My regular readers are well aware that part of my twin experience has been a relatively nasty bout of post partum anxiety and depression. I suffered a bit of the same with my first born but nothing as deep, dark and sustained as this.
This weekend I started to feel really afraid that I might never get better. That I might always feel this way, at least as long as I am parenting three small children. This shit is hard and anxiety-inducing for many people, but when you spend most of your night googling inpatient treatment centers you know something has gone horribly wrong.
The thing is, I’m not crazy (I mean relatively speaking) and I don’t need to be hospitalized. I’m actually quite functional. But my mind wants me to believe otherwise. My own brain (or at least some of its chemical makeup) is lying to me about who I am and what I am capable of. And that sucks. Because it’s hard to tell when your own brain is lying to you. It’s nearly impossible to see the truth when you are living with a constant lie.
I am doing every damn thing I can come up with to get better, for my family, but mostly for me. Because if I don’t figure this out for myself there’s no way I can help take care of them, at least not for long or in the way that I want to.
I’m still not sure what the answer is. I’m guessing it will have multiple, moving and ongoing parts. My life already feels too full, but my life won’t mean much if I don’t get this fixed. And so I will. Hopefully. Eventually. One day at a time.