Postnatal Depression: Even strong people need hugs…

I’m going to be 100% honest and say I am desperately unhappy at the moment… I don’t know why, I just am.  And I need a hug.  Did I mention that?  Just a massive, all-consuming, let’s-not-talk-about-anything, warm, loving hug!  I will warn you though…  In the event you decide to give me the before mentioned hug, I will break down and cry… Well, weep actually.  Yes, I will weep, and weep, and shudder, blow my nose, and probably weep some more.  And my mascara will run, and so will my nose… It will NOT be a pretty sight.  Just putting that out there.

I’m hurting deep, deep down inside and I just don’t know what to do about it.

So my answer is this… I will write it down and try to leave just a little bit of the hurt in my words on this page.  Surely by venting and getting all of these tumultuous emotions out on the table I will be able to lighten this burden upon myself and get back to the business of being strong… Right?

I’m not sure there is any one reason for this hurt, more that there are a great many “little things” that have been accumulating for a long time now and have finally gotten the better of me.  Things I know I can’t fix.  Things I know I have no control over.  Things I know I simply CANNOT continue to live with.  The age-old “catch-22” situation.   Hence the hurting… The pain of knowing something has to give and not wanting it to be my final ounce of self-worth.  Not wanting it to be my losing my mind completely.  Not wanting it to be my leaving because I don’t feel I have any other option.  I am scared, and my God do I feel alone… So completely alone.

How do I be the best mother and person I can be when I’m feeling so crappy so much of the time?  How do I be a warm, loving role-model to my son when I’m in so much pain myself, and so angry about the things I cannot change?  I’m scared for him… And I’m scared for me.  This is not the life I want to live.

I fell asleep last night hoping against all hope I would wake this morning and feel better… But alas, it was not meant to be.  I know these feelings will pass, but at what or who’s expense?  Will they simply be pushed back down with all of those other feelings until the next time everything erupts again?  Will I continue to hurt my HF and family with my godawful, brutal honesty?   Will I continue to pretend everything is okay until the next dark day I have when I’m helpless to keep my mind from letting everything out?  Decisions need to me made.  But I can’t make them now.

I just need a hug.

TSM  xx

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Just Because: My life in numbers…

There’s a little blog roll happening over at G*funk*ified regarding “My Life In Numbers”.  I love this concept and as such have felt compelled to write my own little list and add it to the roll… Here goes:

38 – number of years I’ve been on this earth (I’m only 37 but you have to count that first year, right?)

4 – number of primary schools I went to (one only for 2 weeks)

2 – number of high schools I attended

1 – number of universities I have studied at

6 – number of times I thought I had fallen in love during my life

3 – number of years it took being on my own to understand the importance of self-worth, self-love, and self-respect

1 – number of times I KNEW I had fallen love

5 – number of years I have loved my Handsome Fiance

11 – number of months it took us to conceive

512 – number of days our Little Man has (so far) filled our lives with sunshine

5,329 – (approx) number of times the LM has made me laugh for no particular reason

102 – (approx) number of times he has made me cry

42 – number of times per day I remind the LM to use “gentle hands”

37 – number of different solutions we tried to cure the LM’s eczema

1 – number of allergy tests it took to realise that egg and dairy were the culprits

311 – number of days since admitting I needed help for my Postnatal Depression symptoms

4 – number of people closest to me I felt I could tell straight away

83 – number of days since I’ve felt the weight of my depression may have lifted somewhat

157, 943 – (approx) number of times I have berrated myself for not being “good enough”, trying “hard enough”, or simply being “enough” for my son, family, and friends

157,944 – (approx) number of times I’ve told myself I AM enough, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks 🙂

6 –  number of therapy sessions I’ve gone to this year

2 – number of amazingly inspirational women I’ve personally met who’ve shown me the value in what I’ve so far accomplished

4 – number of words in the name of the organisation I’ve found to be the most incredible support for women experiencing perinatal mental illness… Peach. Tree. Perinatal. Wellness.

84 – (approx) number of connections I’ve made through blogging with women all over the world sharing the same PND  journey

3 – number of days per week I go to work, start my day with a “child-free” coffee, and simply “be” in an adult world

3 – number of days per week I miss the LM like crazy

1 – number of dogs we own

5 – number of times per day I ask the LM to please NOT sit on the dog

1 – number of cats we own

4 – number of times the dog thinks he can take on the cat each day… and loses!

2 – the number of tattoos I have (what?????)

And on that note, I might leave it there… This list could go on forever!

I hope you’re all enjoying a wonderful day and will post again very soon.

Take care,

TSM  xx