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.
Labels:
breakdown,
courage,
depression,
goals,
kids,
life,
lonely,
motherhood,
postpartum depression,
ppd,
victory,
women
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