Why does it have to be so hard to find a mental health resource?! Since the last update I finally managed to find a psychiatrist (cause those are the ones who give you meds) but not from the list provided to me from my insurance company. I actually had to find one via Psychology Today’s website. Yes, like the magazine. So thank goodness for that but at the same time… what in the actual FUCK?! Why would my insurance company send me on this never ending run around?!
As you can see, the last week on this blog has been pretty quiet. Same with Twitter. I’ve just been struggling with my mental health and with being tired and with awful headaches/migraines. November is always pretty stressful and crammed for me but it’s harder to get these things done with a clingy toddler to watch at the same time. I have due dates for things and I have no idea how I’m going to get them done.
Speaking of; the decrease in my meds has been really messing me up, big time. Since my OBGYN said she couldn’t give me refills anymore for my Zoloft I’ve had to decrease from 150mg to 100mg to prevent going without for as long as I can. But because of this my mental clarity is starting to fog back up, I can’t remember words again, my excitement and inspiration is gone. And I’m just so sad. I feel like I’m on the brink of a sloppy sob fest any fuckin minute now.
I’m honestly so sick of being incapable of doing the things that use to be so simple to me pre-pregnancy.
I had my psych appointment and it went super well. Do I recommend tele-webcam-health? Not really. Connection issues can really mess up the flow of the conversation. I would had much rather had a telephone appt. But I did get the help I needed and I am on the waitlist for an actual therapist as well. So. Progress, yay.
About a year ago my mother in law attacked me on Facebook saying I was a bad mom cause I had dreams and mother’s shouldn’t have dreams; she should either give up her dreams or give up her child. This COMPLETELY came as a surprise to me considering she had been so supportive prior to this. I was dealing with trying to cope with postpartum depression and the loss of my dad. My husband spent years stressing that his family will always accept you but once again my gut was screaming “told you so,” for trusting any of that mess. She went on to attack my 2 close friends who were defending me, respectfully by cussing them out. Yes, this grown ass adult woman was opening saying “fuck you” to 20 year old’s who didn’t even dare to cuss at her back. And tbh, that said a lot about my mother in law’s character. I realized A LOT that day.
My depression spiraled beyond me trying to even both controlling it anymore that day. I was just so tired of fighting it. No one cared anyway. Everyone apparently had something shitty to say about “my behavior”. I’m so lucky that the real support system I have, and have had for the last 20+ years are always there when I need them, no matter how near or far. It was the first time I ever let my PPD get away with thoughts of hurting my child. It was the first time I thought if I got rid of her, everyone could just leave me the hell alone.
And that was unfair to her. My child was there for me when I lost my dad. When I didn’t want to do anything but lay in bed all day and cry. She would squeeze my hand and make me laugh. I’m just so freakin sick of people who refuse to get to know me and have the audacity to drag who I am. And this is why I didn’t want to get married again. I didn’t want to deal with shitty in laws again. I already went through a whole freakin decade of that shit, I refuse to waste any more time with it.
My spiral got really bad and I felt like the little progress I made to heal was just undone in that one day. So I called an OBGYN and requested to be evaluated for Postpartum Depression.
I’ve always been pretty vocal when it came to National Suicide Prevention Week. Or The Lines Project. I worked on To Write Love On Her Arms street team for years long before I even moved to Florida.
Suicide in the recent years have become more of a public issue than it ever was. Claiming the lives of Robin Williams and Chester from Linkin Park. And yet people still refuse to change the conversation or even have the conversation. And as long as their a stigma to it, the problem will never be solved.
I was 13 when I leaned my head back against the wall during lunch with my two best friends at the time; Amanda and Raven. I blurted out “sometimes I just want to die.” Raven thought that was a weird thing to say and Amanda just slightly nodded. I was always painted the fuck up in the family. It didn’t matter what I did, said or tried to fix things. There was always something that made someone mad. There was always something that made someone feel to compelled to tell me, a small child, that I wasn’t smart enough. That I wasn’t going to make it. That I was a failure. And so I kept those word burned in my ears for a very very long time. I slept in class frequently in middle school and high school. I just didn’t care.
What was there to care about when everyone thought you were a fuck up anyway?