I know that everyone has their battles they are facing, and I am not so naive to think I am the only one with problems... but I feel like I have had more than my fair share lately. Many of you do not know what has been going on. And the only reason I am talking about it now is because I need to get it out. Plus I know not a lot of people read my blog anyways, so writing it all down will not bee that big of a deal. Also, I am not writing this to get a pity party, because I have had enough of that already. I just don't want everything to be so hush hush anymore. I feel like I am literally walking on eggshells around people because I am so scared that they will find out my "big secret". And really, it is not that big of a deal anyways. So here is goes...
Two and a half years ago I had the most beautiful baby girl in the world. She was perfect. She had to go to the
NICU for two weeks, but other than that she was amazing. When she came home she was so good. She never cried unless she was hungry or needed some mommy time. But for some reason I was not happy. I cried all the time. My nerves were on edge all the time. And I felt like an insane person. My life went on like this for about a year until I could not handle it anymore. I was literally tearing my hair out because of the stress of it all. So I confided in my two best friends. One just loved me and told me that it will be okay, and the other told me to go to my doctor.
So I went to the doctor and he said I had post-
pardem depression. I thought, "Okay, this is
dealable right?" I was given something for the depression and I went along my way. It was going to take about a month to take a real affect, so I bid my time and waited. After a month, things were still not better, I actually felt worse because I was depressed that this was not working. I felt I should have been fixed by now! What the hell, right! So I went back to the doctor and of course I was given something else to try. Alas, it failed and I was right back where I started. So one day I just gave up. I was sitting on my kitchen floor crying when Addy came up to me needing something and I did not respond. She was smacking me on the face, and I got up and went to my room and started bawling. Again, sitting on the floor, in a big heap of unfolded laundry, I sat there crying. Then I stopped and went numb.
Everything felt like a dream. Nothing was real, and I felt nothing.. I could hear two people talking to me, but still I was gone. Next thing I know someone I did not know was picking me up and I started to scream. I was so scared and my Post Traumatic Stress kicked in to full gear. I started hyperventilating. I did not know what was going on, and they were strapping me down to something. I saw lights and heard everybody talking at once to me telling me to calm down. Next thing I know I was loopy and in the hospital. I found out later that my best friend called the ambulance while Spencer was trying to talk to me. The doctor let me go home, giving me anxiety medication to calm me down if I started to freak out again.
I had to go back to my doctor, but in the end he was no help. I ended up seeing a Therapist and a Psychiatrist. They put me on the right medications, helping me with not only depression, but anxiety, panic,
PTSD, and a mood disorder. Months passed and I was seeing my therapist weekly, trying to unfold my past and get it out. Because of months of this therapy, I started to panic. I dreaded seeing my therapist, he was a great man and easy to talk to, but I could not revisit those memories again. They were getting to be too much for me to handle, and that is when I broke.
I went nuts, I was not sleeping and I could not take care of anything or anybody. In the end, I ended up in the hospital's Inpatient Ward twice in a months time because I could not hold it together. I got the help I needed, and thought I could do it. For a while it worked. I was not better by any means, but I felt I could move on at a slow pace. But then after a couple of months, I was starting to crack again. But I was holding it in better, not telling anyone what I was feeling. I felt this was the only way to make sure that I did not go crazy. But I did. I was not happy, and I was angry at everything and everybody. I could not take care of myself. I did not leave the house. And I did not willingly see people. I was functioning at a very basic level. I took care of Addy and that was it. She was the only thing that was keeping me here mentally.
Then that was getting to be unbearable as well... and that is when I snapped. I was mentally gone. I could not deal with my life, or life in general. I started cutting myself, just to feel something. When that started to go numb as well, I was finished with myself, everyone, and everything. That was the night I tried to take all the pain away... even myself. I tried twice. But Spencer was there twice to make sure I did not go. I did go back to Inpatient Therapy for trying to commit suicide. I hated the hospital, I still do, but I did not want to be there. I did not want to be anywhere. I wanted to be gone. When I got home, I was still not back to a normal state. I was still cutting myself and still functioning at a very basic level.
That is when Spencer sent me to California. I was so upset that I was being forced to go, but I went. At first I was so depressed about being there, I wanted to be home. But eventually it got better. My sisters were life savers. They brought me back from the living dead, and reminded me that I did have a wonderful life. I had a beautiful daughter and a loving husband, both whom I loved desperately. I found that I did not want this to be my life. I did not want to except that my life would be like this, miserable and numb. I did not want to think that this was going to be forever, that when my life becomes hell, that I will end up in the hospital. I did not want that.
That is when I sat down and prayed for the first time in a long time. Afterwards, I really did feel better. Granted my life did not go back to being perfect, but I felt I could mend. I felt hope for the first time in two and a half years. And that is where I am at today. On the mend, and hoping that my life will somehow work it self out and I will become better. That I will eventually be myself again. I still do see a Therapist and a Psychiatrist, and they have been extremely helpful to me. But yes, that is where I am at in life... hoping and trying to focus on being happy.
