“God, keep my head above water
I lose my breath at the bottom
Come rescue me, I’ll be waiting
I’m too young to fall asleep”

– Avril Lavigne- Head Above Water-

*Talk of Postpartum Psychosis and suicide*

My baby was two weeks old when I started to feel crazy. Crazy was the only word I could use to describe it. Even so I just told my husband I had postpartum depression. I knew in my heart it wasn’t, but I hoped it anyway. I was well versed with postpartum depression as I had experienced it after each child as well as postpartum anxiety. Before the birth of my fourth baby I’d never heard of postpartum psychosis.

I wasn’t sure at first if I was just “seeing” things or if they were really there. At first that’s all it was. A shadow out the corner of my eye.  Paranoid someone was following me at all times. Even in my own home. I could feel them watch me through the window as I moved from room to room.

My baby was three weeks old the first time I knew I was seeing someone. It was dark outside as I stood rocking side to side trying to get him to fall asleep. I saw the man, knowing he had a gun and that he wanted me dead. I felt so panicked. I didn’t know what to do.. so I held still hoping if I didn’t move he wouldn’t see me. He obviously didn’t kill me and I wondered why he hadn’t. It terrified me. It was from this point on nearly every time I walked out of my house I thought I would be killed.

As odd as this sounds it scared me to think of being murdered but in my mind I could see in great detail what I planned to do to end my life. As time went on seeing my plan on repeat like a movie in my mind I’d become completely numb to the idea.

Struggling, drowning, unable to breathe. These words can’t begin to describe the agony I felt everyday. I wasn’t sure how I’d make it through the next task. I didn’t know how I was going to keep my kids alive each day. The thought of having to feed them made me cry because it was so overwhelming. Getting my son ready and then load the kids up to take him to school gave me such bad anxiety. It exhausted me.

My husband would head out the door in the morning, kissing me goodbye. I’d hold onto him till the last second and often cry. He never understood why but all that was running through my mind was I don’t know if I’ll still be here when you come home. I could never get myself to say that though. If I had things would have turned out differently.

Nursing nearly killed me in itself but somehow also saved me. My baby had a lot of food sensitive’s and some food allergies. I had to follow a strict diet to keep his tummy happy. It was so difficult with the state of mind I was in but him also needing to eat every hour and I being the only one who could feed him gave me enough mom guilt to keep going somedays.

All day I looked forward to bedtime. I’m not sure why as I was waking every hour to feed  a baby. Maybe I thought I’d get a break from my demons, yet I never did. Even so every day I still looked forward to bed, and dreaded the sunrise.

My babe was only 4 months old when I decided on an end date. I had family photos scheduled because I thought the least I could do was leave them with photos. The morning of the family photos the photographer called and told me she was down with the flu and needed to reschedule for two weeks out. I graciously said “Of course, hope you feel better” but moments later was filled with rage and bawled because I needed those family photos to leave them with.

My husband was at work so I let him know no need to come home early, the photos had been rescheduled. I then sat and cried for a good while when my mother in law offered to come get the oldest three to give me a break. Left with only my baby I fed him, laid him in the swing, and walked into my room fully intending to go through with ending my life anyway.

I made it just past my bed when I fell on the floor sobbing, furious with God. Somehow I found myself laying on my bed. I was crying harder than I ever had before. I don’t remember what I said now but I know there was a lot of anger and swearing in there. Then I heard it, my baby was crying. Starving. I looked at the clock and I couldn’t believe two hours had passed. It wasn’t long enough. Somehow I managed to get up, walk out there and pick up my baby. Somehow I managed to sit down and nurse him, staring at the wall. I couldn’t look at him. I still blamed him for this nightmare.

I got a text, my kids were coming home. My heart sank. I wasn’t ready to deal with them too but it was also because I’d ran out of time to end my life. I’d now have to wait for another opportunity. My will to be a good mother always managed to over power my will to die.

I could hear them approaching  the front door. Time to put my game face back on.. nobody could know what I was dealing with on the inside.

I’m Pissed, There I said it

I’m not comfortable with anger. It’s something I’ve avoided dealing with my whole life. I’d rather let things roll off my back than get angry. But if I do get angry I give myself an allotted time to feel it then get over it.

Well unfortunately anger is part of the grief cycle. Yeah, I wasn’t too pleased about it either. It’s a hard emotion to face. It’s an uncomfortable emotion to feel. To just sit in. To allow.

I have a lot I’m grieving through right now. The loss of what was taken from me upon finding out I was pregnant. The loss of my mental health that was triggered by my sons birth. The loss of just mentally being there the first two years of his life because of it. The loss of not bonding with him.

Through all this grieving I’ve landed myself squarely in the anger phase. I’ll say it, I’m PISSED! I’m so pissed I’ve gone through all this. Then I’m pissed that it could have been something magical after he was born but it was far from it. I’m pissed I was one of the “lucky” ones who got to experience postpartum psychosis. I’m pissed.

Life most often doesn’t go the way we expect. We have to learn to deal with that. Growth never happens in your comfort zone. It happens when you step outside it, or in my case was forced outside it. Rather pushed really hard, really far from my comfort zone.

Some days I really feel that angry. It’s in my chest and is roaring to get out. It’s on fire. Some days it’s more recognizing I wish I could go back before all “this” happened. I wish I could go back to the days of just my three boys and I playing trucks on the floor with the sun shining in. The smell of pancakes filled the room because making breakfast for them every morning was something I loved to do. I wish I could see their smiling faces, and hear their laughs as I played crazy with them. I wish I could go back.

But then I think of my fourth son, I think of his goofiness, his laughter, his energy. I think of him running circles with his brothers trying his hardest to be a big boy. I think of his smile as I push him in the swing. Or the joy on his face as he gets into the bike trailer. I think of the smirk he gives me out of the corner of his eye as he steals the last sip of my coffee. When I think of these things I have to think of what he’s added to the family. He didn’t take any of those other things away from me. He is a baby, he’s not responsible for me not getting down on the floor and playing, for not making breakfast every morning. My mental health is responsible. That’s who is to blame. That’s what to get angry at. That is what I am angry at. Even so it took me many many months to remove the blame from my child. He is the evidence of all that took place in my life but not who is to blame. It took me till he was 18 months to remove the blame from him. I think looking back that was the first step in creating a bond with him.

So even though I don’t like saying I’m angry I’m going to sit in it as long as I need to. I’m going to face it head on and not try to shove it aside. I’m going to yell at it, cry over it, and write about it. I’m going to swear at it and be pissed at it. Then at some point I’m going to be able to walk right through it and will be a stronger woman because of it.

What Brought Me Here: Part 5

You can read Part 1, 2, 3, and 4 here.


I was numb. I was exhausted, always fighting to keep my eyes open. I was gaining weight rapidly and all of this frustrated me. The medication that I was put on in the hospital that ultimately saved my life had many unpleasant side effects.

I literally felt nothing. I was put on an anti-psychotic which numbed me from feeling. It was designed to knock you out and I was nearly on a full dose of it to stabilize me. I also mentally struggled with the weight gain. Nothing fit. I had gained 40 lbs in 3 three weeks… With a weight gain that fast I was devastated. I had to wait nearly four weeks after being released from the hospital to see the psychiatrist. In the meantime life was still really hard. The only improvement made was that I no longer wanted to end my life and I was no longer being haunted by hallucinations. Continue reading

What Brought Me Here: Part 4

*This blog post is an excerpt from my journal. Trigger warning: suicidal thoughts, and hospitalization*

You can read Part 1, 2, and 3 here.

Written Feb 14, 2019. Events took place the end of January.


I don’t think any husband imagines a day when he’d have to walk his wife into the mental hospital. I sure don’t think mine did. We’d been married nearly 7.5 years when my postpartum mental illness finally escalated out of control. It had gradually gotten worse after each birth. Now four sons in I could see no way out.

It was exactly 18 month prior we found ourselves driving to the birthing center for the birth of our unexpected son. He would be the caboose of our family, totaling four boys in five years.

Now 18 month later I sobbed as my husband drove to the mental hospital. I wouldn’t be home there next morning to see my baby be 18 months. I wouldn’t get a picture of us. What hurt the most was the reality that I could never be in another photo again. Never be at another birthday, never play with my kids again. I could steal all those innocent kid years from them in an instant when I wasn’t being myself. Continue reading