The Fish Pond

Into the Sunlight

"So," she said, looking at me intently, "what do you want to do about other appointments?"

What, indeed. I'd been thinking about this over the course of the previous couple of weeks. Little signs, glimpses into my previous life had been seeping in, soaking in, filling me up enough for me to finally take notice. Like finding myself, on a Tuesday afternoon, instead of stressing about the housework and how BigDaddyFish was going to react to it not being done, rolling around on the floor with Sunny and Nemo, tickling and wrestling and laughing, and realizing, momentarily, that I was happy, and there wasn't a single thing that was more important than that and not a single thing I'd rather be doing at that time.

It had been so long I really didn't know what the feeling was at first.

Like being out with Trout, talking with her, seeing her smile, seeing her dance in her ballet classes and focusing entirely on her, and what she's feeling, and not on myself, not avoiding the other parents because of fear of them judging me for having too many kids, for not showering enough, for dressing frumpy, for being overwhelmed, for being awkward, for not knowing what to say, for being afraid.

Like being able to calmly, easily talk to Little Man about what has been bothering him, about why he's been fighting at school, realizing that it had more to do with me and my wallowing in negativity than anything he's been able to articulate, and being able to talk with him and come up with ways to help him be calmer and deal with his emotions in a healthy way.

Like wanting to spend time with my husband, remembering why we got married in the first place, why we are friends, and having a damn good time doing it. And disagreeing with and fighting with him without wanting to punch him out or run away from home.

Like being a lot more free with my hugs and kisses, and watching them be returned.

I have a couple of big windows in the front of my house, in the front of my living room where we spend most of our time, and they have blackout shades on them. So many days between when Sunny turned one and when I started to come out of this black hole that I'd been digging deeper and deeper those shades would stay drawn, because I was unable to cope, unable to see the sun, unable to face what my life had become, the loss of control, the feelings of helplessness and worthlessness. The lack of hope. The anger and resentment.

"How about I just call you when I need you?" I asked.

"As long as you keep in touch, because I worry about my patients, and wonder how their lives have turned out."

Consider it done. Thank you for giving me my life back.

And thank you, readers, friends, for helping me get there, for being here despite my illness and my own fear of putting it out there - you had a hand in this, more than you'll ever know.

In the Moment

Yesterday it snowed here. Some other time I'll talk about what DC is like in the snow, where people freak the hell out at the sight of a single snowflake and fortify their houses as though for a 40 year famine. Yesterday they were calling for "up to an inch of snow" and, as usual, we got about three. The big kids were at school, I was cold and tired and grouchy, so the littles and I were hunkered down in my front room with the television on, and I was trying to figure out how I was going to get a nap in without the little kids destroying the house while I did it.

Some sort of nonsense song came on, and Nemo started to shake his little booty, grinning and giggling like the concept of a simple booty shake was the greatest thing in the world. Sunny joined in, she too giggling and grinning, so I hopped up and shook my big ol' booty, too. The snow continued to fall softly, gently, outside cold and gray and silent. Inside was warmth and song and movement and joy.

"Mama, let's do Ring Around the Rosie," urged Sunny, so we each took one of Nemo's hands and we held hands, me on my knees to take care of my back, and around we went, singing and gently tugging Nemo around in a circle, collapsing in a great heap of giggling and tickling on "all fall down." We did it two more times, and after the third time we lay there on the floor, Sunny, Nemo, and I, and it occurred to me, briefly, that I was happy, and it was not the first time in the last month or so that has happened.

Happy.

Recovery is, indeed, possible.

Please Please Please Pick Up the Phone Today and Support the Mothers' Act

As any of my regular readers know, I struggle with postpartum depression. Every. Single. Day. But I am blessed in that I am lucky enough to have known about the disease and how to get help, and I have health insurance that covers my visits, at least partially.

But too, too many women don't have what I have. They don't know about the disease. They think that they are alone. They don't have health insurance, or what they have is inadequate to cover what they need to get better. And this is a crime.

Only 15% of women get the help they need for postpartum depression and related disorders. Education is needed for both women and healthcare providers, so that this disease can be effectively and quickly identified and treatment administered. And women and families who can't afford it should never, ever be at risk because they can't pay for treatment.

Now, Congress is finally doing something to help those in need. Senators Durbin and Menendez have introduced the Mothers' Act, S. 3529, in the Senate. This bill will provide much needed funding for education and screening for postpartum depression, and will also fund research into diagnosis and treatment, as too little is known about the disease and the treatments that are available are sometimes not effective, or have side effects that lead to women discontinuing treatment. Improvements need to be made.

Please join me, BlogHers Act, Postpartum Support International, and Postpartum Progress in supporting this bill. Look at these links to find out how to contact your senator and tell him or her that supporting this bill is important to you. Together, our voices are strong and can't be ignored.

Those who have no voice, or think they have no strength, need our help.

Broken

Yesterday morning was a bad, bad morning for me. Despite the good feelings left over from the weekend, I didn't tolerate things well yesterday when I needed to get all four kids up and out the door and all four kids were resistant to that. I had to drop the big kids at the bus, drop Sunny off at preschool the next town over, and go to my therapy appointment clear across town in the opposite direction, by 9:30. We are not morning people, but for whatever reason it was an order of magnitude worse than usual.

I tried being nice and waking the kids up nicely, which they did, but it all went to hell in the proverbial handbasket in about five and a half minutes. The kids refused to get dressed when I asked them to the first time, when I asked them to the second thru fifth times, when I shouted at them to get dressed, when I attempted to redirect them away from the baby to the tasks they were all each responsible for doing themselves. They all wanted to get in bed and snuggle with Daddy, who has extreme sleep issues and couldn't get up himself.

To make a very long, private, complicated story very very short, I yelled a lot. I thought no more so than usual, but apparently BigDaddyFish thought so and, thanks to our wonderful communicating status, it upset him worse than usual. He called me long after I had gotten the kids out of the house, before I dropped Sunny off, to tell me his feelings about what had happened and ask me to discuss it with my therapist.

BigDaddyFish is a Big Picture kind of guy. That's how he sees things, that's what he focuses on. I, on the other hand, am a Details kinda girl. There was a big misunderstanding. He said something in a way that didn't really communicate what he wanted, I misunderstood it too and overreacted, and it left us both frustrated and angry. I felt blindsided by the conversation, since I had thought I wasn't any worse than usual. It threatened to escalate, but I thought we both did a good job of keeping things civil, if tense, and I talked to my therapist about it. That added in more misunderstanding.

All day long after that, I had a vaguely unsettled feeling, like something was lurking around the corner just waiting to come and get me, and I couldn't figure out why. Several times I caught myself on the verge of tears without any clear reason why. I knew things were going Bad, but I really really didn't have a clue why, and I was scared. Real scared. I tried to talk to BigDaddyFish about it when he came home, but he was still pissed off about the morning and things escalated.

Another long long story short, I lost my temper and put my foot through the drywall. Twice. It was either that or punch BigDaddyFish in the nose.

BDF and I are both stubborn, passionate, strong-willed people. Both oldest children. Neither of us backs down, or backs off, easily. Putting my foot through the drywall terrified me. The degree of rage scared the crap out of me. I fought hard to maintain some small semblence of control for the rest of the night so that BDF and I could talk about this. We finally were able to very early this morning, and again later. We were finally able to uncover some of the misunderstandings, to find some place in our psyches to process things, to talk and identify issues and causes and possible solutions. We both want very very much to get back to where we were just a couple of days ago.

Why the heck am I telling you this? One, if you or your partner is struggling with postpartum depression, I want you to know you are not alone. If you feel at all "unsettled" or vaguely off, please please do whatever you need to do to take care of yourself or to get the help you need to stave it off before it explodes like I did. I didn't eat right, sleep well, get virtually any exercise, or do self-nurturing things yesterday. I'm sure it was a factor. If I had mentioned the out of sortsness to my therapist, maybe we could have come up with a plan for the day to help me make sure I would be best able to maximize my own chances at not exploding. If your partner is at all out of sorts, please try and be aware that they may not be aware of what they are doing, and GENTLY bring it to their attention, without blame. I know what a pain in the ass it can be, and sometimes it can feel like you are dealing with a child or someone trying to manipulate you and make your life miserable. Some people are like that, but most, like me, desperately want to get better and not be that way, not be overly sensitive to criticism, not be prone to frustration, not be on the verge of tears - they don't mean to cause problems, and they regret everything to a degree I hope you never ever have cause to understand. Try anyway. Their life may just depend on it. Two, I hope someone can benefit from the shared experience - I know it helps me when things are at my worst to know that I'm not as abnormal and screwed up as I feel. Three, I hope that by being public with my struggles with this disease, it will help erase the stigma of mental illness, of postpartum depression, which will hopefully one day make it easier for women to ask for and receive treatment.

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Unfortunately I woke up Trout when I put my foot through the wall. I talked to her frankly and honestly about what is going on with me, to the best of my ability, on a level that she could understand. No details, just Big Picture. I explained that sometimes the chemicals in the brain start working wrong, and when that happens sometimes people are sad a lot and don't really know how to handle stress. I explained that when someone's brain is like that, they sometimes can't figure out how to handle problems, and what is really something quite small seems very very big to them. I told her how very very much I love her, her and her brothers and sister, how they are the most important things in my life and how I am trying my hardest to get well. I explained that the doctor I've been seeing every week is helping me talk about things and work through them. I told her I was not angry at her, reassured her that is wasn't her fault at all and really had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me. I told her she could ask me or Daddy anything at all about it if she had questions. I asked her if she did, and she asked me how I was going to fix the drywall. Maybe she needs details, like me.

This morning, I woke BigDaddyFish up first, instead of the kids. We talked a lot. When Trout's alarm went off, she got up immediately of her own accord, instead of staying in bed for 45 minutes until we can't possibly make the bus without much shouting and scurrying, like she usually does. She got dressed and came downstairs to get her breakfast. BDF and I continued to talk. We heard a scurrying rustling in our room, and I got up to see who else had gotten up. It was Trout. She had made me a smiley face breakfast, with 2 oreos for eyes, a Little Debbie Fudge Round for a nose, and a handful of cheerios for a mouth.

Then she went back downstairs and made "breakfast" along the same lines for everyone else in the family.

I do not deserve such a creature. 

In a Dark Place

Right now I'm in a pretty dark place, and I'm not sure why.  Oh, I know my hormones are part of it, but really, I've never been this bad when pregnant before.  Last night I only got about 4 hours of sleep; I wasn't able to go to sleep until about 2:30 am.  Instead I stayed up reading and watching tv and crying.  The really sucky thing is that I wanted to enjoy this last pregnancy, and I can't.  I just can't.  And I hate that.  And I keep contracting and nothing is happening.  And some asshole did a google search on "naked 7 year old girls" and got to my blog, and while I know that sick motherfuckers like that exist, I hate when my world collides with them, even tangentially.  At least he got nowhere here.

Just having a spot of trouble seeing the beauty in my world right now, so I'll just shut up for a while.

There But for the Grace of God...

I wanted to take a few minutes to post a little bit about the Andrea Yates verdict.  BigDaddyFish is having a little trouble with the idea that I sympathize so much with this woman; I feel the verdict in the trial was the correct one, and I really have trouble with the idea that the other people involved in this horrible tragedy are not being held accountable.

Yes, the others.  Rusty Yates in particular.

You see, I've been in a situation similar enough to be able to identify with this poor woman.  No, I never killed any kids, or did them any harm.  I wouldn't ever.  But I AM able to recognize getting close to the line more times than I can count; I've yelled too loud and too often, been rougher with them than I should have, spanked them.  I've had to put MYSELF in time out to make sure no one got hurt, so that I could calm down and be rational.  I've dealt with the awful guilt I felt every time I didn't get myself into time out fast enough.  I recognized before I stayed at home with my kids that dealing with the emotional isolation, the overwhelming nature of dealing with small irrational people all day long with few breaks and few interactions with other adult, rational people would be the biggest challenge I would face, and did what I needed to to address that.

I've also been depressed.  Horribly, awfully, wish I would die depressed.  I still had the wherewithall to recognize I was in trouble, and to get help.  I had a supportive spouse who did what he could to help.  It stressed our marriage; we are blessed that we made it.  But he helped.

But Rusty Yates not only didn't help, he made the situation worse.  Both Yates' were warned that Andrea shouldn't have any more children because of her unstable mental condition.  She had attempted suicide.  She had been institutionalized.  Yet he not only told her she needed to have as many kids as God would allow, but encouraged her to homeschool them, too!  He, and the mental health system and child protection system in Texas, failed Andrea.  More importantly, they failed those 5 innocent children.

Since we don't have a "Guilty, but insane" defense in this country (do we?  I would be happy if we did), I believe the verdict is the right one.  Andrea Yates didn't have depression like I did.  She had psychosis.  She thought she was protecting her children from Satan and Hell by killing them while they were children.  In a peculiar way that most of us can't identify with, isn't this just her maternal insticts working?  If we thought a predator was after our children, wouldn't we rational people do everything we could to protect our kids?  My father is bipolar, and I know from dealing with his illness for more than 25 years that the mentally ill can no more turn their illness on and off at their convenience, as some have suggested that the Post Partum Psychosis is simply a convenient excuse for Andrea, than they can stop a heart attack or make their bodies thinner or make an inactive thyroid make the right amount of hormone just by willing it to do so.  Andrea Yates was not in control and did not understand what she did was wrong. Period.  So she will be where she needs to be.

The jury in this case needed to override their emotions about the horrible end these children faced, and arrive at the true and just verdict.  It is right and just that they did not let feelings of revenge or retribution over the loss of those five innocents prevent them from making the right decision about their mother.  IF she ever "gets well" she will have to live with the fact of what she did for the rest of her life, and that is punishment enough.  I just hope Rusty Yates has an active imagination.  I wonder how he sleeps at night.