The Downward Spiral | Heir to Blair

How I Spent My Spring Break.

24 May posted by heirtoblair

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.”

HeirtoBlair500x150 v41 How I Spent My Spring Break.

228 Comments
Filed Under: Postpartum Depression, the downward spiral, the uphill battle, Things I didn't understand until I birthed a child, Things that aren't perfect despite my best efforts

This wasn’t Quizzilla.

30 Apr posted by heirtoblair

One of my greatest resources & comforts over the past few months has been Katherine from Postpartum Progress. She has been wonderful support, full of grace, & I’m thankful to soon contribute to a project to raise awareness. That being said, today she posted this on her site:

Shelley Burdine-Prevost, a researcher in Tennessee with a clinical specialty in PPD, has asked me to invite my readers to participate in a survey on postpartum adjustment and variables related to a positive transition to motherhood. She wants to learn what helps some women make this adjustment better than others. In order to participate, your baby must have been born in the last 12 months.

I took the quiz.

I cried the entire time.

1. I had trouble sleeping even when my baby was asleep.
ABSOLUTELY. I could not nap when he napped. I figured that was normal, especially of Type-A’s that never shut up. What caught me by surprise was the slow build to not being able to go to sleep at night. & stay asleep.

2. I got anxious over even the littlest things that concerned my baby.
Not at all. In the beginning, I was the calmest mother you had ever seen. Until the screaming began & I became mildly hysterical for a few weeks. & then…I dulled. Until I didn’t care. I was numb. If he screamed, I just stared at him. Because I had no idea what to do & I knew nothing I could try would work.

3. I felt like my emotions were on a roller coaster.
Strongly agree. I still do. It’s how one day, I can be oozing over an iPod Cozy, offer it up for a giveaway, while simultaneously balancing clients, makign dinner, & learning to sew all in one day. That’s the “old” Blair. Then sometimes, “PPD Blair” rears her ugly head & I’m sobbing under the covers, begging to be admitted, knowing I don’t even have the will to exist. It’s probably why some people who read my blog think I’m a “train wreck” that is never consistant. THAT’S WHAT MY LIFE FEELS LIKE.

4. I felt like I was losing my mind.
So many times I put my hands on my head & squeezed. Right on my temples. Trying to make my thoughts stop. Trying to make my brain stop. I thought I was going insane – manic in emotions, actions, moods. Snapping at my husband, screaming at the dog, losing my shit on the mailman. I would walk into work silently chanting, “Don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t scream” & everytime someone said “Good morning!” to me, it was all I could do to not run screaming. Some days still feel like that. I WAS GOING CRAZY.

5. I was afraid I would never be my normal self again.
Well, duh. Every new mother feels that. I was afraid my vagina would never heal, I’d never see my weight under 200, & I would smell like vomit the rest of my life. “What’s that intoxicating scent you are wearing?” Nate will ask me over dinner at the retirement community. “Oh, baby puke!” I will answer with a wave of my brittle hand.
Those worries past. The physical Blair came back. The mental Blair LEFT THE FUCKING BUILDING. (Sorry, Momma) & I am still terrified that I will never feel stable again. I am afraid I will be on anti-depressants the rest of my life. I’m afraid. & so I go with a veangence, trying to “re-claim” Blair & create a new, better version that can sew & read the Bible & do all these amazing things on the outside, even if mental Blair has LEFT THE FUCKING BUILDING for all eternity.

6. I felt like I was not the mother I wanted to be.
This is where I started sobbing. I couldn’t breathe. No. I am not the mother I want to be, even though now Harrison is the baby every dreams of having. I do not deserve him. STOP. STOP, Blair. STOP.

7. I have thought that death seemed like the only way out of this living nightmare.
Not suicide. Just simply not existing. Some moments, I want to stop existing. Those moments when PPD Blair is in full force, I want to be Sleeping Beauty. Not exist during the battle, the darkness. & wake up myself again in a few months.

8. I lost my appetite.
I’ve lost over 33lbs. I think that speaks for itself.

9. I felt really overwhelmed.
Yes. & no. Some days, my emotions of being overwhelmed paralize me & I can barely find my way to my desk at work. Other days, I am a MACHINE. Kicking tails, taking names, completing everything on my to-do list & then pinning on my SuperMom cape with 5 minutes to spare. I refer you back to #3 and #4.

10. I was scared I would never be happy again.
Terrified.

11. I could not concentrate on anything.
Or, I was concentrating on EVERYTHING until I was on scensory overload. Again, polar opposites.

12. I felt as though I had become a stranger to myself.
Y’all know how you miss the “old Blair?” I do, too. I miss her. I miss her sarcasm & finding joy & hilarity in the tiniest details of life. I miss her wit & spark & ability to feel EVERYTHING, when some days, I sit completely numb. Unmotivated. Angry. Jealous. Everything I have never been. Who is this new person?? & if she’s here forever, do I learn to live with her or do I hate myself the rest of my life? Again, I am afraid.

13. I felt like so many mothers were better than me.
They stay home. They go to work. They handle sick babies. They don’t feel numb to their child’s cries. They don’t crawl into the shower 3 times per day. They feed their child at night. They eat & keep house & make dinner. They go through EVERYTHING on the surface that I’ve gone through, but made it out still intact. & I didn’t. & I don’t know why.

14. I started thinking that I would be better off dead.
No. My “passive death wish” was not about me, as I’ve described in earlier posts. I wish I wanted myself dead sometimes.

15. I woke up in the middle of the night & had trouble getting back to sleep.
Blair, meet sleep aides. You’ll be enjoying each other for at least six months to stop ritualistic 3am bedchecks & curb exhaustion. Please send your psychiatrist a plate of cookies at Christmas in thanks.

16. I felt like I was jumping out of my skin.
Exploding was more like it. Manic energy. MANIC. It’s how last weekend, I planted a garden, learned to sew, painted a room in my house, took care of a baby, cleaned my house, & managed a blog. In 48 hours. It’s why my knee never stops shaking, especially in stressful situations. This is an aspect of Postpartum Anxiety. We’re trying to simmer me down. In fact, my assignment this week is to get a massage. Nice, right? A doctor-ordered massage? I WOULD RATHER GET MY TEETH PULLED. The idea of being still & quiet & alone with my thoughts for an hour terrifies me. If you see a tall girl running screaming from a massage parlor with crazy eyes & a skimpy towel, please pick me up & take me to my doctor. Or mother. kthanx.

17. I cried a lot for no reason.
No. Not at all. I never cried. Which is why The Momma was so shocked when I told her, very calmly one morning at the kitchen table, that I had PPD. I told her so calmly, so monotone. I might as well have told her we were having chicken for dinner. There had been no crying fits, no sobs of “I can’t do this!”

a few redundant questions…

21. I wanted to hurt myself.
Yes. One day, I will tell you about this. If you are going through this now & need someone to just listen, email me.

more redundancy…

23. I felt all alone.
& I focused on it. Obsessively. How I was the ONLY one of my friends that went back to work full time, with no adjusted “mommy hours.” How I was the only one not at play group. I was the only one at lunch without my baby. I was the only one with PPD. That’s why this blog is medicine – it reminds me that I’m NOT ALONE.

24. I have been very irritable.
Explosive quivering underneath the facade of calm. Sometimes it shows, on here & in real life.

25. I had a difficult time even making a simple decision.
A simple question of “What do you want for lunch?” had the potential of sending me into a downard spiral, so guilty that I was so frozen I didn’t even have the will to decide. On the other hand, some days I was so impulsive that I could not reign myself in. It’s why our dining room is now blue & why I was putting together a bookshelf at 11pm on a Tuesday night.

26. I felt like I was not normal.
The whole idea that I’m not going through anything different or special…but I just can’t cope. As my doctor says – common? yes. normal? no.

27. I felt like I had to had what I was thinking or feeling towards the baby.
Yes. & even now. If I have a good day where I’m sunshine & rainbows towards him, I’m “fake.” If I have a bad day, I’m a baby-hater that uses my child for attention. Throw in the constant fear that people will automatically label me as a baby-killer & BAM! you’ve got me clamming up, putting on a smile, & throwing a birthday party complete with homemade cheddar dill scones. There has been no way to defend myself, describe, or make you understand how manic my days & moods can feel.

28. I knew I should eat, but could not.
Blair, meet Carnation Instant Breakfast.

29. I felt like my baby would be better off without me.
I googled adoption agencies & that was my final low-blow before calling the OB. So I think we can easily say “yes” on this one.

blah blah blah

32. I felt like I was not real.
Numb. Plastic. Crazy. I still feel this way.

Now…do you get it? Do you understand it a little more – the manic attitude? It’s classic symptoms. How one day, I’m farting rainbows & the next day, I want to throw my life & everything out the window.

It confuses me, too.

You’ve seen me on video being silly. Laughing, making faces, giggling with Harrison & Nate. Those are good moments.

But there are bad ones, too. They’re just not as fun to watch. When I don’t know what to do, where to go, & there’s nowhere I can go. So I talk. & nobody’s there to listen. & looking back, I don’t even know why I recorded it, except maybe as a scream for help in the moment.

74 Comments
Filed Under: Postpartum Depression, the downward spiral, the uphill battle

The downward spiral.

8 Mar posted by heirtoblair

I’ve decided to bypass McFatty Monday this week (but only for a week!) because I think it’s time to finally post this. I think I finally feel brave enough & my God, I hope I don’t regret this by spilling some of the most vulnerable parts of my current life. There may be some people that don’t understand, that feel I can simply “stop” feeling sad. There may be some that want to write that PPD is a crock of shit, that I sound like I am blaming my baby, my job, etc. when I should blame myself. I am not blaming anyone & I am working hard not to blame myself. There is no blame to place, other than some wiring gone wrong in my brain between chemicals & hormones.

But I feel it is important to share & from all the emails I’ve received on the subject, it is fair that I share. Fair to those that pray, fair to those that follow me. Fair to those that wonder in the depths of their souls, “Do I have it?” May this help. Somehow. Help to ease pain, help to open eyes, help to beat down the shame & stigma of postpartum depression.

I wrote this post a few weeks ago, right after the diagnosis. In the middle of the night, when I no longer slept. Trying to figure out, “How the hell did this happen & where do I go from here?” The answers to the first question are coming slowly in therapy. The second answer only has one answer – “Up.” Where am I right now in the battle against PPD? I am seeing a psychiatrist that specializes in Reproductive Mood Disorders, at a specialty clinic. I am thankful for that opportunity. I have been diagnosed with severe Post Partum Depression and Post Partum Anxiety. I take both anti-depressants and anxiety medication every day, along with weekly therapy sessions. I am determined to go up from here, with the help of my friends & family & keeping focus on what is most important – my son & my marriage.

_________________________________________

You know those posts where you think you might vomit just thinking about posting maybe, possibly, unlikely, but one day when you’re “strong enough?”

This is one of those posts. Written, not knowing if it will ever be published. Written, quite possibly to be deleted in the near future. Written because most days, I don’t have the guts to admit these.

People want to know about the PPD. Of course they do. They want to know what my “signs” were. How I knew I had it. The sliding backwards, the low point, & the crash. The gory details of how my life started unraveling. They were terrifying to experience. They are terrifying to put into words because they make me face this illness & insanity.

I was depressed from my sophomore year to my senior year in college. A chemical imbalance caused by a mixture of heart medications & outside influences (like my high school sweetheart cheating on me with his class partner. oh, & the discovery of alcohol). A few years on Celexa did the trick sans therapy, but I knew going into pregnancy that I had a massive red “X” on my back for PPD – those with a history of depression are more susceptible to it. & so prior to Harrison’s arrival, Nate & I talked in-depth about PPD. What signs to look for. I spoke to my family about it & to my friends. Asked them to just…keep an eye on me.

& then Harrison arrived. & my God, he was beautiful. & perfect. I was so in love that I thought I would literally explode into a trillion little pieces. Or that I would lie him on a mirror, chop him up into tiny pieces & snort him like cocaine, just to be thatclose to how he smelled after a bath. So many commented on how competent I seemed in real life with him – calm, collected, confident. Like I was BORN for motherhood. & it felt like the most instinctual calling in my life. I never even turned on the baby monitor because I was so sure that I took care of him correctly – there was no room for doubt or need of back-up.

& then the screaming started. & every moment he cried, it shredded down my confidence until every scream was a resounding “BAD MOTHER! BAD MOTHER!” in my ears. I used to lay him in the crib, still screaming, & crawl into the shower for 30 minutes. Turn it up until the water burned me & sob my eyes out. I yearned to return to work, simply to escape him.

Yet when I returned to work, I felt even more despair. I likened returning to work as a “polar plunge” to my entire system – emotional, physical, & just life in general. I did no justice to myself by a) starting birth control & b) beginning a hard-core diet that same week. I struggle not to feel like I brought this upon myself with those decisions. I felt such a state of shock at both work & home that I could not function. I was distracted & forgetful at work. Exhausted beyond comprehension at home. Miserable. Constantly choking back tears & fighting against the guilt that pounded down for leaving my child. I always knew I had to be a working mom at a job I adored & embraced it before Harrison – what the hell was my problem now?? Had I changed that much in 13 weeks? & even if I did, other mothers want to stay home yet go to work – why am I fighting this so hard? WHY IS IT SO DIFFICULT FOR ME, when everyone else pulls their shit together?! I felt like my head pounded constantly with “bad mother, wife, employee, daughter, etc” guilt and self-hate. & so I would stare longingly at Harrison’s pictures, counting down the moments until 5 o’clock.

But unable to go see him at lunch. I couldn’t handle the guilt I felt for working when I saw him. & I couldn’t handle that in the middle of the day, I felt like he didn’t recognize me. He would cry with me, but then grin the moment my parents walked in the room. Knife, meet heart. Stab & twist accordingly. So I stopped going completely.

& then stopped giving him his bedtime bottle. I claimed it was because that was his time with Nate, but the truth was that I couldn’t handle the emotions. Every time I fed him at night, tears spilled over his little blonde head. I was so sorry that I didn’t go see him at lunch. I was so sorry that I worked. I was so sorry that I wasted maternity leave wishing I was at work. I was so sorry that he didn’t smile for me, that he didn’t seem to know me. I was so sorry that I couldn’t bear to be around him anymore. I was so sorry that he didn’t get a better mother.

One day during the final week of maternity leave, I finally got Harrison to nap after hours of rocking & soothing…only to have Tucker wake him up 10 minutes later, barking at the mail truck. I screamed. & swore profanity that would probably char the devil’s ears. & thought about all the ways I could kill her. & not in the, “ZOMG, I could totally kill my dog! j/k!” way. In the sense that I am eternally thankful that we do not own a gun. Because I would have shot her. When I told Nate that night, he laughed, thinking I was just being my typical overly-dramatic self. I tried to chuckle & tell myself that he was right – I was being dramatic & silly.

But I still knew, deep down, that I would have hurt her. & that frightened me. It is so out of character & not normal.

When I first returned to work, I had a nightmare about driving down a dark road & fixing my hair while I drove. On the radio, they were discussing a man that was notorious for driving while on a cocaine high. Harrison was in the back in his seat & I looked up to see blazing bright lights hurtling towards us. & a crash. The car flipped 3 times & I floated up above it. & woke up panting with fear. It just seemed so real. Every morning commute after that, I pictured that car crash. At first, I felt afraid. & then slowly, the “dream” and the emotion changed. I started picturing a truck, side-swiping the Subaru right into the baby seat. Right into Harrison. & I didn’t feel fear. I felt calm. Relief. Like…THANK GOD.

I’ll pause in writing this so that everyone can say WHISKY. TANGO. FOXTROT. all together now.

& even that didn’t make me run to the nearest mental hospital. Nor did the visions of my mother-in-law dropping him off the top of the stairs. & I would picture every single stair he hit. Or Nate backing over him in the driveway. A daycare worker, shaking him. Or the dog biting him. Because, I rationalized, it wasn’t me hurting him. It was always someone else! I was safe!

& then the guilt would come crushing down. WHAT KIND OF MOTHER HAS THOSE THOUGHTS?! What kind of mother thinks of her baby being hurt & instead of crippling with fear, she replays car crashes in her head? The kind that doesn’t deserve to be a mother. & so two weeks ago, I googled adoption agencies.

You wanted to know my low point? The “crash” that sent off red sirens screaming that something felt off? That was it. I googled options for giving Harrison up for adoption.

It’s not that I wanted to give him up. At all. I just felt like he deserved better. For 24 hours, I walked around like a zombie, wondering what was happening to me. Hiding from the truth that I KNEW was there. On Tuesday night, I told Nate that I needed to call my OB because I “just didn’t feel right” (we’ll call that the understatement of the decade). On Wednesday morning, the diagnosis came.

I’ve started an anti-depressant, working upwards to a “therapeutic” level, plus an anti-anxiety twice per day. & I’m seeing a psychiatrist for both postpartum depression and postpartum anxiety. I am praying that they will begin working quickly.

But for now, I still hear Harrison scream when I’m in the shower. Even though he is sound asleep in his crib.

192 Comments
Filed Under: Postpartum Depression, the downward spiral

First step.

19 Feb posted by heirtoblair

I have PPD.

Post partum depression.

I literally feel like my chest is closing in on me, reading those words.

I suspected it for awhile, but the official diagnosis came this past Wednesday morning after a sob-filled, hyperventilating discussion with my OB. I just kept sliding downhill. & as much as I knew it was a possibility & as much of an advocate as I am for getting help, I’ve been terrified to admit it or face it. I just kept thinking it was all circumstantial & would get better. First it was the screaming. It will get better when that stops. It will get better when I get used to work. It will get better when I’m off birth control. It will get better when my period stops.

But it just keeps getting worse. Until I began feeling like my entire life was shutting down at a speed that I cannot keep up with.

To be honest – this is an incredibly hard post to write. I want to assure you that I never have & never will hurt Harrison. I am getting help in both therapy & medication now, but I am ashamed to say that it took me four months to realize that the thoughts & feelings I have are not normal. I am afraid. Nate is scared, but being strong. & my family is worried but offering incredible support – I am lucky to have them. But I am grasping to the hope that there me be a light in front of me…eventually. The simple admission is already making me shake as I type, but it would be an injustice to myself & anyone else suffering to keep this quite.

Because the term “suffering” from postpartum depression has never felt more accurate.

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Filed Under: Postpartum Depression, the downward spiral, the uphill battle