I've decided to writing about my experience as a new mother, who's suffering from postpartum depression, mostly as a vent for myself, but maybe it can be of some comfort to another, knowing they aren't alone. I'm six weeks PP up until a week ago I have been in denial of my feelings, and I've probably put them off a lot more than I should. (After all, I'm a mom now, so it's not about me.) The day my baby was born he was taken away from me, we went through 26 hours of labor, that finally ending in an emergency c-section. Already all my plans of love and sacrifice had been tampered with. I was so proud the days before labor, bragging on about bringing my precious baby in the world naturally, and vaginally. I was told he'd be 7.3 pounds at birth, (obviously I knew this was just an estimate.) But I never expected he'd actually be 9.1. Now, that doesn't seem like a HUGE baby, but give I was a 100 pounds(140 nine months pregnant) before pregnancy and only 5'6, he was a fairly large baby. Anyways, those first days in the hospital I felt like a complete failure, and I was miserable. I didn't get to have my baby the way I wanted, and then he was taken from me, while I laid in bed unable to move.(my last minute epidural hit a nerve just right, and I couldn't feel my legs for three days.) I couldn't visit him in the nursery, and I just wanted to see him, he was four days old before I even got to hold him for the first time. I cried and I begged nurses and doctors to just bring him for a minute, I tried desperately to climb into a wheel chair, but fell several times, even with help. They decided I was in no shape to leave bed, much less have my baby in the room with me, so I waited. When I finally made it to the nursery for the first time, I cried as I held him and I thought it was the beginning of happy time. I was wrong. On the happiest day of my life, I was wrong. I couldn't be in the nursery for more than 30 minutes before I became overwhelmed, and have a panic attack. (Not my first, my entire life I've suffered for extreme anxiety.) I was taken from the room, and calmed into sleeping. When I woke up I was even more miserable than before, I didn't know who I was going to raise this child, I had planned on being a stay at home mom, but that was the last time I wanted at that point. I'd had failed my son so much already, and he was only four days old. On day five, he was well enough to be in the room with me, and I had a nurse stay close by to help me. I laid there in bed with him in my arms, and felt guilty. He was perfect and innocent, and I'd failed being there for him in his first days. I had planned on breastfeeding, the first few times we tried it, he had some difficulties latching, but it was working out for the most part. While we spent 6 more days in the hospital, everything was going wonderfully. I had my baby, I was nursing and bonding, and I loved him more than anything in the world. One week after being at home, my fiancƩ's paternity leave was coming to and end. I would be at home with the baby by myself for the first time, and it was probably the most frightening and stressful thought I'd ever had. I could barely take care of myself, how was I going to care for the baby? It was in the days that followed when my postpartum depression really hit, and this is probably the hardest part for me to explain. I hated him, I wished at the time I had never had him. All the planning and trying for him, and I felt like I had made the biggest mistake of my life. I told myself I was a terrible person, and regular mommies don't feel this way. I was convinced that there was something incredible wrong with me, and I hated myself for it. All I had wanted for years was a family, and now that I had one I didn't want it. I felt trapped and isolated. I didn't want to talk about, because I knew people would tell me I was awful. It hit me the hardest the day he started crying, and no matter what I did he would stop, and curled into a ball on his nursery floor and crying myself, we laid there crying together for an hour, until my fiance came home and found us. Of course he was upset at first, the baby was crying and I was doing nothing to sooth him, just swallowed into myself, I hadn't told him how I felt, and I still didn't. I only apologized, assumed my position as mom, and pretended it didn't happen. When he asked about it, I just told him I was tired and stressed out, but I assured him I was okay. I knew I wasn't, I knew I needed help, and I don't know why I didn't ask. Weeks went by, and I found myself ignoring the baby, I had no desire to bond with him, I hate no feelings for him. I only cared for him because I knew I had to. He'd cry for 30 minutes before I'd even flinch, on some occasions I held myself from malicious thought. It wasn't until I fought off harming him I actually asked for help. Three days ago, I convinced myself not to push a pillow over his face as he cried, three days ago I could no longer ignore the problem. Two days ago, I spoke to my doctor, and was proscribed prozac. Until I spoke to my doctor, I never imagined I wasn't alone. There are woman who suffer this way everyday, ashamed to speak up. We don't talk about this issue enough, and it's important. It's important that you don't feel alone, and you get the help you need, you're not the only one, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. Even if you end up like me, I'm not allow to be alone with the baby, I stay at my mother's house now in the day time, but my baby is safe, and I'm on my way to recovery. I know now that one day I won't feel this way, and it gets better. I know that I'm not alone. Forgive me, I am not a great writer. Again, this is for me. I need the vent, and I think it's important that people start talking about this. No one told me about this part, I never expect postpartum depression to be this bed, I've only ever heard it as a joke. The lack of conversation on the subject, has amount driven me over the edge and destroyed my family.
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