Depression and Postpartum Fears

A couple months ago I wrote about the physical aspects of my pregnancy. I mentioned there that I had been battling depression once again and that I would write about it later. I've been putting that subject off for so long. First of all, I was still in the throughs of the sadness and wasn't quite ready to write about it. But with the help of my doctor and Zoloft I have broken through the deep abyss of despair. Even though now I am doing 100% better I still didn't want to write about it because my thoughts were, "Who wants to read about depression?" I want to make people laugh and smile. I want to uplift. But with life there comes the good and the bad, and if anything, I want to encourage others to battle through the bad.

Ever since I was little I have been plagued with bouts of loneliness and extreme sensitivity. Some of my sadness was rational, but other times it was out of control. I couldn't stand it when people made fun of me, even if they were doing it in fun. I remember crying at the silliest things on TV. On rare occasions I would have panic attacks. I remember in first grade when my brother was in Saudi Arabia during the War of Desert Storm and I burst into tears thinking about him getting hurt or dying. I was inconsolable.

Thankfully these occasions were very rare and when I think back to my childhood I peg it as being a very happy and care-free time. Even though I was raised by a single mother I was loved, cared for and safe.

However, in high school those feelings of sadness came back and they were dark and twisted. I remember it being very bad the summer before my senior year of high school. I would be in a crowded room with my family or my closest friends and feel completely alone and unwanted. And this is the part that made me so mad at myself- I knew I was loved very deeply by my family and friends so what was the matter with me? Was I such a selfish person that I wanted more love? Was I that much of a drama queen that I wanted attention on me at all times? I knew those weren't true, but I just couldn't shake those feelings. I lived in a great town, was active in a good school, was a good student and a good worker- why did I feel like I was a blob of nothing?

I figured it was just typical teenage angst, but it wasn't going away. The sadness was gnawing at me every second of every day. I wanted to escape, run away, hurt myself- do something- anything to stop it. At that point I suffered more despair because there was nothing I could do about it.

I remember volunteering for a women's health seminar shortly after my senior year began. I walked around to some booths and saw a brochure on depression. I looked at the symptoms and was shocked to learn that I fit basically every single one of them. Depression? There's no way I had that, I thought. People who lose family members or lose their job are depressed. Depressed teenagers were those who painted their fingernails black, had their hair covering their eyes and wrote poetry that made no sense. I couldn't be depressed. Not me, with my bubble gum pink painted fingernails, president of the student body and National Honor Society member. I didn't have a mental problem. Not me... not me...

Things got pretty bad in the following weeks. I won't tell you how bad, because there are some things I do believe should be kept private. (Even though I sometimes share TOO much on here.) I finally found the courage to approach my mom about my problems. I was so scared she'd shrug them off as typical teenage woes, but she listened to me and made a doctor's appointment for me.

The doctor put me on a trial run of the antidepressant Paxil. It seemed to help. After my medication ran out is when I decided to get into shape. I worked out and ate healthy and the difference it made on my body both physically and emotionally was incredible. My senior year ended up being the best year ever.

The following years I battled depression on and off. I still kept wrestling with the idea of depression. On one hand I knew it was something I couldn't help. It wasn't something as simple as a bad mood to shake off. It wasn't my fault that I felt this way and I didn't have to try and battle it all by myself. However, on the other hand, I hated that I had been diagnosed with depression. I felt like I was weak. I wanted everything with my life to be all put together in a neat presentation, but depression was like a big ugly splotch on it all. I hated myself when I was under the crushing power of depression and couldn't get out. But I put my big girl pants on and talked to a counselor and was put on Zoloft a couple years ago while in college. I weaned myself off it shortly before my wedding.

Finally, what made me come to terms with my depression is that there is someone depending on me to be as healthy, both physically and mentally, as possible- the child that is in my womb.

I read up on depression during pregnancy and post-partum depression very early on in my pregnancy. I knew there was a big chance that I would be susceptible to both. I talked to my doctor about my past problems with depression, just to give him a heads up that further action may be needed. It felt good to finally overcome my embarrassment of depression.

Each doctor's visit he'd ask me how I was doing emotionally. Each time I'd answer with a smile, "Fine!" But one visit, around week 27, I couldn't answer "fine" anymore. The depression had been sinking in slowly. I chalked it up to regular pregnancy hormones. But it started interfering with sleeping, eating and being semi-rational. I would cry at how beautiful a piece of paper would gracefully fall from the refrigerator if the magnet accidentally was bumped. I cried at zombie movies. I cried when paranoid thoughts of losing my husband would creep in.

This time around the depression scared me. In the past when I suffered from these bouts they only affected me. But here was this helpless child inside me depending on me for food, water and the essentials of life. I was diligent about staying away from cigarette smoke, alcohol, chemicals, deli meats, hot dogs... and here I was creating a toxic atmosphere with my own body.

I was still upset that I was so unbelievably sad during the most amazing time of my life- being pregnant. I know that there are a hundred and one things going on in my body and it's normal to feel depressed. But I wanted more than anything for those feelings of despair and emptiness to get the heck out of the way for my true feelings of joy and elation that there was a living being growing inside me.

It was not hard for me to swallow my pride and ask the doctor for help. He prescribed me with a low dose of Zoloft and it has done wonders. I still get into an occasional Darth Pregger mood but I've come to terms that that is just a part of my personality! :-)

I still fear that I will suffer from a severe bout of post-partum depression after my son is born. The thought of hurting him or not wanting to be around him scares me to death. I'm hoping since I've tackled this issue head on that it won't be as much as a struggle for me.

My prayer life has definitely had an extra oomph these last couple of weeks. I refuse to let a spiritual dry spell suck me down, even though it has been a constant struggle. I need God now more than ever.

My days are happier now, even though crushing exaustion sets in every once in awhile, but it just means my body needs rest to develop this precious baby boy! I am so lucky to have such a supportive husband who encourages me in everything I do and makes me feel beautiful (and who lifts me out of my recliner like an old woman!) I am so thankful for my family and friends who love me and take care of me. Most of all I'm thankful for this little miracle inside me who has taught me what love truly is.