It feels as though there are invisible hands choking me.
The grip is tighter sometimes than others.
At this moment? It’s tight. I’m afraid to move for fear of it truly overtaking me again like it did on Friday.
It gets tighter when Cody isn’t next to me. And at the moment he’s not. And tomorrow he’ll be back at work.
I’m not looking forward to tomorrow.
Some may say codependency, I say he’s the only safe thing I know when the real me is lost.
I’ve been slinking around the Internet reading the words so many of you have written. I want so desperately to be able to reach out to you, to help you the way you’ve helped me. I occasionally stare at twitter and skype wanting so badly to get involved with my friends and with people whom I’ve never met who are pulling for me. But it doesn’t last. I can’t keep it up.
Maybe you know what I mean?
And sleep isn’t coming easily. Which makes this even harder for me. Being wide awake with my misfiring brain when the rest of the world is fast asleep? It’s hard. Last night an owl kept me company. Which in theory sounds like a lovely thing to have keep you company, but if you’ve never heard an owl? They’re unsettlingly loud. Add the whole dark mysterious forest in the back yard to to equation and I kind of miss the fire trucks, modified mufflers and domestic battles that lulled me to sleep in the city.
This time is hard. Because I don’t know how or when it’s going to end. Or what the future holds for my brain. So much talk goes around about postpartum depression, and I didn’t do so well last time. But if you’re one of the lucky ones who has exasperated antenatal depression? Well. It’s kind of like coming up with a battle strategy for leaving the fire for the frying pan, where you have to bring a tiny little baby and your family along with you.
I want desperately to be worrying about nursery colors and arranging bitty baby clothes, not “How am I going to make it to Friday?”
I am grateful for the tiny little reprieve I got between the shock, the worry, the transition, the sickness, the something may be wrong, the anxiety and now this. My memory is pretty talented to have blocked out so much of what I went through the first time. It covered my postpartum fears with delivery fears and it covered those with antenatal depression fears. It then covered those fears with the fear of miscarriage or something being wrong. Those were covered up with the deep and abiding fear of being sick while the whole situation was covered in the giant overwhelming fear that I would never have another baby of my own to rock to sleep.
As I tear through the layers, vividly remembering each one I also remember there’s a reason I wanted to do this again. There’s a reason people have more babies. There’s a reason people fight and spend and never give up hope to get babies here.
Which also reminds me. Baby books, especially the parts about delivery? Are not a comforting distraction when your brain is wrecked.
This never will be easy for me, but at least someone promised me somewhere along the way that it would be worth it.
(At 1:31…just watch it.)