Week fours prompt is 'Survival'. You can either type up your own story of survival or do a creative post involving your children.
I have gone for the first one this week and although I have spoken about it before, I would like to share my story of Post Natal Depression in all its raw form.
I firmly believe I 'survived' PND. I got to a point where I was willing to give up on myself and surrender everything, even the most precious person in my life. I got to the point where I didn't want to be here any more. I had lost my inner strength, or so it felt for a short while. I don't think anyone really knew how I felt and to be honest I really didn't want anyone to know.
I was in a dark place. I would sit in the shower and cry for nearly an hour. I felt like a selfish, useless human being. I felt pathetic and worthless that I was a joke for being blessed as a mother. I had nothing to be that sad about. My partner had stayed with me despite us both being very young to have a child, I had a roof over my head, two to be precise with the going back and forth!
I wasn't happy though. I was deeply, deeply sad. I was terrified of my daughter. Spending any moment alone with her, even the thought of it would make me sick. I dreaded Other Half going back to college convinced I would never cope.
Nerves would rush through me when she cried or even stirred. I loved it when she slept. Not the motherly love where you look over them,listen to them breathing, want to take photos of them, want to just pick them up again but you know you can't. I didn't want my daughter to fall asleep on me. I wanted my bed to myself, my body to myself and I wanted to be alone.
I wanted my partner to leave me. I wanted him to say he couldn't do this anymore. To leave me with the shame and to live in this space but to be free of this burden. How awful to see your newborn as a burden..after all the pain I went through in birth, after the huge wave of love I felt when she was first placed in my arms I returned home and it all must've hit me. The pain, the discomfort, the fact that no one told me what any of this would be like.
Then came the visitors, my goodness did they come. It was lovely, but it was too much something I made sure I didn't do with my son.
I think the turning point came when one day I just handed my daughter over to Other Half and told him I couldn't do it any more. I went out for a walk, I was gone for a very long time just walking and crying. God I couldn't stop crying.
The next day my partner just stared at me when the health visitor came. I knew there was no more lying, no more running away from the truth. I was ill. I needed help. I filled in the form that the health visitor handed over and I filled it in honestly. I went to the GP appointment she booked for me. I would've never booked it myself.
I sat in the waiting room feeling numb. I didn't say a word to the doctor, just handed over my form. On the way out I picked up my prescription and so it began, I took the tablets for about 3 months before deciding I was better. I wasn't better I had just balanced some out of control hormones and tried to be more positive.
When it came to it I began to notice I wasn't feeling well again. I was going lower and lower but not one single person could tell. I stayed in all the time, I was lonely and I was living somewhere I didn't want to live desperately missing the countryside and my family. It was at this time that Other Half and I really had to fight to get through things. I would cry almost every night with my sleepless child and I felt there was nothing more to life.
I'm not sure where things got better.I never did go back on antidepressants and I never did see another health professional until after I had my son I really needed to get my anxiety and panic attacks under control. My relationship with my daughter looks normal on the outside but sometimes there is a faulty connection. We didn't properly bond until she was about one and a half, a bloody long time. Now we laugh and we joke, she loves me and I love her unconditionally but there are some heartbreaking moments when she feels not like the small child i brought into this world but more like a younger sibling. It's heartbreaking to write let alone think about or even feel. But it doesn't make me a bad mother, it doesn't make me a heartless,horrible person it highlights how badly I got before I got help.
I regret not getting help sooner. The support was just not there and I slipped through the net somewhere along the way before sinking into denial, then absolute fear. There must've been something there to be fear because I was so sure my daughter would be taken away if anyone found out how crazed my head had become. I would've done anything to spare her a life in care so I guess the love was there, it just got a bit lost.
Anyway I survived and so did my beautiful little girl who i love and cherish with my whole heart.
Please have a look at some of the amazing posts on this weeks prompt and be sure to share your stories.
Now i'm off to plan my little tea party with money going to this lovely campaign! x