Honesty

Honesty, this is really not something I have ever struggled with,being honest, unless it has to do with needing help. I honestly, couldn't admit to it. I am good, I am strong. I got this, I've been through worse. Those all fail. They falter.

 All three pregnancies, healthy, and the babies....my God, the babies...totally healthy. That is more than any mom could hope or ask for! However, at the end of each of my pregnancies, I fall. Violently, manically, and suddenly to bottom of a vary small, very dark pit. That is where I reside, with my first son I stayed there for three years. With my second, maybe only six months. With this third beautiful child of mine, I thought I was past that, I felt great! My head clear, my eyes bright, when suddenly, I was there again. I recognize these walls, this darkness, it creeped up on me in moments of mommy rage over stupid things. Seeing visions of gore that Hollywood couldn't come up with, during menial task like driving the car, and telling the urges in my head to self harm to stop.

Your body is amazing. It can create life, an actual bonefied human being! But in doing so, for some of us, the chemicals, the hormones, after this amazing great task.....it fails. The wiring gets crossed and suddenly life is awful when it should be wonderful.

I went to my doctor three weeks after having Miles, I felt it coming on, she said she could Baker act me or give me a referral. I didn't have time for either so I went home convinced I can sweat the demons out like I did after I had Emerson. I worked out two hours a day, sometimes six days a week to silence urges. It's been worse this time. I'm more tired, more distracted, more everything.

Three days ago, with the support and urging of my husband I finally saw a different doctor about this and left with a script for Prozac. Wow. I had always prided myself on being a self starter and handling things myself. I didn't think I needed meds, I can sweat my out of the darkest hole.

Anyways, here I am. The view from the bottom, trying to find my way out, again, for the third time. I wish I could just have babies and rejoice! Not have babies and then be crippled by my own mind, poisoning every action and every moment little by little with this creeping unpredictable darkness.
Maybe prozac, for me, will be like having a flashlight in the pit. At least he didn't go all 'The Yellow Wallpaper' on me