Post-Partum Depression: I Remember the Then

This post is for Strong Start Day from Kat Stone at Postpartum Progress.

I remember Then. I remember waking up to the screams of my baby girl, another day. Stumbling through what felt like water, brushing the not-quite-sleep from my eyes, wondering how I would get through it.

When my daughter was born through about twenty-four months old, I was in the throes of what I now believe to be undiagnosed PPD.

If only I could've had a crystal ball to the Now, to when I would be doing a job I believed in, that used my skills to their utmost, in a house that would become my Forever Home, with neighbors who invited us to housewarming parties and bought my girl Halloween socks, and not the house that encompassed a leaky, Silence-of-the-Lambs basement and mice and ghetto birds whirling above us at all hours of the night.

I now see the exhaustion in my face.

I wish I could've talked to the me, Then, to tell her all about the me Now.

It's real. PPD is real.

And there is nothing that can comfort you when your brain is telling you it will never be better, that the pain will never go away, that the world as you know it will never return to normal.

It was a slow path away from the job to which I offered nothing and to which nothing was offered me, from the home office with no air condititioning, in which the atmosphere often reached ninety degrees with no solace, no comfort. A slow path from being told I was stupid and inept to a being told I gave writers a path, a gleam of hope. A slow path from three hours a day spent crying and googling sleep solutions to a happy, well adjusted seven-year-old who sits on my lap and rests her nose in my neck and tells me I am the best mommy in all the world.

I'm sure it was confusing and annoying to my love in life, who must've thought the happy, ambitious woman he married had disappered forever, leaving a whining puddle of goo in her wake.

That was the Then.

This is the Now.

I wish I could tell you some amazing story of renewal, a doctor that helped me. I didn't really have that. I had a slow path of waking up each morning and slowly seeing the light. When my daughter finally slept through the night around age four, I started to recover. When I got the therapy that actually made sense to me, my mind stopped waking me in the middle of the night, churning and refusing to go back to sleep. When I finally accepted that I needed some medication to relegate my inadequate brain chemicals, my inordinate influx of stress hormones, and I combined that with visualizations and meditation that enabled me to envision a life walking around walls instead of throwing my body against them, that became the Now.

I am happy.

I didn't think -- in the Then -- that I ever could be.

Again, here, I see emptiness.

It scares me to think how seriously depressed and anxious I was in the Then. I couldn't handle the normal ups and downs of life at all. Every red traffic light and misplaced set of keys became a major crisis, when they needn't have been. We moved here and I lost two cats in a row, one of whom had been my substitute baby for nine years, and that may seem like nothing to most people, but to me, when Sybil died, it was the end of my youth. It was the end of having a wubbie, a talisman. When my first cat died and my daughter was three and we had just moved to this town where I knew no one and couldn't even find the gas station without help, I was hanging on to life as I knew it with my fangs. Life was red in tooth and claw, and I honestly didn't know if I would enjoy it again.

My daughter was three.

It should've been over by then, right?

The brain is a strange organ. It regulates or lacks regulation of happiness. It tells you things will be all right or everything is going to hell in a handbasket, and regardless of you intellectual ability to realize it's all a crock of shit, you believe it. As my former psychologist used to remind me: The intellectual frontal lobe and the reptilian feeling brain are not actually connected all that well. You can understand intellectually that nothing is wrong and if your reptilian brain disagrees, then my friend: You.Are.Fucked.

There was a time, in the Then, that I thought I was. The writing didn't matter. The job didn't matter. Motherhood didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the hurt, and the dark, and the hours without sleep.

As I sat down to think about this post for my friend Kat Stone, whose daughter could be my daughter's twin sister, I realized how happy I really am in the Now. I love my husband, my daughter, my job, my writing, my family, my friends, my life. And with the exception of the job -- nothing has changed but my perception of it.

The mind is a powerful organ.

And sometimes, it is wrong.

If you cry when you read this, if you or a friend or sister is stuck in the Then, please encourage her to get help. Life is short. I wish I could've spent fewer years in the Then. I wish I could've spared my husband and child and family and friends the Me that was in the Then. I wish I could've spared myself the Then.

It was unnecessary.

I didn't learn anything other than it doesn't have to be that way.

Kat has dedicated her online life to supporting those who suffer from PPD. I sincerely wish I had known Kat in the Then. The entire time we've been friends I've been in the Now. But when she asked me to share my experience to raise awareness, I could only say yes.

Because you or someone you know might still be living in the Then.

I welcome all to the Now.

Kat's trying to raise $30k on Postpartum Progress to:

• Develop a compelling national awareness campaign for postpartum depression
• Create & distribute new and improved patient education materials for distribution by hospitals
• Translate our "plain mama English" information and support into Spanish and other languages

If only I'd had that instead of a free blanket in the hospital and a host of instructions for how I could scar my baby for life by doing things wrong. Kat says  only 15% of all women with perinatal mood and anxiety disorders ever receive professional treatment.

I certainly didn't, in the Then. How much more I understand about my brain and how it works and how it impacts not only me but all the people in my sphere. My little girl is a happier girl because I got help. She doesn't have to deal with a mommy who screams and cries every day like she did when she was 0-3.

I'm going to go donate. If you have had PPD or know anyone who has or even who can relate to what I've said here, please help out Kat, who's dedicated her life to helping women overcome what affected both her and me and countless other members of this community of women.

Let's live in the Now.