I found out I was pregnant with my third child in August 2014. My 2nd had just turned one and I had just gotten married in April of that year.
One would think that everything would be great! However, with this particular pregnancy I was very sick. I could hardly move without vomiting everywhere. I had to carry around a “puke bucket” like a kid with a stomach flu. I went from doing everything with my kids to calling family over to help me care for them, because I could not get out of bed.
I blamed the sickness. But by the time I hit my 10th week of pregnancy, my sickness was gone. I still didn’t feel like doing anything. I was still calling my family because I didn’t want to deal with the kids. I didn’t want to deal with the house…or dinner…nothing.
I started to lose sleep at night. I’d lay there all night long with my eyes closed but still awake. It was torture. The lack of sleep brought about this voice in the back of my mind. Thoughts that scare you, thoughts that you begin to believe. I wanted to die. I didn’t want to be pregnant.
There’s another part of my story. During my wedding I was pregnant…eight weeks. NOBODY knew but my husband and I. It wasn’t the right time for us, we was going through some issues and we were newlyweds, but that’s another story. I ended up getting and abortion. I felt I was doing what was best for our family, but later told my husband I’d never do it again.
I changed birth controls because the first had failed me, only to find out I was pregnant AGAIN! It was devastating. I just had an abortion. And now we were continuing with this pregnancy? It seemed unfair.
I thought that this was at the root of my depression.
My doctor tried me on the famous Zoloft. It made me sick, so he said go see a therapist. I did just that. I talked to her, told her everything. She didn’t help AT ALL. She looked at me like I was insane when I told her I became depressed when I got pregnant.
I stopped seeing her. I decided that I would deal with the suicidal thoughts and the down moods because I thought it was just my hormones. It would get better after having the baby.
I’m laying on in the table (I had a C section due to previous ones) and she is finally out. I can breathe. I can’t wait to see her.
My husband brings her over to me. I look at her. She is cute…but I felt nothing for her. I felt like he brought me someone else’s baby. Like I had no connection to this baby.
In the recovery room, everyone is waiting for me with smiles and balloons. Deep down I just want everyone to the leave. I yearn for the nurses to the take this baby to to the nursery so that I can cry my eyes out. Instead, I put on a show because no one knows what I have been through the past nine months…only my husband.
4 days later, it was time to leave the hospital. I didn’t wanna go home with my new gift, because I was convinced she wasn’t my baby. 2 months later it’s the same. I am holding this child constantly, loving her so she doesn’t feel rejected by me. I’m forcing my love on on a child I wish I never had. I did not want her to go the rest of her life feeling not good enough because of my problems.
My husband had to go out of town for work…those 3 months were life-changing for me. I attempted to take my life…while my 3 kids were in the other room. I wanted to bleed out, I wanted to suffer and I wanted to feel the pain as I passed away. Nothing quick.
Our cleaver is the sharpest thing I had in the house. I had used it to butcher chicken and I knew it would slice right thru my thin skin no problem. I put the cleaver to my wrist, pressed it very hard and just as I was about to go through with it, my newest addition started to cry. A cry I NEVER heard before.
I stopped. I snapped out of this trance. The knife was so sharp it broke my skin just from the small amount of pressure. I went to check on her and everything was fine.
I knew I needed help. I called my husband and told him. He came home a week later and I reached out on Google…only to find nothing…NOTHING but go see your doctor. I didn’t give up. Finally I found something. A page devoted to PPD and offering support groups…and counseling from someone who actually knows something about PPD. It was nowhere near my area, but it gave me hope.
I eventually found s support group near me.. I even found a PPD support page on Facebook.. Both have helped me so much…they actually made made my days manageable. I started to feel love for my baby. I started to feel a connection with her…knowing I wasn’t alone.
I eventually I found another outlet in my sister’s church, and a deeper sense of healing.
Here I am now…alive…and my baby is about to turn one. I feel like such a terrible person for not feeling love for her. I really wish there was more help out there for something so serious. Now when I see stories on Facebook of a mother who did this or that caused by PPD I will be the first person to come to her defense. Because I have been in that war zone. And although I never had ill thoughts about my children, I deeply understand. Your mind literally isn’t right. I had a cleaver to my wrist.
And I’m not completely healed…I do have hard days. This has been the hardest two years of of my life…but I see the light at the end of the tunnel.