The Start of it All

Okay, so tomorrow I have my first appointment with the head doctor. I'm pretty sure I have post partum depression. Its way more fun than it sounds. I've thought about documenting this whole process of trying to get better. Ken thinks I should. So I guess I will. My only concern is some one giving me grief for the thoughts that rattle in my brain. I have a response but I can't really type what I would want to say to them, in the event that would happen. Forgive me, I'm a little on edge tonight and crabby and defensive. I am not looking forward to tomorrow.

I'll give a bit of background as to why I finally decided to seek help before I explain why I'm dreading it. I realized I was pregnant when I was doing dishes one day and I felt terribly depressed. I get that way in the beginning of each pregnancy. I was very surprised and not happy about being pregnant again. It took me about two or three months before I was excited about being a mom again. But all through the pregnancy I struggled with my emotions. So many times I'd try to figure out a way to commit suicide but in such a way that the baby would live. I'm pretty sure that was impossible. I didn't think about those things all the time, just off and on.

In the last 3 1/2 months since I had my baby things haven't gotten better. Really, they've gotten worse. Thoughts of harming the kids terrify me, while thoughts of harming my self have a promise of relief (so to speak). But I know it is a lie. I go further in my imagination and think of what it would be like for Ken or the kids to find me. Or how it would affect my kids for the rest of their lives. My son would blame himself. I can't bear that. So off I go to a psychiatrist to talk and probably get medicated.

I am opposed to all forms of counseling and psychotropic drugs; when it comes to myself that is. If other people need it then that is fine. I have no problems with that and will support that person in their decision. It kills me to finally give in to some thing that for so long I rebelled against.

When I was 12 I was a little wild (my mom may have a stronger word than what I used). My mom, the principal, and my teacher made me see the school counselor to help me work out the issues I was dealing with. I saw her for two years in 5th and 6th grade. She was a whack job and I hated her. Still do as a matter of fact. I was so glad when I stopped seeing her. Then she got a job as a counselor at my high school in my senior year. I had worked very hard not to be the person I was when she knew me. However she still thought I was that person. Every time she saw me she'd say, "so....are you still going to graduate?" I'd seethe in anger and just answer yes and walk away. I finally got up enough nerve to tell her I didn't appreciate it and wanted her to stop. She did. But being forced to see her just really soured me on the whole experience.

Ken is getting home early tomorrow so I can go in. He'll watch the kids. I'm not sure if I'll leave the baby with him since she's nursing. But it will only be for about an hour and a half and there is breast milk in the freezer, so I guess there isn't any reason why she can't stay home with daddy and her big brother and big sister. Ugh, I'm sure this will be better than I imagine it, at least I hope so. I think I need some encouragement in the form of ice cream tonight. I might need cupcakes tomorrow. Maybe all I really need is self medication.