moosh in indy.

I have felt pretty fantastic for the last few months, emotionally at least, physically? Not so much. And when I say I’ve felt emotionally fantastic I mean in regards to depression because to be honest there was a three week time between positive pregnancy test and chilling the chill out that I wasn’t so fun to be around. And when I say I wasn’t fun to be around I mean that Cody hated being around me because he was the one I would emotionally unload on.

And there was that one teensy tiny (enormous) panic episode when I landed in Canada after almost dying/barfing/crying in the plane getting there, followed by me being held by customs, followed by an unexpected bus ride…other than that! Golden!

Cody told me the other night that my belly button gets sad when I’m pregnant.

I have such an innie that it never became an outie or even a flattie when I was pregnant with Addie. And unbeknownst to me, it apparently looked sad.

Currently it appears as though I am smuggling a Homer sized donut under my shirt from the front and from the side it appears as though I am in a perpetual state of doughboy poke.

I can only assume it is revenge on Pilsbury’s part.

But back to my emotions, my feeeeelings.

Yesterday as I plunked my weary body in front of my SAD lamp (as is my morning ritual during Indiana winters) I started to think about how depression and pregnancy share so many symptoms. Loss of appetite, exhaustion with the inability to sleep or the ability to sleep way too much, not to mention aches, pains, random crying sprees and lethargy. I began to panic that maybe my depression was seeping back in and pregnancy had been hiding it and suddenly BLAM I’d be hit like roadkill by a Mack truck out of nowhere by it.

But I know depression well enough. Or at least the way *I* do depression. I still want to talk to people. I still want to be around people. I can still laugh. I can see all the things going right in my world. I can get excited about this Mozzi in my belly (Which if you could move around soon so I could feel you? I’d appreciate it.) And I am really excited about spending Christmas in my house with my family for the second year. (We moved in a year ago next week…)

So nope, depression isn’t getting the better of me (at least not yet.)

But I know it’s getting a lot of you out there.

Holidays, weather changing, stress…

I keep a very special place in my heart for all you. I believe anyone who had dealt with depression does. Just because I’m feeling awesome doesn’t mean that everyone else is too. Some of you are struggling, some privately, some openly. And just as you’ve been there for me when I’m in ugly places, there’s hundreds of people out there who want to be there for you while you’re in your ugly places, me included. Even if all I can do is tell you that it will get better.

Or draw a picture of Santa on my ever expanding belly.

Then there’s also the ladies who are left without their babies. I mean, I’ve gone through phases where it seemed as though everyone and their un-spayed cats were pregnant except for me. Well I am pregnant and it still seems as though everyone is pregnant.

But I know that’s not true.

And I’m sorry it can’t be true for everyone who wants a baby.

Messy, this real life stuff is.

Hope everyone is hanging in there and that you and the people around you are taking good care of you.

xoxo

I’ve slipped.

I haven’t gone down yet, but I certainly feel as though I am falling in slow motion.

I’m still not sure if I’ll catch myself or not.

The thing is, reaction to stress and fatigue can feel very similar to depression.

Regardless, I’m not doing well.

Seeing my Aunt Cheryl’s death certificate was a bit too much for me today.

I’m really not going to see her again in this life.

Grief is the price we pay for love.
-Queen Elizabeth II

I’m ready to be back home in Indiana.

I recorded this late one night after a particularly wonderful day. I’m so glad that I did.

Maybe you’ve heard talk of a new reality show that’s casting, and they’re looking for moms in the social media realm.

The requirements were that we post a vlog about the story we have to tell and that it be under a minute.

Well, I think I got my story across, but the whole minute thing didn’t quite pan out. Sorry about that TV people.

Ah well, it’s not necessarily about the TV show. It’s about me (hello) and it’s about helping anyone I can with my story.

I spent most of the weekend on the verge of tears.

If not on the verge, I was generally in them.

But never from sadness, only tears of joy and appreciation.

I was me this weekend.

You know, the old me.

I cried because I’ve missed this me so much. I like this me. This me is easy to take out in public.

I’ve cried because I know this won’t last forever. That I could wake up tomorrow and this me could be taken hostage by the part of my brain I can’t control.

I’ve cried because for the first time in a long time I was able to look around and see beauty in every. single. thing.

Especially the people I am lucky enough to be surrounded by.

I have such good people around me. I sometimes feel I don’t deserve to be in the ranks of the friends I have.

I have such a good life. I couldn’t even name the ways.

This weekend I didn’t hide behind my camera. I used it to capture and hopefully hold on the the beauty that engulfed me this weekend, and hopefully I can lock this feeling away somewhere safe in my heart where my brain can’t touch it.

I’m so scared of when this me is going to go.

But I can’t live in fear of that moment. I must live in hope of this one, right now. Knowing with all my heart that it will return.

Hi.

I don’t want to be writing this one. I’m kind of embarrassed and ashamed about a lot of it.

You see, even though I talk openly about depression and infertility? I always harbored this silly little stereotype in the back of my head that said “depression is real, anxiety is not.”

Yep. I figured anxiety issues were for people who just couldn’t handle their own emotions. A sort of made up problem to get people out of social and difficult situations. Much like I used a “sprained” ankle to get me out of running in high school gym.

Awesome right?

It’s been over eight months since my first anxiety attack. And guess what kids? Anxiety is a completely real thing that sucks.

Right now I’m just hoping it will go away. Or maybe that it’s not even real, that it was just something I ate. Sadly the truth is that it was something I had shot into my butt.

Three times.

Lupron.

Why the hell didn’t I google Lupron? Why did I just listen to my doctor?

Why is it that I can google chapped lips to the point where I’m almost certain my lips are destined to fall off from some third world fungus but something serious such as permanently altering my hormones I don’t even type into that little search box up there?

Whenever I google Lupron now, I find stories very similar to mine. “Lupron Brain, permanent mood disorders, loss of cognitive ability.”

It’s both a blessing and a curse that my blog comes up as one of the only real accounts of Lupron.

After a complete meltdown (read: anxiety attack) at church today I wrote nine words to Cody that encompass almost every thought I’ve had lately.

“I wish I could be me a year ago.”

He understood exactly what I meant.

I feel like over the past month I have found part of myself again. Or at least brought to light the new me that I’m going to have to navigate through life from now on.

This girl is gone I’m afraid. (Crap. How great was her hair?)

But hopefully this new girl will find her place and kick some ass while she’s here.

You are not the only one who spends all day in bed, wakes up ten minutes before your significant other gets home and plows through the house attempting to give them some semblance of your productivity.

You are not the only one who hates taking that pill everyday.

You are not the only one who stops taking your medication because you hate what it does to you and why can’t you just feel normal on your own?

You are not the only one for whom medication does not work.

You are not the only one who has spent an inordinate amount of money in an attempt to make yourself feel better.

You are not the only one who wants a hug from your husband without him attempting to make a move on you.

You are not the only one with a significant other who just doesn’t get it.

You are not the only one that wants to crawl back in bed instead of walking with your kids to the park on a sunny day.

You are not the only one who wants to kick puppies and wield stabby objects when someone suggests you “pray harder” or “have more faith.”

You are not the only one who has gone into a shouty rage when asked “Did you remember to take your medication?”

You are not the only one that is afraid to write about your feelings on the Internet.

You are not the only one who worries how other people will perceive your so called “weaknesses.”

You are not the only one who spent years self medicating with alcohol.

You are not the only one who regrets their children on the bad days.

You are not the only one with a family who doesn’t understand “what the hell’s wrong with you and why on earth can’t you just get over it already?”

You are not the only one who cries at silly things all the time.

You are not the only one who is tired all the time.

You are not the only one who never wants to have the sex.

You are not the only one who doesn’t want to have more children because you’re just not sure you could handle going through post partum again.

You are not the only one who has been in a hospital for depression.

You are also not the only one who has considered if a stay in the hospital wouldn’t be just what you needed.

You are not the only one who worries about passing this disease down to your children.

You are not the only one who feels this way.

But you know what you are?

YOU. ARE. NOT. ALONE.

And if you keep insisting that you are for the sake of your own pride?

You are not going to get better.

God didn’t put billions of people on the planet for us to only take care of ourselves.

I am tired.

Emotionally and mentally exhausted.

But I don’t think you’d notice if you didn’t know me.

I can turn it on and off.

I can fake, oh, how I can fake it.

Imagine being hip deep in a thick muddy sludge.

You’re in a bit of a pickle, sometimes it could even be considered a funny pickle that you’re in. And if you stand there and look around you can make jokes with those on solid ground around you.

But you can’t stay in sludge forever. You have to get out. You must get out. You’re missing too much being stuck.

And so you lift one leg at a time, inch by inch attempting to move it forward. You can’t talk while you do it, let alone make jokes. It’s imperative you focus all of your energy on moving forward, even if it’s just millimeters.

You begin to think, “Hey, this sludge isn’t that bad, the sun comes out sometimes, I can still talk to my friends…why try so hard to get out?” It’s like Dorothy in the poppy fields, sure, the Emerald City is right there and she went through so much to get there…but just…a little…nap…a rest…

No.

You have to get to the other side. Out of the crap. Out of the slime. They have cupcakes, horses of a different color, hugs, reality television and comfy couches on the other side.

But most of all that other side has rest. Rest for your weary brain, mind, heart and body. A place where you can charge back up and prepare yourself for your next unknown trip into the sludge.

This is the slowest most unfair journey I’ve ever been in. And it may never end for me.

But I’m grateful that I can talk about it.

And that I know for a fact that other side is there, waiting to give me the rest I deserve.

**direct link to my article here.**

A long time ago I was asked to participate in an annual online rally for and in behalf of new moms on Mother’s Day.

The topic is postpartum depression and I was asked to write a letter to new moms about how “this too shall pass.”

There are 24 women participating, doctors, authors, nurses, social workers and most of all, moms.

The reminder email came while I was in an ugly place. I had intentions of writing witty prose about how you’ll look back at those days of PPD and pat yourself on the back for making it through.

But I never had time to pat myself on the back because I was thrown headfirst (no pun intended) right back into the depression I have always had. I’m afraid to go back and read what I wrote and submitted…it will go live later tonight (a new post is going up every hour all day.)

But after reading through the other submissions that have gone up this far I am proud knowing that I wrote mine when I did. The other women have written brilliant things. And it is going to help a lot of new moms see the silver lining, and maybe after reading 24 survival stories they will be able to keep calm, call their doctor and carry on.

My submission doesn’t have such a happy ending. Yes, postpartum depression ended for me, but the other depression, the one not induced by sleepless nights, colic and wacky hormones has not ended, nor will it ever end.

But what I learned is that my depression will never be the end of me. I will keep going.

Some days will be uglier and far more exhausting, and those days may turn into weeks.

But I will keep going.

Because I know, I KNOW, that even though I can’t feel it now? There’s happiness out there. And I will keep myself surrounded by those things that bring happiness until one day the outside and the inside click. And I will be able to truly enjoy my lovely little life without a giant black cloud enveloping my brain.

The articles are brilliant, a lot of the women you may already know. I will link mine directly when it goes up (here it is!) but until then, there are a dozen others already up, moms who get PPD and got through it. Once, twice sometimes even four times.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you. But if it’s not so happy for you today, don’t feel guilty, because the happy isn’t all there for me today either.

xo