The Secret Evil
I recently got out a set of pictures to show my parents. See? This is me at 3, I told them, because they don't particularly remember me at 3 (or 12 or 25), doesn't my little girl look like me? I asked. And I saw the picture that I submitted to my high school year book's baby page. A hundred or so babies, laughing and smiling, silly and chubby. Except me. I chose a picture of myself sitting in a lawn chair, looking sad. Alone.
After my first baby was born, I cried. For six months. Even for someone whose baseline is depression, postpartum depression was... worse. It was "bad" depression, Supersized with an extra-large dose of guilt. And more guilt on the side. And, oh yeah, could you top that with some guilt?
This is going to sound stupid and maybe like an ad, but I joined Weight Watchers. And I was really good at it. Unlike parenting, there was a formula, and if you follow the formula, then you have success. And every week I would go, and I would succeed, and I would feel better. And I'd feel more capable. And I started feeling okay. And I started feeling good.
Good enough to have another baby. And I didn't cry this time. Because I denied my depression. I just let myself become numb.
Then this summer, I had a pregnancy scare that may have been an early miscarriage. And I went on the pill. And one or both of these things made everything so, so much worse. I think it would be okay to say that, at that point, my depression had become life-threatening.
And then I went off the pill. And I started feeling a lot better. Much better. Maybe too good. But okay, for now. And maybe I've levelled out. After four years of pregnancy and nursing and babies and chaos, things are starting to feel okay. But I'm afraid that I never know that I'm depressed until I'm not anymore. But I do know what helps me. Succeeding in the little things - losing weight, keeping control of the budget, getting enough sleep. If I can feel, every day, like I got a gold star in something, then I'm okay.
But I also know that a totally healthy person wouldn't really need that. And so it is.
After my first baby was born, I cried. For six months. Even for someone whose baseline is depression, postpartum depression was... worse. It was "bad" depression, Supersized with an extra-large dose of guilt. And more guilt on the side. And, oh yeah, could you top that with some guilt?
This is going to sound stupid and maybe like an ad, but I joined Weight Watchers. And I was really good at it. Unlike parenting, there was a formula, and if you follow the formula, then you have success. And every week I would go, and I would succeed, and I would feel better. And I'd feel more capable. And I started feeling okay. And I started feeling good.
Good enough to have another baby. And I didn't cry this time. Because I denied my depression. I just let myself become numb.
Then this summer, I had a pregnancy scare that may have been an early miscarriage. And I went on the pill. And one or both of these things made everything so, so much worse. I think it would be okay to say that, at that point, my depression had become life-threatening.
And then I went off the pill. And I started feeling a lot better. Much better. Maybe too good. But okay, for now. And maybe I've levelled out. After four years of pregnancy and nursing and babies and chaos, things are starting to feel okay. But I'm afraid that I never know that I'm depressed until I'm not anymore. But I do know what helps me. Succeeding in the little things - losing weight, keeping control of the budget, getting enough sleep. If I can feel, every day, like I got a gold star in something, then I'm okay.
But I also know that a totally healthy person wouldn't really need that. And so it is.
posted by Neno | 1:53 PM
3 Comments:
It's always a difficult thing to be able to say, "this isn't right." When you're there, you're just.. THERE. I mean, in that place. And when you're ok, you're not THERE. So how do you know? I hear ya. It all gets meshed together.
Thanks for joining and sharing!
As you've commented in the past, we are eerily twin-like.
And as someone whose baseline is also more blue than sunshine-y...
And as the mom of a totally non-typical dude...
"normal" and "totally healthy" are complete fallacies. When did we all start to think that life was supposed to feel contented every damn day? This is going to sound weird, but I'm in a phase right now - let's just call it a Bible education phase (because I'm learning, but not necessarily believing with blind faith). And a pastor said to me recently (expounding on his own reflections, not projecting onto me) that no where in the Bible does it say "And then Jesus laughed."
What does this mean? I don't even know, but somewhere, in words that I can't articulate, it shines a light on the fact that our constant chase for perfectionism in happiness causes our depression. We think we're not healthy, not normal. So that makes us more depressed.
You are rocking because you've figured out something that works for you.
and blah, blah, blah, not trying to preach or anything. Just reflections of late.
But, you know...you know. And knowing...isn't that most of the battle? I'm thinking it is, sweetie. That, and, who doesn't feel better when meeting goals and giving oneself a gold star? I do.
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