I haven't used this blog in a very long time. It felt like a lifeline when I first started with it. I had so many emotions and feelings that I needed to share, and this seemed like the best place to do it. Life continued on. As the more painful pangs of grief faded, I wrote less. Not to say that the grief doesn't exist anymore--it certainly does. It just comes more in waves and feels more like a "good hurt" instead of like I'm drowning in it.
I've since had a healthy, full term baby who is now a rambunctious 3 year old boy and am almost 39 weeks pregnant with his sister. I'm involved in my work. I'm a member of a community orchestra. Over the years, I've become a better wife, mom, and teacher. Some might look at all these things and think "Good for her. She went through something bad, and now she's in a good place. That's great." And it's true that God has truly redeemed a very broken, grief-stricken person. He has sustained me and sanctified me through what was probably the worst trial I have ever walked through.
But there's this thing. This very insidious thing. I've struggled with it my whole life, and though I've never kept it a secret, I've never really been completely honest about it, either. I've had depression for as long as I can remember. Even years before I was diagnosed (at age 13), I remember the feelings of hopelessness, self-hatred, and lack of interest manifesting as young as 8 years old. Many of you know this about me, as I am pretty open about that aspect of my life.
To be blunt, it sucks.
I self-harmed using anything I could find (shaving razors, knives, my fingernails) as young as 11 years old, on and off until I was 19 or 20. I'm not completely sure how I stopped. I know I was tired of having to worry about people seeing it. I didn't want the people I love to be worried about me. Maybe that's what it was. But I don't have a really concrete answer for that.
I guess I'm sharing this to get to this point. I'm still depressed. Even after all the good things in my life, even with the hope I have in Christ, even though I don't always seem like I am. It does come and go, but there's a general undercurrent of depression pretty much all the time.
Pregnancy doesn't help the situation, either. With Benjamin, I was still reeling from the loss of Matthew Paul. I had PTSD and a constant worry that I would lose Benjamin too. Loss has a way of tainting everything in that way. You can never feel truly sure that your baby is okay in there. In fact, with both pregnancies, I assumed that I wouldn't carry to term. That's just how my brain copes, I guess.
This time around, well, here's where I get brutally honest. While in some ways I'm doing a lot better, in other ways I am much worse. I barely got out of bed this summer. Yes, I was in my first trimester, so I was sick and tired all the time. That had a lot to do with it. But I also felt so, so depressed and paralyzed. I didn't even get a first trimester ultrasound because I was just...depressed and scared.
Once I started working again in September, it helped distract me a bit. I really do love teaching, and it helps to work at a really great place. But around that time, I stopped taking my antidepressant. There are many reasons as to why I stopped, even though the one I took is technically safe for pregnancy. I won't get into all that now. It was really hard coming off of it. Physically I felt like I was in withdrawal for weeks. Headaches, zapping feelings, even hearing things that weren't there. It was a struggle.
Once all that subsided, the real hard stuff set in: Increased depression. And man, did it get worse. I had to leave/call out of work a few times due to major depressive episodes. And what happens during a depressive episode? It's hard to say. Everything feels like too much, but nothing is really happening. I felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. A heavy weight on my chest. A lot of crying. At their very worst: thoughts of suicide.
That may be shocking to you. How could I want to die when that would mean my baby would die too? My answer is, that I didn't really want to. I just wanted everything to stop. I wanted my brain to stop. I wanted everyone to leave me alone. And yet, I also wanted people to care about me and love me. It really doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?
To be clear, no "plan" was ever made. I was able to talk these feelings out. And I was drawn even closer to the comfort and peace of God through it all. I just wish that I could say my progress is linear, and on the up. But sometimes it gets bad again.
Maybe this is oversharing. I don't know. I don't feel like anyone HAS to know this information about me. But maybe someone out there is struggling like I am. And maybe I just want to finally feel like I'm being honest about everything, instead of sugar-coating everything for social media. My only concern is that people may worry about me. I'm okay right now. I'm looking forward to meeting my daughter. I have a supportive husband, and a pretty cool Mom too. I guess I just want to put it out there. If you struggle like me, you're not alone.
