So as I mentioned in my first post, some of this is to keep friends and family in the loop. Some of this is to keep me...sane. I've been struggling with this sort of depression off and on since I started getting sick with this pregnancy. I guess, if I want to be honest, that it means I've been teetering very closely on that edge, and the pregnancy was just an excuse to topple me over. But I've also been dealt some pretty judgmental blows recently.
There is nothing that can explain the feeling of inadequacy like hearing other people essentially BRAG about something that comes naturally to them... but that you struggle with doing. From friends and family, to co-workers and bosses, and heck, even strangers. It's an age-old process. Millions upon millions of women time and again do it. And here I sit, having a pity party because bringing a new life into this world is not just an effort, but a seemingly impossible task for me.
I've had people tell me, "Well you know, it says that you're only supposed to be nauseous for the 1st trimester." or even "It's not like you have to do anything special, many women get pregnant." And I guess, to a certain extent, it's my own fault, because, well it's one thing to hear it, and another to let it get to me. And it's easy for some to go, "Oh just ignore them" - but it's another thing entirely to do it. I've even had one person say that if I wasn't overweight, none of these problems would occur. And maybe they wouldn't have. But the harsh reality is that I AM overweight. The harsher reality that I neglected to touch base on was that, when I was NOT overweight, I still had difficulty being pregnant. Depression doesn't use logic to weigh out those opinions though. It doesn't put up a flashing sign that says, "HEY! Skinny people have problems getting pregnant too!" or "Healthy women struggle with pregnancy as well." There is no statistic that says only overweight women have stillbirth. There's nothing that says perfectly healthy women have bodies that have unhealthy innards. There's no journal that says if you are 125 lbs. your babies will be full term. So it's easy to lie down and take it. It's easy to let it snowball. And yeah, sometimes I just feel like it's easy, so why not?
"But I'm going to let you in on the darker side of all of this. I may catch heat for it. I'm sure plenty of people have an opinion and will consider me weak, think less of me."
In the more recent weeks, I've been hospitalized a few times for various reasons. None of which are the same, but all equally scary. When they start slinging terms like "transfusions" and "waivers" and "living wills" it's time to put on your big girl panties and realize your pity party at home can get a little complicated. I've hit the stage where I can no longer walk without any extreme amount of pain. Some people would just suck it up, or since the doctor did prescribe pain killers, they'd maybe pop a pill. The thing is, I've never really been good at just "sucking it up" and dealing with the pain. And I've already got a grocery list full of meds, so yeah, I'm hesitant to just start poppin' more pills... prescribed or otherwise.
But I'm going to let you in on the darker side of all of this. I may catch heat for it. I'm sure plenty of people have an opinion and will consider me weak, think less of me. And you know what? I'm okay with that. I'm tired of internalizing it. People ask me how I feel? And all I can think is... I feel like $h!t. You asked. But instead I smile, and try to lessen the degree of pain I'm in by saying something inane, like - "One day at a time" or "Almost there" anything other than what I really feel. They don't really want to know anyways. Most people just expect me to say fine and go about my day. So I do.
I woke up on Sunday with the most intense pain I've ever dealt with. I'm talking - worse than the post c-section, worse than when I broke my arm as a kid and never said anything to my dad because I didn't want to get in trouble because I went down the slide face first, worse than literally slamming my hand in the car door and hearing my pinky break. Yeah, THAT kind of pain. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against my pillow, felt the tears leak out, and realized that I was DISAPPOINTED that I woke up. I just wanted the pain to go away.
You have to understand, that of everything I have to be grateful for in life, it's my wonderful husband and my two beautiful daughters. It's my mom, dad, brother and all the other family members in my life that just... give me meaning. I treasure family more than anything in the world. So when the pain is SO GREAT that the only relief I can look forward to is the thought of never waking up, and NEVER seeing any of that again - I realize that I've come to an impasse. It's difficult to admit that I would be so willing to give up EVERYTHING that I hold near and dear and treasure the most. Even to myself.
I'm sure the first thing you're all screaming is GO SEE A SHRINK! No offense to those in that profession - seriously - but I don't put a lot of faith in seeing a shrink right now, unless you're going to take the pain away. It's the pain that drives me to this. I'm not on self-destruct mode. I don't go out drinking, or do any type of drugs to numb the pain. I'm not intentionally harming myself. I'm living. One. Day. At. A. Time. I'm crying myself to sleep. As silently as possible, so I don't wake up Kevin, because he has to go to work in the morning, after he drops Laurel off to camp, and gets Ella ready for the day. As I sit upright, because I can't physically lie down without intensifying the pain. I wake up approximately 14 times throughout the night. Which essentially means I don't sleep. And judging by the permanent purple smudges on my eyes that look like I've invested in permanent plum eye shadow - I'm guessing that I DON'T sleep. I spend all day trying to get "comfortable" in bed. And this is just the "physical" aspect of pain.
I'm living. One. Day. At. A. Time. I'm crying myself to sleep.
As silently as possible...
The "emotional" side is just as intense, and sometimes worse. I sit in bed and volley between having faith and not. I mean, who really lets you live in this much pain? Or what have I done wrong in a past life to deserve it? But also, there's the loneliness. When my family comes home from their respective places, and they all convene in the living room... I sit in my room and cry some more. It's a self-imposed prison. I jokingly refer to my 1-2 hours of walking around as my "time-out" or "prison break" for good behavior. You have NOTHING but time on your hands to sit and think about things.
Oh sure, everyone says just relax and enjoy it! Or some have even suggested getting away from my family because they must be the cause of my stress. I want to tell these people that they have no clue. In the nicest way possible, you have no clue. When our household income is literally sliced in two with no notice, but the bills remain the same. Or when you want to do something as simple as get the oil changed, but can't really afford to do that, but you're afraid to let one of the only working vehicles you have go to pot. Or knowing full well that the laundry will continue to pile up, or the dishes will eventually need washing, despite the fact that it hurts to stand for more than a 10 minute stint. Or, and this is the pity party part... knowing that only 1 or 2 people will stop out to say hello and give you a friendly face, an adult to talk to, a little news from the outside world. Because for some, the discomfort is greater than the friendship. And you have to live with that. And you get to THINK about that. Because, in all honesty, what else is there to do?
I can't tell you that writing this out and sharing this will make my hips feel better. Because it won't. I can't say that I'll mentally be a better person for having written this - because I just don't know. I may instantly regret hitting the publish button. But I'm in for a penny at this point. I can't say that I'll be able to walk tomorrow without pain... because, well I'm pretty sure I won't. I can't even tell you that if I wake up in pain tomorrow, I'll feel any differently than I did on Sunday - because I don't know what tomorrow brings. I don't know the extent of the pain I'll be in. I don't know what mindset I'll have. If I went to bed and actually slept. If I was able to lie down on my side instead of propped up vertically all night. I won't know any of this until tomorrow. But MAYBE... just maybe, before YOU judge someone, before you roll your eyes because they sound like they're moaning, before you notice that our yard is overgrown or there's an oilspot in our driveway, or see my husband helping me out to the car each time... maybe you'll realize there's always more. And that it makes people feel less. And when you're down to nil, it doesn't take much more to teeter over that edge.
*On the bright side, officially at 27 weeks. We're talking BABY STEPS with the doctor... so the goal is to get to 30 weeks. Then we make another goal... until we get to where we need to be. Paisley needs to just hang tight and stop trying to make an early appearance.*
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