Okay, I think I'm ready to talk about it. Postpartum depression, I mean. I know we each have our own trials to experience and that we can and should learn from them. I also think we go through them to help others. It is my hope that I will be able to help someone, someday, after this is all over. Get ready, it's a long one...
When Samuel was 2 1/2 weeks old, I knew I needed help. Johnny worked 12+ hour nights and had an hour long commute, one-way. He spent his days sleeping and I spent mine crying. I felt alone, isolated and confused. There weren't enough Kleenexes to dry my tears. The things I loved and cared about- my kids, my newborn baby, my husband, even tv shows- I lost interest in. It's not that I didn't want them (my family) or wanted something else, I just became apathetic, if that's even the right word.
One morning, after we got the kids off to school and I had somewhat planned my day (try to be productive and spend time with the kids and rest), I became uncontrollably emotional. Johnny was supposed to work that night and I was anticipating him going upstairs to sleep and being alone. Again. To be alone with my thoughts was terrifying for me. I never considering hurting my baby or my kids. My thoughts were more self-destructive...convincing myself I was a bad mother, not worthy of life, that my kids deserved better, that Johnny deserved better... Day after day and night after night I battled these thoughts. There were times I even became suicidal. Miraculously, those times I was not alone. The Lord blessed me and made sure Johnny was there. I was able to communicate my thoughts enough that he knew I was sinking and needed help, Heaven's help. The day before, my sister Sarah called to check on me. She knew I had been emotional, but didn't know how bad it was. When she asked how I was doing, I said, "ok" and quickly changed the subject to my kids. I knew that I would break down if she pressed me for details, so I avoided it completely. I did this with everyone that called. Sarah told me about her friend that had PPD and how she got help. We spoke only briefly, but she said, "Jill, you don't have to wait for it to get better. It's okay to get help!" She doesn't know it, but I lost it before she hung up. I knew she was right and that I needed help, but I wasn't sure I could ask for it. Everyday I tried to pull myself together when the kids were around and if I couldn't, I'd "go to the bathroom" or something.
That morning, I could feel the anxiety mounting, my muscles in my arms and legs became tense and I began wringing my hands as I often do when the anxiety is too much. I walked over to Johnny, who was at the computer working on church stuff, and handed him my cell phone. I had it on my contacts list and, crying, I asked him to call my doctor and make an appointment for me. It was then that he called in sick to work. I wasn't able to see my ob/gyn that day, so we made an appointment with a new family doctor. I was a walk-in. Johnny's parents rushed over- even though there was a 40 minute drive- to watch the little ones and pick the kids up from school so we could go. There was a huge sense of relief at that moment. My tears stopped, for the most part and I was able to take deep breaths. Of course, I fell apart in the doctor's office and Johnny had to explain things to him. But it was a start. I got a prescription for Lexapro. He said I was a classic PPD patient and that it would get better. I had my doubts, but hoped he was right.
After I left the doctor's office, I didn't cry for a week. I felt more like myself- and by "more" I mean, I didn't cry, I still wasn't "me". After some adjustments in the dosage I developed a pretty normal routine again. I visited once with a counselor with LDS Family Services that also helped me cope with stresses and taught me how to better communicate and deal with things. The best word I know to describe myself those many months, was "broken". I felt like a shell of a person compared to what I knew to be my "best". At my best, my house was organized and clean, the kids were fed healthy food and often, the laundry was done, I exercised daily and did fun projects and had dates with my husband, watching recorded episodes of Biggest Loser or Survivor or something. I was so far from that person I knew to be me.
Even on medication, I felt broken. It made me emotionally numb- not too sad, but not smiling much either. I was grateful for the medicine though. It got me through a lot of stressful times (moving was the biggest). My last dose was May 26. My doctor supervised my withdrawal- I do NOT recommend quitting anything like that cold turkey. During the withdrawal time, I was on an emotional roller-coaster. For a few days after decreasing my dosage for the first time, I was angry about nothing and I knew it, it was awful. Then everything evened out. The next week I decreased again and felt fine until a few days after that. I became somewhat depressed again and a little emotional, but not too bad. Again, everything evened out. The last dosage change was the kicker. Following the same pattern, a few days later I was an emotional wreck. I felt like I had regressed completely and that all the progress I had made was fake- as if I were a robot and the medicine dictated my feelings and thoughts and actions and without it, I was broken. I thought I would have to get back on my medication and start all over again. I decided to wean off of it was because I was doing so much better and felt like the side effects were hindering my progression. The "numbing" feeling kept me from feeling much at all. It was a different kind of apathy- I couldn't think clearly or gather my thoughts well enough to finish a task. That must be what ADD feels like. I trudged through it. I cried my tears and asked for my family's prayers and you know what? Morning came and with it a new day. I had ambition again. I set small goals for myself- ones that would help me feel accomplished and like a good wife/mother... laundry, for instance.
During some of my darkest times, I sought solace in hymns, scriptures and quotes. Here is a
hymn that I would like to share. It's called "Abide with Me!". I like it so much because it fit so well with what I was going through at the time. It's words are comforting. Who else can understand but the Savior?
Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.
Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me.
Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word;
But as Thou dwell’st with Thy disciples, Lord,
Familiar, condescending, patient, free.
Come not to sojourn, but abide with me.
Come not in terrors, as the King of kings,
But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings,
Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea—
Come, Friend of sinners, and thus abide with me.
Thou on my head in early youth didst smile;
And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile,
Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee,
On to the close, O Lord, abide with me.
I need Thy presence every passing hour.
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.
I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.
Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies.
Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.
On October 18, just 5 days after going to the doctor, I made a home video. I knew that things would get better eventually and I wanted to look back at that time in my life. I wanted to see it for what it was because, at the time, I didn't have a real sense of reality. So, here it is, in 4 parts...
It's still difficult for me to watch those videos. At the time, I really thought my house was a big part of the problem. I honestly thought that if the house was cleaner, I would feel/behave better. I'm glad I made them- now I can see it wasn't that bad. When I watch the videos, what I notice the most is the sound of my voice. It was so sad and I can hear the hopelessness in it. Not hopeless that, "Oh no! My house is so messy, how will I ever clean it up the way it used to be?!"- that's how I felt at the time. No, it's the sound of depression- lonely, hopeless and apathetic.
I am grateful to know that I am not alone. I have a Heavenly Father who loves me, a Savior that knows me and cares for me, and a loving family who supports me. I will no longer be broken. I choose life...I choose to live with gratitude and thanksgiving for my family, my covenants and the trials I am given that continue to make me stronger and better able to understand and be more like my Savior. That is, after-all, why we are here.
