I have been dealing with/recovering from a known PMD for two years now. Almost two years to the day ago was the worst day of my life. Not to be dramatic, but to further explain...worse than being kidnapped (don't ask...it was a very short period of time and I wasn't injured). worse than being abused for years by an alcoholic mother (she's been clean a long time and we have reconciled since). worse than breaking up with a first love I thought I would marry (better off with my true love now, anyway). worse than just about anything I can imagine. Thanksgiving 2007 was the day that I realized just. how. sick. I. was. I couldn't get dressed. I barely could cut my toenails so my shoes would fit. I called my psychiatrist (yep, ON THANKSGIVING DAY) and told her I couldn't live like I was anymore. I wanted to go into an inpatient program at a mental hospital...seriously...I was so desperate I
wanted to go!
Last year's Thanksgiving was kind of uneventful, yet it was quite a great feeling I do remember to be as well as I was just one year later. See, that November two years ago I was convinced that I was never going to get well. Never. My PPD was worse and different than ALL the PPD cases my psychiatrist had ever seen in her many years of practice, specializing in Perinatal Mood Disorders. I just knew it. She
said all of her patients got better if compliant with treatment, but I mean really, how could she know
for sure? It seemed nearly impossible to me at the time that anyone could feel as bad as I felt (the emotional equivalent of
"get me a priest, I need last rites"). Feeling that bad, how could I possibly get better? I mean, seriously, people who are given 48 hours to live with cancer don't generally make a miraculous recovery and live to 100, do they? That's how I remember feeling, though. Like I would simply collapse and be swallowed up by the earth if I had to endure more than a couple more days of that hell.
So, you all already know who was right and who was wrong. Thank God! I was just too sick to see or believe the rational, research and statisic based evidence that was being presented to me. I still needed to hear it though. All women who are suffering need to hear it. Even if they won't or can't or don't believe it, they need to hear it. Over and over again. YOU. WILL. GET. BETTER. Somewhere in our subconscious the "old, good, well us" is there and needs to be encouraged to come back out into this world again.
This year and a half that I have been supporting women in Atlanta and beyond, most of whom are now Survivor Mamas, has been a mixed blessing. It makes me sad that so many (generally 1 in 8) suffer from a PMD at all. I wish we knew exactly how to prevent it. But, I am so honored to be able to serve them (and God) by having the opportunity to do what I do. This little bit that I do blesses me and I hope them a little, too. Some of them have even become my friends in the process. Recently, I have had my first experience with having someone I called "friend" before their PPD suffer. While I always care deeply for the women with whom I develop a relationship through this shared burden, having an old friend of many years be overcome with a PMD and call to share their struggles is painful. This person, this strong, competent, independant woman is scared, desperate, hopeless, guilt-ridden. Oh Lord, why her? Why does someone I already love have to be stricken by the anxiety, depression and obsessions? It's just a little too close to home. And yet, what a gift that we have each other and a relationship already formed and developed with trust and caring. This is different. And not all bad. Thank you, God, for strengthening my friendship with her. Thank you for providing a tiny diamond in the very, very rough. You always provide.