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 3^rd 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.