As a lot of you will know it’s #mentalhealthawareness week. I thought I’d put out a post to give a bit of a recap to ‘PND & Pots’ which I wrote last year about prenatal depression.
Firstly, I was wrong. I wrapped up ‘PND and pots’ nearly exactly a year ago with ‘touch wood, I will never need to rely on meds for low mood again, and at this moment and time I can’t imagine ever needing them again.’ Fuck I was wrong. The thing is about depression is that sometimes it’s really bloody good at pulling the rug from under your feet. Sadly, in our family the battle with mental health hasn’t always ended well. Suicide was something I learned very young, and although one was before my time and I was very young when there was another, I still remember the pain my mum felt. This has always been a fear of mine, that I won’t receive the help I need in time. This is why it is SO important to speak about, speak about it to anyone who listens, I promise it helps.
I always think it’s funny when you fill out one of those mental health questionnaires.
‘Have you ever thought about harming yourself?’
Well, yeah, of course. Hasn’t everyone? Hasn’t everyone at one point just thought ‘god this would all be way easier if I was dead’ or typed into google ‘how many paracetamol does it take to kill someone’ that doesn’t mean I will, or that I particularly want too, but of course I’ve thought about it.
I haven’t found very good help with mental health yet. I’ve tried IAPT, I couldn’t attend because it was a group session and I got kicked out because I had a distracting breastfed baby with me. I got told I was recently dealing ‘remarkably well’ with my feelings at a psych assessment and they could not offer me help. Depression makes me exhausted. It makes me hate me. It makes me at times hate my life. CHILDREN DO NOT FIX THAT. Instead it’s guilt, how could YOU bring children into the world when you’re so fucked up?
Another thing about depression is that if you don’t look depressed, nobody is going to believe you are depressed. I can go out and have the wildest night. I can sit and laugh at TV for hours. I can take my boys out and have a day of fun. BUT, when my depression hits I am not me. It’s appalling what it does to me, but it is only my boyfriend (lucky him) and myself that ever sees that. Or my mama, when I call her up in complete panic and hysteria.
I have used the word depression on here a lot, but actually I don’t know if that is what I have. Maybe I am just wired a bit funny. I am not on medication at the moment as I didn’t respond well to it, and I’m a little concerned about the side effects (especially as I am usually the only adult here!) I am also very aware that recently there has been a big trigger, which has been tough, but I’m hoping I’m overcoming it now and some of these feelings will shift.
There could be a billion reasons as to what set off my depression. Bullying? Sexual assault? Missed family holiday? Mum continuing to put baby corn on my plate? I do know though that CLOTHES are a huge trigger for me. I don’t have any summer clothes that fit. Not one thing. I also have very little in my bank account. Bills, wedding, life, kids who lose shit, don’t come cheap. So what do I do? cancel my hen do? Wear something too small? Just shut up and stop complaining about something so insignificant?
Getting dressed at the moment is a battle. I am finding myself upset everyday. Usually twice a day. Isn’t it cruel?! Cruel because I know that walking, gym, broccoli and fucking salad would make me feel better. Save money. Treat myself to an item of clothing that fits. But mental health says ‘hey there friend, spend money on a cab to get Noah from school because you’re really fat and everyone will look at you’ so I do. Over and over again. And then when I do just get up and out and do my 10,000 steps I feel pathetic because that ISN’T an achievement. I shouldn’t be pleased with myself for doing something SO normal.
This is a pretty sombre blog post from myself, because right this second I can’t give you a positive blog post. If you are after a positive one, give me a call in a few hours, chances are I’ll probably feel fine. That’s what mental health is to me, it is the complete inability to predict how I will feel, or how something will affect me. I can’t be that bad though, because I do know that I am loved ️