Ba ba ba, ba ba, baaaaa (my kids) cant touch this!
My husband recently went away for a few days and walked mountains for tits. You know this already of course. But he also went away and took our kids with him, dropping them off at Granny and Grampy’s house for a few days so that I had some Hannah Time. To be still. To be quiet. To leave a book in the lounge and know with certainty when I walk back in to that room after a few hours it would STILL BE THERE.
Some of you may know, I have a history of being a bit ‘blue’ after popping my children. I evict them and along with them I evict my sanity for a while. I like to call it “when I went mental”, but my mum gets upset. Genuinely. She snaps at me;
“DON’T SAY THAT!”
and looks sad and starts frantically tidying things or drying the washing on the draining board. But I think by saying that “I went mental”, which I feel I did, it puts a bit of a funny spin on something serious. She doesn’t agree. But again, for me, once you are feeling better, you need to put a funny spin on not being physically or mentally able to smile for days…I personally find seeking humour in something when you have the strength to, as very healing, for there was a time in my life when I thought it would all be better for everyone if I just went away, for a bit, forever.
It was a bleak period in our house. Post natal depression didn’t just affect me – it INfected my whole house, and went riiiiiight the way down to the sunny old coast where my parents live.
Mum won’t like that I just wrote a whole paragraph on saying “I went mental”. Sorry mum. I can’t dig myself out of this hole. It’s mental!
I still have days when I am blue. But it is “blue” now and not “depressed” and there in lies the difference. And I am very aware of the difference now, which is one of the greatest gifts my children have given me, weirdly. The hormones it took to grow them, reacted with my brain and gave me an allergic reaction to thinking sanely and rationally for a while. But because of that, I walked through the most awful hideous emotional fucking fire ever and came out cleaner and clearer. Does that make sense? Sounds a bit wanky, but lets face it, depression IS wanky.
I may be fine with it and joke about being “mental” – be happy one day and grumpy the next. But it is taking my husband a bit longer and somtimes I find him looking at me when I am having an off day, he will be looking terribly sad and eventually he just blurts out over dinner “are you OK?” which is code for, are you getting down again and do I need to start thinking about taking time off work for when you physically can not get out of bed? Because when I couldn’t, actually couldn’t get out of bed in the mornings, he would be there, he had to be. He hasn’t maybe learnt the difference yet between me being moody mare of me being mental molly.
But gone are those days. And this is probably the main reason we won’t be having anymore children, as far as I am concerned. I can’t risk that again. The package of 3 people I have already are too precious. And it does damage people. When I got better, and did get out of bed, and did start eating and drinking properly, and did stop thinking about how people would be better if I didn’t exist, then I saw etched on the 2 peoples faces I couldn’t hide it from, my husband and my mum, just what I had put them through. You can’t erase that. I can’t feel guilty about it, because I had no control over it, but I do have the power to not do it to them again.
Unlike his song when Richard Ashcrofts (illegal) drugs didn’t work, my (legal) drugs DID work. And now I am a lot better than I was. I think even better than I was before I went mental being pregnant and having those mental pregnant hormones. Coming off the mental drugs after having the boys was like coming out of a warm bath and into fresh open air. The warm bath was soothing and soporiphic. But the air was fresh and invigorating and made me alert and feel again.
It is just, that at the moment, I am struggling. I have had clinical depression, I have had the pills. I know that feeling. I don’t feel numb now, like I did then. I feel, well, I feel if I am brutally honest, fucking shattered and fucking hurt. I am hurt that I feel I am not as good at this as I thought I would be.
You know that scene in Friends where Ross and Monica are arguing because Ross has moved in with her and Rachel? Rachel goes mad and says “YOU KIDS ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY!” because of their CONSTANT bickering? That. That that THAT.
You know the saying “Banging your head against a brick wall?”. That THAT THAT.
You know when your own mum would say “Am I talking to MYSELF?!”. THAT THAT THAT.
Black is white and mole hills are mountains. You know? THAT THAT THAT THAT THAT!
I know these are just natural stages in childrends development. But I’m not alone in going through this right now am I? Please Jesus, say I am not. I wish I could do a less shouty, a better, a more Mary Poppins job – although maybe minus the permanent orgasmic smile she has strapped to her face 24/7 (which annoys me no end) . I try my best. What if my best isn’t good enough? This isn’t the blues talking, I promise you (have already had to convince my husband of that) this is just a “how the hell am I going to get through this stage?”.
Tips and advice greatly appreciated.