Postpartum Depression Kept Me From Reaching Out for Help
As I’m sitting here in bed in the middle of the night next to my significant other and nearly 6-month-old child between us, all I can seem to think about is how to best form the words running through my head.
A few months ago, about a month after my second son was born, my life took a turn for the worst. It was just the beginning to what seems like my never-ending, broken life. Or so it seems.
I was beginning to have symptoms of postpartum depression, which is a heavy weight to battle within itself. Once I noticed it, I tried to hide it. I didn’t want anyone to be worried again, so I forced myself to smile and be “OK.” Soon things began to break in my life: my career, the career of my significant other, our cars and our relationship with each other and others. It was then when all my symptoms had taken over me. The chronic fatigue, problems with eating, not wanting to be social, mood swings and simply never wanting to get out of bed or do anything. My moods were so up and down my spouse didn’t know how to handle it, so he let me be. But it was then I needed him the most.
My thoughts became so intrusive. You’re not a good mother. You can’t do anything right. No one cares or loves you. You’re hideous and disgusting. It soon became the only thing I could hear. I began to think about the lives people would have without me.
The battle I fight every day is to simply scream, “I need your help! I can’t keep feeling this way!” and to hopefully make it another day and maybe wind up OK and possibly happy. I look at my spouse and want to say the words in my mind, but can’t seem to say them out loud. Praying he’ll see the signs or see the pain behind my eyes with the smile I force myself to wear. I feel trapped inside my own mind going round and round with my thoughts. Fighting myself to just simply say something.
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