Depression is a fucker.
Mental illness is a horrible, vile, thing; it sucks away your soul and reduces you to a self loathing wreck, and a shadow of your former or normal self.
Me and the hubbo didn’t think we could have children, and hubbo had suffered a loss with a previous partner so when we discovered our little miracle bean in my belly, my depression took on a whole new role.
I was scared. So scared. Never for myself, only for my baby. I was solely responsible for this little life growing inside me, no one else could protect my baby, only me.
I was depressed and anxious my whole pregnancy, and I couldn’t wait for is little person to be born and be here, and know my body had done its job in growing him and keeping him safe.
When he was born it was the most frightening and traumatic experience of my life. I am scared of flying but this was fear on a whole new level.
I feel so much guilt saying this, but it was the worst day of my life.
Don’t get me wrong, I knew I was lucky, we had been blessed with this little hunk of chunk that was 9lbs and healthy, and I will forever thank the powers that be.
But I’d nearly died giving birth to our little miracle. I’d been frightened and traumatised and I was in pain I never knew was possible.
When the mancub was pulled from my belly via the sunroof that rainy November day, I felt overwhelming feelings I had never felt before.
But not love, like everyone had told me I would feel. I was relieved he was born, I had done my job of growing him, and our new life as parents had begun. For me I felt no rush of love, it just wasn’t there.
But new dark thoughts entered my head; I had nearly DIED. I was in pain, exhausted, and I just wanted to be on my own.
My most painful thought was that I didn’t want to be a mummy. I didn’t want this, I wanted to die, wish I’d died on the operating theatre.
As someone who struggled to conceive I would have bitch slapped anyone who had said that when I wanted a baby so bad and I thought I couldn’t have one. But that’s how I felt, I felt something for my little person but it wasn’t love.
At this point I’m fighting back tears, how as a mother could I feel that way, so much guilt.
But it is an illness, I was sick, my mind was poorly, and I was suffering Post Natal Depression and Post Traumatic Stress.
The first six months of his life were awful. My mind was so warped, and I was on autopilot, and I was like a zombie.
I felt like I was babysitting someone else’s child. I shut myself away from everyone, scared that if I told people how I felt they would take my baby away and lock me up. I know now that my mummy feelings were there, they were buried deep inside my heart, and the PND in my shitty head was overruling everything.
Fast forward 27 months.
The mancub is a two year old monster, and we have the strongest bond ever. Every time I look at him I want to explode, cry and shit myself because of how much love I have.
He is my best friend, my whole world and my greatest creation.
I am undergoing therapy starting Friday to try and beat my PND and birth trauma, and this blog was a huge part of therapy for me and have become so much more than just a blog.
When I had the mancub there was a poor girl around the same time who had recently given birth and threw herself and her baby off a bridge in Bristol. She had been told she couldn’t take her medication and breastfeed and so walked out of the hospital and ended her life and her baby’s. Heartbreaking.
I always think of that poor girl, and how she may of felt, because I have been there. I’ve been to absolute hell and back having a baby to then feel like I wanted out of everything.
I can’t change the world, as much as I would like to, but I would love to help anyone that I could.
Please don’t suffer in silence, talk to someone. Family, friends, a complete stranger, your cat, pet gerbil, anyone.
If you think bad things, you are not alone, nor are you a bad parent.
Childbirth is like being hit by ten buses both physically and emotionally and you also have crazy hormones which REALLY don’t help.
Best bit of advice I have for anyone affected by this in any way is this:
BE KIND TO YOURSELF.
Rest, sleep, enjoy your little one. Sleep when they sleep and don’t feel guilty, I never did this until he was one and it really helps. Ask hubbo/wifey to help out more so you can go out or have some you time. Your little monster is half theirs, and this isn’t the dark ages, you don’t have to do everything. If hubbo/wifey doesn’t want to help or is too much of a princess to pick up a Hoover, suspend all sexual favours until they do.
Read books, enjoy a meal in peace, drink a cup of tea while it’s actually hot. Have a shower that lasts more than five minutes. HAVE A POO BY YOURSELF AND ACTUALLY SAVOUR THE MOMENT.
For any partners reading his, please know that deep down your wifey loves you and your baby more than anything but she has a poorly mind and needs some extra TLC. Listen to her, cuddle her, wipe away her tears.
You will probably be thinking that it’s all simple things and I’m talking crap.
Well yes, I am talking crap as always but simple things are simple pleasures. Go back to basics, enjoy every little part of life.
Live your life. Love your child. Be kind to YOURSELF.
(Will set up a tab of useful numbers and websites for anyone who is affected by anything I have spoken about. Big love.)