough to share your testimony because it is then that you are most likely to backslide.

I was finally beginning to feel like "my old self". I'm off the meds, building and growing my business, and loving my husband and kids. And my old not-so-great-pal Anger shows up. And I don't just mean anger, but rage. I can go from zero to raging faster than my kids can blame their brother or sister after spilling or breaking something in the house. And simple, everyday, very normal things can send me into a blinding rage. My blood pressure goes through the roof and I have very little control over the volume of my voice. I say something that makes the object of my rage at the moment feel like a total loser and then I'm left with regret, guilt, and a pounding headache.

And I don't know how to control it. And I don't know why I'm so angry. What I do know is that it seems to be related to my postpartum depression and anxiety. And I say that because the PPD/Anxiety feelings return when I'm angry. The hopelessness and despair return and the desire to walk out into heavy traffic (thankfully, we live in the country) and be done with it all.

I know, however, that today is almost over and that when I wake in the morning I will feel fine and full of hope once again. I will be a coffee guzzling warrior ready to take on the world. And hopefully nothing will push me off the deep end. For now, I just feel defeated.
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Breaking Free
Chrissie
Thank God for my Blackberry right now. It's a gorgeous Atlanta April day and I'm blogging from a lawn chair in my yard and watching my older kids play. The baby is asleep in my arms. Life is good and I'm alright. For now.

My in-laws have been here for 8 days. It has been so wonderful having someone to hold the baby, feed the baby, help with the big kids, and just keep me company. SO wonderful. I've had a reason to put forth the effort to get a shower and put makeup on. My moments of utter emptiness, deep sadness, total terror, and impending doom mostly subsided over the last week.

My in-laws left about an hour ago. It is amazing to me how quickly my PPD symptoms resurface. Like it's lurking in the shadows waiting to lurch out the minute I am alone again. I have managed to hold back the tears thus far. And this is why I'm so grateful to be outside enjoying the gorgeous sunshine and fresh air.



There is something about the sky being blue and the grass being green that helps me to feel like me. The sky may get covered by gray clouds but it is still a blue sky. I am still me. I am not postpartum depression. Somewhere beneath this fog is the me that adores a day like today. And it's days like this one that remind me of that.

Huge thanks to my father-in-law who cleaned my garage so that there is a nice clean place to sit and watch the kids play. Somewhere to sit and listen to the birds sing, to watch the trees sway and the new spring leaves dance in the breeze, to feel the sun on my face, to feel myself breaking free!

So, I'm okay. I foresee many more afternoons like this during the spring, summer, and fall. I think I may turn this space into my sanctuary, my safe place to "recover". (Hmm, I think a nice swinging bench and patio table will look great right over there.) I'm okay. We're all going to be okay.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
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To Stay or Run Away?
Chrissie
I woke up to the sound of thunder and heavy rain followed by Kinley crying to be fed. It was an hour before my alarm was set to go off. I never did go back to sleep. Getting Reagan ready for school went much more smoothly today than yesterday even though both Kinley and Caleb were in their beds screaming and crying the whole time and Mike was getting ready for work so was unable to help. I did my best to "tune them out" but was really daydreaming of cramming sharp objects into my eardrums.

Reagan and I got in the car and started the rainy drive to school with all of the other morning commuters. I wasn't in the mood for music so I turned on the old talk radio AM show I used to listen to every single morning on my way to work in the downtown Atlanta traffic (back when I had a REAL job). I suddenly felt a longing I haven't felt in a very, very long time. I longed to be stuck in morning traffic with my travel mug of coffee in hand. I reminisced about walking into the Starbucks downtown and getting my hot coffee and blueberry scone before taking the elevator up to the 21st floor of one of the coolest places in the city. I longed so deeply for it that I could smell that wonderful Starbucks smell, feel the nylon of my hose, and hear the clicking of my heels on the city sidewalk.

In all honesty, there were many times when I hated my job back then. I hated the commute and the traffic. I hated the heels and the hose. When I thought about it, the sad realization was that I missed my freedom. I did all of those things on my own and with a certain personal confidence and satisfaction. Now, I wear pajamas all day, rarely fix my hair and makeup, and am lucky to get to shower at midnight just to wash the sweat, spit-up, and dried food off of me.

I dropped R off at school and began the drive back home. The closer I got the more I dreaded getting out of the car and going back into 'the house of screaming kids'. "What if I just keep driving?" I had joked about having that thought before while chatting with my "mommy friends" over coffee. The exception was that this time I was actually entertaining the idea. All I had with me was my wallet and my cellphone. I reasoned that those were all I needed anyway. Clothing and toiletries could be purchased later. I could go to a hotel and shower, change, and brush my teeth. I figured I had enough cash and my credit card; I could make it to Colorado in about two days.

Alas, as I approached our subdivision I turned left and pulled into our driveway. I sat there in the car looking inside our windows for about 10 minutes before forcing myself to get out and go inside. I wish I could say that once I got inside that I looked around and realized all that I would miss if I left but I can't. I got inside and Mike was leaving for work, we were out of soy milk and diapers, and the baby was still crying. I immediately felt reduced, diminished, and wasted by life and motherhood.

I didn't think it was possible to hate every single second of your life but I do. I truly, truly do right now. I hope, in time, that it will change. But today is looking bleak. I hope that anyone reading will forgive me a totally despondent and pessimistic entry. I'm just not feeling particularly hopeful or encouraged. Perhaps the sun needs to come back to GA. It has been rainy since Saturday morning.
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Victim or Victorious
Chrissie
As the weekend is winding down I find my mood also winding down. Mike was actually able to take two days off and it has been heaven having him home with me. But Monday morning will inevitably come and just that thought sends me into a panic. I am terrified at the mere thought of being alone. I get a knot in my stomach and fear so intense that I want to throw up. Friday, I begged (yes, literally) him not to go to work. I'm wretched for doing so because he then, full of guilt, had to leave me a sobbing mess in our living room.

We went to my mom and dad's today and I found myself wishing we could just stay there. And maybe tomorrow I will take the two younger ones over there to hang out during the day. For some reason I am less "lonely" there even though there will be no one home. It somehow feels safer.

What is my deal? I told Mike tonight that I really wish I knew why this was happening. I bonded with Kinley almost instantly when we were in the hospital (much sooner than my other two) and for the first two weeks I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Now, when I look at her, I want to run. I feel utterly empty.

Mike, being the amazing husband that he is told me that I can't ask questions like why it's happening because it just is. It's just so frustrating to feel so incredibly lost and hopeless. I am a person who is normally IN LOVE with my life. And it's killing me to not be able to feel that right now. It's as if something vital in me died and is gone forever. And I am paralyzed. I have no idea what to do now.

There will undoubtedly be someone reading this who doesn't understand at all. And that's okay. I am blogging about this because it's therapeutic for me and if I can help even one other mommy to know that she's not alone in feeling this way, then it wouldn't have been for nothing that I suffered.

While standing at my kitchen sink today, I vowed to myself that I would do at least two things every single day that make me feel normal, whether it's fixing my hair or makeup, or going for a walk outside. I will watch funny movies and tv shows and laugh as much as possible. I will pray and I will sing and I will continually give thanks. I will fight and fight and fight some more. And I will win.


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Tiny Steps Forward
Chrissie
Today has been somewhat better. That's a lie; it's been superb compared to the last several. However, it didn't start out superbly. Once again my husband had to leave for work at 4:30am. I can tell you that every morning this week that he's left for work I have had a total breakdown lasting anywhere from 20 minutes to 45 minutes and then recurring throughout the day. Yesterday he left at 4:30am and got home a little before 8pm. When he kissed me goodbye this morning while I was curled up in the fetal position on our bed, crying (better than a shoulder squeeze), he told me he would come home as early as humanly possible. I didn't believe him but said, "Ok.".

After getting Reagan off to school (special thanks going out to my mom for taking R to school the last 2 days), the morning started pretty rough. Caleb, for some reason, flips out any time you try to take his pants off to change his diaper. And by flipping out, I mean, literally, flipping. He kicks, screams, twists; they are absolutely the most awful tantrums I've ever seen. Normally, I can deal with his tantrums to an extent but in the midst of this horrible postpartum depression I feel....what are the words? I felt like I no longer wanted to be his Mommy while feeling my heart break into a million pieces at the same time. I wanted to collapse into a puddle of nothingness in the middle of his bedroom floor. I wanted to run and hide. I was numb.

We got through the diaper change and breakfast. Kinley woke up (for the day, I might add, as she hasn't napped longer than 10 minutes all day) shortly after. I changed her and fed her and began the normal routine of social networking. As I was sitting there holding her and surfing a dozen postpartum depression mommy blogs and other websites, the most disturbing thoughts began to enter my mind. I got up and began pacing in the kitchen on the verge of hyperventilating. I wanted to call my mom, "If something were to happen to me, you and Daddy would do everything in your power to make sure that "he" doesn't get R, right?". I couldn't figure out how to pose the question without raising suspicion.

I shook myself, realizing where my thoughts had gone and decided that I would try to do some journaling. I used to journal for several hours a day and hadn't done it in a few years. I thought it might be therapeutic. So, I sat down and began writing. Surprisingly, it was making me feel worse. I began to question God which lead to me questioning whether God was even there. Anyone who knows me knows that is absurd. I know God experientially, and yet, I anguishingly question Him when I'm at my lowest.

At that moment, K had a startle reflex and woke up. I looked down at her and she was studying my face so intently. I knew she was looking at me for validation (which I felt I would never be able to give her). I started to tell her the same out loud and the minute she heard my voice she flashed me the biggest most incredible smile that I've ever seen on a baby. I felt a laugh escape me and then I burst into tears. In the same second, I prayed to God in an 'Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?' type of prayer. [In the amplified Bible, this is translated 'My God, My God, why have You abandoned me (leaving me helpless, forsaking and failing me in my need?).] I got out my Bible and after reading for a little while began to feel like my priorities may be skewed lately.

Since then I have been much more peaceful, pleasant, and productive. I managed to wash and fold 4 loads of laundry. **MAJOR ACCOMPLISHMENT** I was able to laugh and play with C which has improved his mood dramatically. I took all three kids grocery shopping after picking R up from school without incident. We even started cloth diapers on K today which has gone well so far! Reagan and Caleb have played nicely and quietly in the playroom all afternoon and Kinley finally napped for about 30 minutes, leaving me to enjoy a glass of merlot-cab and blog away!

Without this streak of good fortune, I would have completely fallen apart when Mike messaged me to say his only server for the night called out on her last night on the job, meaning he would have to cover her shift. So, "as early as humanly possible" has turned into a 16+ hour day. I am dealing with this news well for the moment but the evening is still young.

I am trying to hang on to the happy moments where I feel like my former self while not taking them for granted. I am in fear of how dark the darkest moments are.

***5 hours later***

I made it! I got all 3 kids bathed on my own. Mind you, the baby had to cry for a little while on her own which bothers yours truly but she did not suffer too horribly.

Hubby is home now and we are discussing how much our love for one another is going to carry us through this horrible and, yet, wonderful time of our lives. I'm sure that as horrible as it all seems right now that one day we will be able to look back with fondness? Yes? No? Either way, I love my husband with my entire being and if he is by my side for only 4 hours out of a 24 hour day, that's good enough for me, even if that means I have to take medication to get through it.

The day is now over and Kinley has STILL not slept. She is lying wide awake in Mike's arms while he is fast asleep. Ugh, hope it's not a long night. I have learned not to take a single moment for granted. While I may have had a perfectly wonderful day and night does not mean that it will last. I'm so afraid of the darkness. But being the courageous soul that I am, I will embrace it for all that it means for me.
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