I have a hard time asking for help. I do not like admitting defeat or feeling like a failure. I struggle to lean on others when I need them. It takes a long time for me to trust anyone. I would much rather be the one helping.
Living with postpartum depression and trying to overcome it, while striving to be the mother I long to be, the mother my children deserve, is perhaps the most difficult thing I've ever experienced. I am responsible for the well being of two other people. I can't give up and walk away. I can't take the easy way out. I have to face this head on and get through it, and at the same time I have to carry on with life and take care of my children. Life doesn't stop. Levi and Ian don't stop growing and developing. They aren't waiting for me to get better, but they need me to.
The moment I was admitted to the hospital I lost something. I lost a dream. I missed out on an experience I was longing for, one I prepared for, and I mourn that loss. I am pissed off that I was not able to have a peaceful birth at home. It is not fair that I barely remember the first moments of my son's life, that his first weeks are a blur in my memory. I don't have those idyllic pictures of Ian's first precious moments to look back on and I certainly don't recall my birth story with fondness. Whatever joy there is in the victory of a vaginal birth despite all odds is overshadowed by the sorrow I feel for the loss of everything that should have been and wasn't.
I blame myself for Ian's admission to the hospital. I know I over reacted and it is my fault my son had to endure painful procedures in a cold, sterile, hospital environment. I failed him when he was only a few days old.
There are days I don't want to hold my son. I am often angry with my children. There are moments that I want to run away and never look back. I frequently question why I ever wanted this life. This is the life I always dreamed of and now I feel trapped.
This doesn't just effect me. My husband misses his wife and friend. My children want their mother back. They are trying to live life with the broken pieces I've created.
Postpartum depression, and the anxiety that goes along with it for me, is extremely scary and often debilitating. I thought by now the worst would be over. I thought I would be 'fixed' by now. And yet there are still absolutely horrible moments that I am unable to be the person I need to be.
I often feel like I'm pretending- just going through the motions and nobody knows what is going on. But who wants to know? This isn't rainbows and butterflies. This is messy.