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Stupid Girl

Depression is a wicked companion. All-consuming and over-whelming. An unwelcome guest who overstays. It knocks ever so quietly on the door of your mind. It seems so sad and lonely that you let it in. It manipulates you into feeling sorry for it. It just wants someone to talk to. But, quickly, you realize how socially awkward it is. It doesn’t register the hints that it is time to leave.

“I should really be getting up now. Take a shower…get dressed and eat breakfast,” I say. “It was good to see you. Let’s talk again soon.” 

“STUPID GIRL!” Depression mocks, “YOU DON’T GET TO DECIDE WHEN I LEAVE. YOU’RE NOT STRONGER THAN ME. I’M HERE TO STAY.”

A relentless bully that you can’t walk away from. You can’t turn the other cheek because it is your own hand who will slap you twice as hard leaving thick, red welts and bruises no one else can see.

“Wait, this isn’t what I signed up for when I let you in. Let me go. I can’t breathe,” I beg, but depression just laughs in my face and drags me farther down into this black abyss of despair and loneliness and grief.

“STUPID GIRL! YOU BELONG TO ME AND I HAVE NO PLANS ON SETTING YOU FREE.”

“WHY DON’T YOU JUST GO AHEAD AND END IT? YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO. CAN YOU EVEN NAME ON PERSON WHO WOULD REALLY MISS YOU?”

“I DIDN’T THINK SO,” Depression whispers. So, why am I still here?

“The knives are right there in the kitchen. That is the way. You’re too much of a wimp to use a gun and you would give up with pills having to swallow them one by one. Just take a knife and stick it in the base of your wrist. Then cut deep until all you are is a pool of dripping blood.

These are some of the thoughts that go through my head over and over and over again. Obsessively. If you knew the rest you would have me admitted? Maybe I should be. It’s not fair to surround my family with this…my husband and especially my daughter.

On the good days I can laugh and smile and tell a joke. And I’m classified as a functional depressed girl. Still clinically depressed but at least you’re able to get out of bed. The words, ‘at least,’ have become curse words to me. There is no, ‘at least,’ in this dark cruel world. There is only depression. And even on the good days I am still an empty void who is just going through the motions.

On the bad days I am barely able to get out of bed. I don’t eat. I just want to sleep. I hear my daughter crying so I force myself off the couch. Make sure she isn’t in any real danger then it’s back under the covers I go. I need relief. I need help.

“IT’S NOT COMING,” Depression taunts. “IT’S NEVER COMING.”

“YOU’RE A FAILURE AS A MOM…AS A WIFE AND DAUGHTER AND SISTER.”

“GET USED TO IT PAL, BECAUSE THIS IS MY HOUSE NOW.”

I can’t remember a time before depression started regularly visiting. Maybe when I was three, before sexual abuse came and stole my childhood away from me. 

“Quit feeling sorry for yourself,” the mirror says. “It was almost 18 years ago. You didn’t know any different. That was YOUR fault. You could have said something right from the start. But, you didn’t! You kept quiet when your friends were included.”

“But I was just a child. I didn’t know any better. I thought that was happening to every girl in the neighborhood.”

“STUPID GIRL! YOU’RE MAKING EXCUSES.” If you thought it was normal you would have said something to your mom.

Maybe you’re right. He never threatened to hurt me if I told. And I knew it was supposed to be a secret because he only did it when the adults were away.”

I can still smell and taste things..disgusting things that a 7 year old should never have to experience.

Besides, others have it so much worse than you. You sound like a fool.

Don’t talk about anything unpleasant. Nobody wants to hear about that.

“Why don’t you just try being happy?’

“Have you tried medicine?”

“Have you tried changing your diet?”

“Depression is just an excuse to get out of your responsibilities.”

All things I have read and heard. Like you can just choose to heal your broken arm by eating kale and rubbing it with coconut oil. The difference here is, It’s my MIND THAT IS BROKEN, not a bone. You can’t wrap it up in a cast and not use it for 6 weeks until it fuses back together. That’s not how any of this works. I’ve tried. Therapy doesn’t work because therapists are just there for a paycheck. Medicine has decided that I am too far gone.

So, here I am at 12.39 a.m. writing all of this out. Everything is jumbled. Grammar is atrocious. But that doesn’t matter because anger is seeping out of me like a leaking faucet. Bursting like a frozen pipe in the winter not allowing me to sleep until I get all of this out of my head and onto paper.

And now comes the guilt. Because when I look at my life, there is nothing I should be depressed about.

My Hopes For Zara

I don’t think one truly realizes how fast time goes with your kids until months later when you realize they’ve stopped doing something super cute. David used to make Zara laugh by squeezing her cheeks. That’s all it took. She was the heaviest crawler I’d ever seen. She’d throw those hands down in front of her like she was trying to break the floor. She used to be able to fall asleep on me. I miss that a lot. She would roll and roll until she hit the wall and then get frustrated that she couldn’t go any further. I wish I would have been writing down all of these things as she was experiencing them. Now I don’t remember. Luckily I have some pictures and some vidoes of some of the things. I wish I would have been better with documenting though.

So, right now she points when we point. She gives us kisses. Sometimes when we ask and sometimes without us asking. She LOVES being read to. She will bring us books and if we don’t go to take them she will take and open our hand and shove the book in it. She smiles and laughs. She helps turn the pages. She signs all done. She ‘repeats’ what we say. She loves peek-a-boo. She has the most awesome side-eye. You definitely know when she doesn’t want something.

Every single morning I pick her up so she can see herself in the bathroom mirror. I repeat the same things every morning.

Say, “hi Zara!”

Say, “I am beautiful. I am strong. I am confident. I am happy.’

Say, “I love Jesus. I love momma and daddy. And I love everyone!”

Say, “Bye Zara!”

When I was pregnant with her I prayed that she would be an outgoing extravert. So far I don’t think that is going to be a problem. She loves new people. Does not have a problem with them at all. It’s a challenge for me because to have her continue being that way I have to start being that way. I never want her to doubt her natural beauty. I mean have you seen her? She is such a happy baby. I don’t want her to lose that. And I want her to love people. I sometimes have a hard time with that. So basically I want her to be everything I am not.

Mother’s Day

Can I be real honest with you guys? As if, I’m not always really honest with you guys? I’ve had two Mothers Day’s and they have both sucked. I was really excited for both of them…I had hope they would be great.

My first was just terrible. Zara was just about 6 weeks old. We were in Utica to celebrate May Day. Zara cried all day. And when I say all day I am not exaggerating. I knew she was hungry…and I breastfed her all day. But she would just cry. She would latch and cry. She would unlatch and cry. There was no real napping. I didn’t understand why she was so hungry if I was feeding her. At the end of the day I cried. What was I doing wrong?

I had hopes that my second would be better. When I found out I was pregnant in March I knew it would have to be better! Then I miscarried in April and didn’t want the day to come. How could I celebrate being a mother with two babies not with me. I was also having a hard time bonding and connecting with Zara at the time so that made it harder. I didn’t even go to church that day. They did give my husband a little plant for me though. That was nice. Another thing that I wouldn’t be able to keep alive. David did get me a really beautiful bracelet with a giraffe, fox, and lion charm with hand stamped ‘z,’ ‘e,’ and ‘j,’ on it. I cried. Duh.

I don’t have much hope for next Mother’s Day. Maybe that is better. Maybe if I expect hardship and disappointment anything less than that will be marvelous.

Desperate hours.

July 4, 2017

I wanted to do the same thing today as I did yesterday. I didn’t and I still don’t feel like I’ve won. Almost all of the kitchen is clean though. I got myself and Zara dressed. I went out to a barbeque.

I’m just so tired. So exhausted. I feel helpless. Useless. If I didn’t KNOW I had people who would notice I was gone I would love to disappear. Take the care and drive until I couldn’t anymore. I don’t have a specific place in mind. Just anywhere really.

How selfish is that of me? I know I have people that care about me and would miss me and I’d still rather just…be gone. As much as I don’t understand it, Zara loves me. David tells me that I’m her favorite. She gets so excited in the morning when I go to get her out of bed. She ‘runs’ up to me when I come back from being gone. She gives me kisses and hugs. David loves me. My family loves me. Jesus loves me. Why is that soooooo difficult to believe and accept?

I got prescribed a higher dose of my depression medication. It hasn’t really been long enough to see if it is making a difference.

David says I read and watch too many depressing things. Real crime shows about murders. Stories about miscarriages. Ultrasounds of missed miscarriages. War movies. Maybe that is part of the problem. I used to make fun of my SIL for doing the same thing. Now I’m the one who should be made fun of.

 

Confessions of Depression.

 

I Let Depression Win Today

July 3, 2014

I let depression win today. It’s a terrible sinking feeling. Like falling into a black hole. Suffocating. I can’t remember the last time I let depression win. I’m usually very good at hiding it. Coping…at living through it. But today, I couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough to fight.

I let depression win today. My sink is still full of dishes from two days ago. There are books scattered all over the floor from my daughter pulling them from the bookcase. My bathroom floor is wet from her splashing in the toilet. And my bed is sheetless because they’re still in the washing machine. I’m not a good house keeper by any means…But I hate when my house looks messy.

I let depression win today. I was supposed to go on a walk with Zara. I was supposed to drop our water bill in the depository. I wanted to stop at the post office and ask a few questions I had. I wanted to get on periscope and just talk or do a sale. Instead, I watched Beasts of No Nation…and Kilo Two Bravo…and The Way Back…and The 9 Months that Made You. It’s embarrassing, really. I’m so disappointed…in myself…in my diagnosis….in my lack of ability to overcome it today.

I let depression win today. It’s been hitting me so so hard since April. Since I lost my sweet Emerson and Judah. Sometimes I don’t even know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m thinking. It’s just blank.

I let depression win today. That’s all I have to say.

A Miscarriage Story: Part 4

I really didn’t mean to make this story so long. I shouldn’t say I’m surprised though so I do tend to be quite wordy.

I thought I passed the pregnancy the night of April 6th. I truly thought it would just be a bigger blog clot. So I thought I was through the worst. Boy, was I wrong.

I didn’t pass the first baby, Emerson, until the next afternoon. David had already arrived home from work that day. I didn’t know what I expected but I didn’t expect for her to look like a real actual baby. We wrapped her up and a paper towel and a Ziploc bag. I called Jade and texted Faith and they both said they fully expected for me to not see anything. I was angry that nobody had warned me that this is what would happen. But, not even the most birth smart people I know knew that would happen. So, I guess there is no way they could have told me, right? We went and picked out a little wooden box and stickers so we could write her name on it. We already had this little stuffed fox that matched one of Zara’s stuffed giraffes. So, that is how we were going to honor and remember her.

My mom arrived late that night. It would be nice to have her here to help with everything.

On Saturday, April 8, while David was at work I passed Judah. Even though I had an inkling at around 5.5 weeks that it was twins I still completely didn’t expect to see a second baby. I went to the bathroom and felt something heavy trying to drop. I closed my legs really quickly until I would be able to catch it. I just knew it was something important. Not just a blood clot. And when I saw it I just screamed. Again. There has been a lot of crying and screaming in this blog. My mom came in and I just fell on the bathroom floor. I vividly remember saying, “Did I lose two babies? Did I lose two babies?” over and over again.

David was texting me about our lunch plans and I was getting angrier and angrier. How could he even think about food at a time like this. I didn’t understand. But he wasn’t home so he really didn’t have any idea what was going on. My mom and I went to Wal Mart to pick up another little wooden box and stickers. We stopped at Veronica’s along the way and she just held me while I cried.

I really wondered if this was every going to end. It did, of course. My period lasted longer and was more painful than normal. But that ended. I didn’t know what was worse. Having a period, which was a reminder that I had babies. Or the period stopping which meant I didn’t have anything left of my babies. I eventually stopped crying every single day but that hasn’t ended completely yet. The sadness and depression seems greater now. I’m even less patient than before. You’d think I’d be more patient. But no. There’s internal anger at that. Why can’t I just be better. I still miss them.

I still miss them.

A Miscarriage Story: Part 3

I started bleeding again at 6 weeks+4days.

“Why have I started bleeding again? Maybe I have a blood clot. It’s nothing to worry about, right? It’s the same type as last week. Streaky, mixed with clear mucus. It’ll last two days like last time.”

Those were the thoughts that went through my head on Tuesday April, 4th. Zara’s birthday. I didn’t start worrying until the next night. David and I were watching a movie and I started getting mild cramps. I prayed that they would be gone by morning. But they weren’t. I questioned whether I should call my midwife. David encouraged me that if it would make me feel better than I should. So, I did. The first words that came out of her mouth were about miscarriage. My heart sank. My voice shook. I was on my into the house after a small grocery trip. I stopped on the porch when I heard those words. They were so shocking. That she would go to that right away put a lump in my throat.

She suggested I go to the ER. Being so early, that is where any doctors office would send me anyway. I call our local ER and they tell me to come in. I don’t know why…they don’t have any OB doctors here in town anymore. I don’t know why they didn’t suggest that I call an OB straightaway. David went with me at my request. He stayed calm. He always stays calm when I’m the most stressed out.I saw the doctor only to be told that she couldn’t do anything or tell me anything other than go to an OB doctor either in Beloit, Salina, or Belleville. $319.00 is what that advice cost me. Not well spent, if you ask me.

I started crying on the way out. I was crying so much that David had to take care of the checking out process for me. He didn’t want me to be alone afterwards so I went to Veronica’s house. She just sat there and looked at me. When I looked back at her she said, “I’m so bad at this type of thing. I don’t have anything good to say.” That is what I needed. I didn’t need anybody to give me false hope. To tell me it was going to be okay. I just needed to not be alone. I talked a little bit. I told her everything the ER doctor said. She was angry at that. I appreciated that. She was exactly what I needed at that point.

I went to the bathroom again. I started screaming and crying. I started rocking back and forth….more screaming and crying. I rushed out of the bathroom and said, “I need to go home right now. I need to go home right now.” Just repeated that while I found my keys and walked out the door. Veronica kept Zara without question. I didn’t actually go home. I went straight to David’s work. I needed him. He came outside and I just kept apologizing.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, David The bleeding is getting worse and the cramping is getting worse. This is going to be bad. I’m so sorry, David.”

We could call clinics in Salina, Beloit, and Belleville. All of these cities are a significant drive so I thought we’d just call until we found someone who could get us in that day. Our first call was to the clinic in Beloit, the second closest. They were able to get us in at 4 p.m. so that’s where we went. I went home for a bit and David continued to work. We had two hours before our appointment. I didn’t realize how far away Beloit was so we left a little late. We drove in silence. David prayed. I cried. I cried the whole appointment long. I kept apologizing to the staff but they were so understanding. The doctor asked if I wanted an ultrasound and, of course, I said yes. All I wanted was to see that everything was ok. We all know it wasn’t.

We went home to grieve. I was so confused and lost. Every single thing I did from finding out I was pregnant played in my head. What could I have done differently to make the outcome different. Everyone says there is nothing. It was something genetic in the babies.I called my mom on the way home crying. She’s been through this three times so I knew she would know what I was going through. I slept until 8 o’clock. David worked and then went and picked up Zara from Veronica’s. My mom messaged me saying she’d be coming down the next day. We put Zara down for the night and I cried myself to sleep.

Saturday Music

A Miscarriage Story: Part 2

Alright…if you’ve been regularly reading my blogs you know Part 1 was shared on Monday the 15th. I meant to share these consecutively, but I’m just having a hard time writing all this down. So I’ve been putting off. Well, here it is. I don’t know why I’ve been dreading part writing this part. It’s just going to be about the pregnancy. No matter, though, here it is.

This pregnancy was different, right from the start. Yes, I know all pregnancies are different but this one was even different than that. I immediately got a three day long headache. I was SO beyond tired. I could not stay awake. I probably could have fallen asleep standing up. Just right away, at four weeks. I also just had so much clear/white discharge. I googled it and one of the first results were talking about how she was scared of miscarriage..even though everyone else said it was normal. That scared me enough, so I stopped looking on google.

At the 5ish week mark I got a little inkling that it might be twins. It surprised me because I wasn’t having any nausea at all. Just a little feeling I had. Of course, I started freaking out. I couldn’t imagine adding one more, let alone two. Three kids under two years old. Yikes!

Around 5 weeks, as well, I had a little bit of bleeding. It lasted maybe 2 days. It was a really light flow and very streaky with a lot of clear discharge. I called my SIL and she said it was normal. I asked women from the November group I was in and they said it was normal. I know it’s normal for some women to have bleeding. For me, though, it was quite worrisome. With Zara I didn’t even have implantation bleeding. So, something was just off. It stopped after two days and I was instantly relieved.

Another worrisome thing for me was that my symptoms were inconsistent. Off and on, you know what I mean. I would have some mild nausea one or two days and then nothing. I dry heaved once and then nothing. Tired and then not. I thought that was odd but I really tried to not worry.

I’m a really big worrier though…and it makes me wonder now, that if maybe I didn’t worry so much, would I still be pregnant? Did I speak this loss over me because I thought about it more than I should have? It’s just another source of guilt.

Part 3 on Monday.

-Confessions of a Miscarriage Mama-

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