These last couple of posts have been difficult for me.  I procrastinate, putting them off, hoping I’ll feel better the next day and therefore have no need to write them.  Then, I realize I don’t…and won’t.  This is real.  Too real.

In May of this year, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.  And… I felt great.  I was happy.  With Lala, I had some postpartum depression, but this time…I was doing great!  The doctors warned me that it may come and they kept trying to comfort me about a condition I was sure I didn’t have.  So, I smiled and willed them to just go away so I could smile and coo at my new baby and goofy toddler.

Slowly, the “bad” days seemed to grow more frequent.  I assured myself it was simply me becoming acquainted to being a mom of 2 and dealing with being without job and some of the other issues we have been facing.  I figured it was normal.  –Until the bad days began to slowly get more intense, making me want to be alone and not all at once.  I knew the signs but have fought this before and was so confident that it was no big deal.  And, it wasn’t, really.  I’d just have to determine each day that I would be happy.  I had to fill my day with little things that would make me happy (a piece of cake, a fun activity, crafting, helping others…) and I had to keep shoving myself out into public just to keep myself from being alone on the bad days.  It was manageable, I knew how to do this.  And, before I knew it, I was having a string of good days again.

But…then, we lost our insurance.

I understand that a lot of people live their lives without insurance.  Or, 20% of Americans do (so they say).  I know that a lot of people do it and they do it with happy hearts.  Kudos to them.  For me…it means I’m failing my family.  It means I’m not taking care of the two little girls God placed in our care.  It means that the medical debt we just paid off is going to grow again and we are no longer slowly climbing the long hill out of debt but rather, sliding fast back in.  It means that I can’t get the pain relief I need.  It means another bit of security has been ripped from my life.

So, this one thing sent me spiraling.  Spiraling, quickly…and too close.  Too close to bottom.  I’ve been to the bottom before…the place where you begin looking for an OUT.  The place where logic no longer reaches you and you just want it to be over.  Because, you’re done.  You’re tired of being in pain, the pain on the outside sears your brain and the pain you feel inside shreds your heart into tiny pieces and you feel like you’re drowning and nobody can save you.

It’s really hard for me to admit that.  It’s even harder for me to take a pill to make me “happy.”  But, I know this disease all too well.  I know the cycles, I know how it affects me, and I know how it ends.  I know how illogical I become and I know that I can’t get out alone – alive – without some help.  So, I’m taking the help I get.  Right now, this help comes in the form of a tiny pill that I can’t really tell if it’s working or not, yet.

It’s hard for me to grasp that I could be having post-partum depression FIVE MONTHS after my baby was born…but, I guess I’ve had it for a while…just mild and manageable until recently.

I went from a daily struggle to be happy to a moment-by-moment basis.  And, quite frankly…it’s kicking my ass.  Suddenly, I don’t have the options to put myself in therapy or try out a string of medication…because now…I can’t afford them.  This one just happened to be on the $4 list at Walmart.  I will myself to be happy.  I throw myself into public situations while my entire being protests.  It’s like there are two parts of me – the logical part that’s just trying to not disappear, screaming that I don’t need to be alone…and then the rest of me…that just wants to find a closet to lay down in.

Somedays, I think I’m too good at pretending for my own good – fighting with all my might to survive while I pretend to be JUST FINE with smiles and laughter to hide what I feel.

So, why am I telling you…the world…then?  Because I have to.  Because I need to write it down.  Because no matter how much I want to NOT feel pathetic and weak for feeling this way, I do.  Because no matter how much I don’t want you to know how pathetic and weak I feel that I am, I need you to know.

I’m fighting a tricky battle – one more deadly and filled with terror than any that could be fought with swords or guns because this battle lies within and surely a part of me must lose to win.

Welcome back!