Remember those God-awful essays in school?  SO boring & pointless.  Because you’d drone on & on about the pool and tulips & bonding with your mother when in reality, you spent your spring break on your period, hating the world until you were TRIPLE-DOG-DARED to make-out with Brace-face Brian behind the bushes outside the tennis courts.  & if that weren’t bad enough, your older brother taught you a Boy Scout song about whacking the willy.

NOT THAT I EVER HAD A SPRING BREAK LIKE THAT, MOMMA & DADDY.

& not that I get Spring Breaks anymore.  But this spring, I took a week off.

& spent it in the hospital.

For those of you that have been wondering where I’ve been this past week, you could find me in the postpartum psych ward of a local hospital, per my doctor’s orders & by my own will.  Because I was a shadow of the person I used to be & that is no way to live.  I laid low all weekend & on Monday, May 17th, I was admitted with severe postpartum depression with presentation of psychosis.

I had hit a new low – a combination of the trigger from the screaming baby at my support group & an over-medication of my drugs back-firing on me.  I was on an incredibly high dose of anti-depressants, which sent the already present patterns of postpartum psychosis into a rapid, terrifying tail spin.  & so for a week, I have lived at the hospital, eating decently mediocre hospital food, writing THE OLD FASHIONED WAY, & desperately anticipating daily visits from my family.

It took a week of intense therapy & a lightening fast change of meds that can only be done in-patient (that also leads to wicked withdrawel symptoms).  & I still have a long way to go.  But I am on new meds & definitely feeling more like myself than I have in almost seven moths.

& to that I say, “Hello, Blair.  Welcome back.  I missed the hell out of you.”