Tuesday, September 23, 2014

PPD

You know those times when you're scrolling through Facebook, and you see an image or a message or a video, and it's like someone might as well have tagged you and said they were posting it for you. Well, that happened to me the other day when I saw this.


Hi, my name is Sandy, and I have Postpartum Depression.

Phew. That was hard.

I first saw my doctor back in May, when E was only 2.5 months old. As I described what I had been feeling, and some experiences that frankly had scared me, she said it sure sounded like PPD, but I still clung on to the hope that I was "normal." I got a prescription for an antidepressant, but didn't fill it. Instead, I kept battling, thinking that if I just tried to do X, Y, or Z, that I'd be fine, and it would go away on its own and I'd be back to myself.

A month later, and I wasn't better. I was getting worse, and I was getting more desperate. I filled the prescription, but still didn't take it. Why? Oh, a million reasons. I was worried that the thoughts I was already having about hurting myself would turn into full-blown suicidal attempts (or completion), and that terrified me. I was afraid of the stigma (entirely, and falsely, perceived in my own mind, and not an actual stigma laid upon me by anyone else) of being "mentally ill." I was afraid to admit that I couldn't control my emotions, that I was so "weak" as to need a pill to make me happy. And so on. Yes, my reasons were stupid. As someone with a Masters degree in Psychology, I should know better. I should know that the only "stigma" associated with mental illness comes from ignorant people, not smart people. I should know that medication truly can help. I should know that having PPD is no different than having cancer, or the flu. But for some reason I was holding myself to a different standard, and I was miserable.

Finally, last week, I couldn't take it anymore. I was having depressive episodes several times a week, I was having a very hard time going to church, and on my "happy" days I felt like I couldn't catch up from how little I was able to do on my bad days. And, now, I can even see how much it was hurting my family. My kids were grumpy, my husband was stressed--it was just too much. I took the pill. I've been taking the antidepressant for a week now. Yes, it's probably a little early to know just how well it will work, and how many side effects I'll see, but it truly has made a difference. My husband isn't afraid to open the door, wondering which version of his wife he'll see--the normal, happy one, or the barely functioning one, crying in the bedroom while the kids run amok in the rest of the house. I had the first happy Sunday I've had in a long time. I can make it through my whole day, including dinners where the kids don't like what I've cooked and the bedtime routine (and associated hundreds of repetitions of "Go to bed!") with a smile still on my face. For the first time in months, I'm actually convinced I'll beat this, rather than dreading that I won't. I'm able to smile every day, and mean it.

I'm not trying to argue that antidepressants are for everyone. I'm not 100% sure that I'll continue to not have side effects, or that I'll never have another bad day. But, I do know this: I have PPD. As I've seen the outpouring of love from my neighbors and family, I've also realized that the "stigma" was entirely in my head. No one looks down on me for needing these meds--it's okay to get medical help for medical problems. As Elder Holland said, "If you had appendicitis, God would expect you to seek a priesthood blessing and get the best medical care available. So too with emotional disorders. Our Father in Heaven expects us to use all of the marvelous gifts He has provided in this glorious dispensation." [source] This talk was one that I felt did not apply to me at the time it was given, but was extremely comforting in the days before I finally agreed to take the medication.

So, there you have it. I'm talking about my PPD. I hope that this will help someone gain the courage to talk about her PPD, or get the help she needs.

2 comments:

  1. Sandy, I have struggled with PPD for over a year now and feel like I could have written this same post word for word. It gets better. Thank you for bravely sharing your experience. You are loved and you are not alone.

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  2. I don't know you very well, Sandy, but I love you for what you have written. Thank you for being brave.

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