You can read Part 1 here.
I wish I could say that I was brave enough to seek help but I didn’t. My husband, Trevor, knew I had Postpartum Depression but was clueless about the anxiety and the hallucinations I was experiencing.
I never knew how I was going to make it through the day let alone the next task. I felt like I was drowning. I was in the depth of despair and yet managed to fake it enough to have everyone fooled.
I hoped things would get better on their own but time passed and it didn’t. When my baby was about 9 months old I started to let Trevor in more and shared how depressed I really was but still keeping him in the dark with everything else I was experiencing. I would just say I need help but neither of us really knew where to go at this point for help.
I held on to little things to get me through. Trevor was able to start working from home when Graysen was 6 months old and we decided to wean him. I let that hope of things getting better with Trevor being around more and not having the stress of nursing. Maybe things would finally get better.
Then when Graysen was 7 months old we moved. The move gave me something to focus on. Packing unfortunately is something I’m all too familiar with doing and I have it down nearly to a science. I jumped right in. When moving day arrived everything was packed in categories and labeled to where it was to be put in the new house.
With moving then came the unpacking and organizing. Another large project I could focus on. Eventually I had nothing left to distract me and I was right back to having my every thought consumed with wanting to die..
Summer is my favorite time of year. You can be outdoors, hiking, gardening, yard work, biking, and so much more. Luckily for me we had a yard to put in. I was a work horse. All in putting this yard together. If Graysen needed to be taken care of I told Trevor if he took care of him I’d keep working.
Soon summer came to an end though. Once again I couldn’t distract my thoughts from my inner demon. I told Trevor I was spiraling and so we tried to give me more breaks from the kids. When you’re this far gone though a little break isn’t going to be enough to help you through.
September or October I really started to say I was “getting bad”. In reality I’d been “bad” for 15 months at this point.
In November my Granddad died. With where I was at mentally and then adding grief on top, it was a difficult time. We decided to send me on a quick trip to England for his funeral. I’d spend as much time flying as I would there. I was gone five days and spending two of those days in England. I arrived home at 3am, it was Thanksgiving morning. I got a total of 3 hours of sleep before being thrown in to being surrounded by extended family on my husbands side.
My children had many food allergies/sensitivities because of this I had to make a separate meal for them and I. I was exhausted. To top things off my children then came down with the flu.
I had had the most amazing break in England given the circumstances and I felt like I came home in the middle of a war zone and was unprepared.
It was then that I knew I had to really tell Trevor what I was struggling with.
I texted him one night while we were in separate rooms putting the kids to bed. It said “Can we talk tonight?”
So when kids were in bed we sat in our own bed just looking at each other. He encouraged me to start the conversation. “So..?” he said.
I looked at him and just broke down sobbing. All I could say is I’m bad babe. So bad. I knew I wouldn’t be able to tell him out loud so I pulled out a letter I wrote earlier that day. It was two pages long trying to explain the depths of my despair. When he finished he looked up at me, touched my knee and said “It’s going to be okay, we’re going to get you help.” and so the journey began on trying to get me help.