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Remember when I wrote this?
I have been overwhelmed by my life lately. I’m not sure if it’s PPD lingering or if it’s overcommitment or a combination, but I am struggling with my new role as a full-time work-at-home-mom of two.
Struggling is the tip of the iceberg, to tell you the truth.
I feel like a fraud.
I confessed that I feel like I’m drowning in commitments, that I’m struggling with time management, that I’m falling apart.
That’s what I said, right?
It’s what I meant to say.
I am falling apart.
Or I was.
I’m not any more.
For some time, I’ve been pretending to have PPD.
No, pretending is the wrong word. Pretending would imply some conscious thought, careful planning.
I haven’t been pretending. I have been assuming. I’ve been blaming everything – the irrational anger, the irritability, the fits of hysterical crying, the feeling that I’m drowning, the overwhelming worry about money – on PPD.
PPD, postpartum depression, is simple. It’s expected. It’s not nice, but it’s neat, manageable. People recover from PPD, get over it, get better. There are entire networks of people, kind, thoughtful, normal people, who have experienced PPD and survived and recovered. Become normal again.
Recovered.
Normal.
For the last few months, I have been a tower of cards, teetering, one gentle breeze away from crashing to the ground.
The breeze came. It came on my birthday, when I couldn’t get out of bed and wanted to kill myself more than anything.
It came one morning last week, when I found a dead hermit crab I’d worked so hard to save.
It came another morning when I put Allie down and she screamed in frustrated protest and then got poop everywhere as I took off a dirty diaper.
The breeze. Something that had happened many times before without incident, without damage.
A gentle, non-threatening breeze toppled my tower and left me broken, unable even to survey the damage or get up to gather the pieces.
This is not postpartum depression.
I sought help. First my doctor, then a Crisis Center, then a Behavioral Health Center (which really is a euphamism for psychiatric facility).
Now I know. This is bipolar disorder.
This is not something from which I’ll recover or get over or move past. This will not go away, but it can be managed.
This is not me. This is not my personality. This is an illness.
This no more defines me than my struggle with weight or headaches or narcolepsy. It is a medical issue, needing to be managed.
I am getting better. I am rebuilding my tower one fragile piece at a time. I’m taking a new medication. I’m attending a partial hospitalization program.
I’m learning.
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Beautifully said, my friend. So glad to know that you are on the path to recovery and getting the care you deserve.
Thank you, Jessica. Thanks for commenting, but more importantly, thank you for encouraging me to get help. I owe you so much.
Love you, sweetheart! Take care of yourself, and do what you need, and we’ll be here xoxo
i needed to read this for my own reasons. you are so brave and i thank you.
xo
Tara,
As someone who suffers from manic depression, and has survived PPD twice, I can tell you that I’ve been down that road, sometimes go back down that road, and you are not alone. YOU ARE NOT ALONE!!!!!!! Please know that there are friends, like me, who are here fro you. You will come out the other side feeling like an all new you, and what could be better right? You’re awesome, you should know that! Take care of yourself, and remember most of all to forgive yourself, for you did not make this happen. <3
I had no idea, Candice. I have been thinking that I couldn’t possibly know anyone with this who’s managing it successfully. I have been really worried about that, actually. I’m so thankful that you (and several others) have reached out to say that you are in the same boat, and that you’re doing just fine. You are awesome, and you’ve given me so much hope.
I found this post on Twitter. This is very brave and the realization that so many of us come to is not an easy one. I was finally diagnosed in November after years of back and forth, of inexplicable mood shifts, of a whole lifetime wondering why nothing ever stuck, why I always felt …wrong. You have a long road ahead of you — It took me some time to find the right medication, and I finally found it and have been relatively stable for over six months now. That drug is lithium, and one I was terrified of at first b/c it has such a terrible reputation, but it’s truly incredible, inexpensive, and much less intense than some of the other drugs out there like Abilify.
Anyway, the most important thing for you is to get into a routine and get a lot of sleep. My psychiatrist always tells me I need at least 8-9. Lack of sleep and big changes are what push most people into hypomania or depression. Good luck, and thanks for writing this!
Sending you a great big cyber hug and lifting up prayers right now, friend…
{{hugs}} Tara, and love and prayers sent your way!
{{{{{{hugs}}}}}}}
You are wonderful. To take the steps to find your diagnosis must have been difficult, to receive and accept your diagnosis must have been difficult, and still be hard at times. But to do those things, you have enhanced your life and your family’s life. You are wonderful!
I was so sad to read about how much you’re struggling, but very happy that you seem to have turned a corner and are on the road to a better place! BIG hugs to you.
I am new to this site and so far, I am loving it! I must say how very brave you are for admitting you are struggling with an illness!!! It shows great strength. Thoughts and prayers are being sent your way as you learn to deal with things and as you care for your sweet children!
Tara, your words speak volumes for what you’ve been going through and for others who live with Bipolar. I commend you for getting help and sharing your story. You have my support and I know there are others who will be there for you too. Yes, Bipolar is an illness and only medication can help, but going to the program will do wonders for you too. I wish you the best.
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