The darkest days

I have been debating about how to write this for several days.  What happened after Oliver came home is not that easy to put into words.  The simplest way of putting it is that things went bad, very bad.  Let me begin by saying that I had studied mental health in college.  I even worked on the psych unit for one of my student rotations and liked it so much that I got a job there after I had graduated.  I knew the signs and symptoms of various mental illnesses.  I just could not see these same signs and symptoms in myself.
I began to experience symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), shortly after Oliver was born.  The day I took my first shower after having Oliver I experienced my first flashback.  As I was standing in the shower letting the hot water hit my back I was suddenly right back in the delivery room experiencing all the sights, smells, and sounds.  That flashback left me sobbing, shaking, and slightly disorientated.  I brushed it off as it a fluke from the stress of the delivery and all the hormones.  While Oliver was in the NICU I usually would have flashbacks when I took showers.  I do not know why the shower would trigger these, but it was a common occurrence.  I didn't really talk about them because I had rationalized them to myself and figured that they would go away once we were home and the stress decreased.  Once he was home the frequency did decrease but I continued to have them.  I remember one time standing in the dish soap aisle at the grocery store when I had one, it wasn't severe and only made me weepy.  Nothing like trying not to cry in the grocery store to really make you feel like a freak.  Usually I could not fully remember what event I had just relived and just dealt with the emotional break down that always followed.  As time went by the flashbacks did begin to lessen, but I never knew when I would have one or what would trigger it.
This is also when I began to experience the anxiety and depression that would rule my life for the next 6 months.  I have written about the anxiety that I experienced with any changes that occurred with Oliver.  Once he was home it increased dramatically.  I was also taking Reglan at this time to help my meager breast milk supply.  Anxiety and depression are known side effects of this medication.  My midwife had warned me about it when I was given the prescription for the medication.  I began taking the medication a week before Oliver was home with no noticeable change in my anxiety level.  Once Oliver was home things began to go downhill, but I thought it was normal new parent worry.  I can remember laying in bed at night exhausted beyond belief and being unable to fall asleep because I was positive someone would break into the house and hurt us, or that the house was going to catch on fire.  I devised elaborate escape routes for us to get out of the house.  As a result of this anxiety I developed insomnia.  The nights that Justin was at work were by far the hardest for me to get through because then it was only me and Oliver and I had to be awake in order to hear if something was happening in the house.  All along I KNEW these thoughts were irrational and I knew that I could not voice them because I was worried that people would think that I was weak and couldn't handle things.
After two months I stopped taking the Reglan and my anxiety level decreased dramatically.  This decrease in my anxiety allowed my depression to fully gain a strong foothold.  My depression was strengthened by my sense of shame, guilt and failure about having a premature baby.  At this time I was also struggling with a very negative self image.  My depression took on the form of a negative voice in my head.  It repeated and convinced me to believe every negative thought that I had.  I eventually gave in and believed this voice, it sounded so rational and was very convincing.  My depression really twisted my thinking, but I thought that I was being rational.  I began to see myself as a horribly inadequate mother, I mean I couldn't even carry a baby to term.  I felt like I was being punished by God for being a bad person.  Let me say that this is not the image of God that I was brought up with or how I normally see God.  Each time I took Oliver to the doctor I felt like he was judging me and could see just how awful of a person I was.  Each time someone did something around the house to help like dishes or laundry, I felt like they thought that I was a lazy, fat, dirty, and disorganized person.  What person could not put the damn dishwasher away and put the dirty dishes in it?  I was after all, a stay at home mom these were the things that were expected of me I have all day to do these simple tasks.  I was highly irritable and snappy mostly this was directed at Justin.  Usually he did nothing to deserve this.  I hated myself, I hated that I was a burden on people, I hated the fact that more often than not Justin would come home to frozen pizza or take out because I could not find the time to cook.  I hated that I could not figure out how to clean my house.  I hated that all my friends found it so easy to have clean houses, get back their prepregnancy bodies quickly, play with their children, and worked!  I had zero energy to do any of those things.  I struggled to walk around the block.  I felt like I could no longer use the excuse of being on bed rest since my baby was 3 months old.  I was a slug.
Once Oliver came home I knew that no one wanted to hear me whine.  I mean I had a healthy beautiful baby, I shouldn't be complaining.  I kept my mouth shut and put on a good show for my family and friends that things were going really well.  I was also jealous of the women in my life who were pregnant and went on with their lives like it was so easy to carry an unborn baby. I felt like God was showing me that I was such a bad person that I should be surrounded by these happy, carefree women as part of my punishment.
My breaking point came when my nephew was born at the end of January.  My sister in law was having a scheduled c-section so we knew the day he would be born.  The week leading up to his birth I became more and more depressed, I could literally feel this black cloud descend on me.  The day he was born I was this seething pit of anger, jealously, shame, and irritability.  Not exactly the feelings one should feel with the birth of a new healthy baby.  I was happy for them, I was glad that he was healthy and full term.  That evening I locked myself in the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub and really thought about cutting myself.  I had such mental and emotional pain inside that I was desperate to let it out.  The rational part of my brain wrestled with my depression and eventually won, I did not cut.  That was my only instance of wanting to physically harm myself.  I was so ashamed that I had even thought about doing this that I did not tell anyone.  I would also like to clarify that NEVER did I once think about harming Oliver.  That evening was my lowest low point and I felt awful.  The next morning I contacted my friend's mother who works in mental health to get a name for a therapist.  Once I had taken that first step to getting help I felt this huge relief and a sense that some of the baggage I had been carrying around for the past 6 months had started to lighten.  I knew things would get better.
My first appointment with my therapist I let it all out.  I didn't stop crying that whole hour.  My therapist did a wonderful job guiding me back to a place where I started to see the light again.  She gently nudged me to try taking an antidepressant medication once she found out that I was crying everyday and felt stuck by these depressive thoughts.  I was very honest about my fear of taking the medication.  Many of the side effects were things I was already struggling with so I could not see the point of taking medication that would make those things worse.  I was given a medication that does not have the side effects I was worried about.  I wrestled with taking the medication for a few days, and eventually decided to try it.  I am so glad that I made that step, the medicine gradually helped me feel better.  It was not a quick change but rather a gradual change that I was not fully aware of until I realized it had been several days since I had cried.  My flashbacks have disappeared since starting the medicine.  I feel like the fog and spiderwebs in my brain are clearing out.  I am starting to feel like myself again.  The medicine is not a cure and I still have work to do on myself and my relationship with Justin.  We both carry a lot of pain and sadness with us, but we are slowly figuring out how to let some of it go.  For the first time since Oliver was born I am starting to feel truly happy again.   
Now before you get all up in arms about why wasn't I being watched for depression.  I was being watched, I was given the postpartum depression (PPD) screening tool at least 7 times in the first 3 months.  I was first given the screen a few days after Oliver was born.  I was given the screen by my insurance caseworker a few times.  I was given the screen by Oliver's insurance caseworker a few times.  I was also given the screen by my midwife.  Each and every time I passed.  I feel like I passed because I rationalized all the questions.  Most of the questions on that screening tool end with the phrase "for no good reason".  I felt like I had a very good reason that I had anxiety, or felt sad, or didn't sleep well.  At this time I did not have any thoughts about self-harm.  This tool also did not address the symptoms of PTSD.  I know that most of the mothers in the NICU passed this test, we ALL had depression and or PTSD of varying degrees.  I feel like there needs to be a different depression screening tool used for mothers who have been through a traumatic birth, or have a special needs baby.  We are a population very much in need of mental health support after the birth of our children, but since the current PPD test relies heavily on self report, we fall through the cracks.
I was further able to fly under the radar since I put on a smile and acted like things were fine.  I was unable to speak about my feelings to others because of my sense of shame and guilt.  Deep down I knew I needed help, but I was so scared to reach out.  Who really wants their family and friends to see what kind of monster they truly are.  Depression is an awful and twisted thing.  It so clouded my thinking that it took a major scare for me to realize that I was not dealing with this.  I was also able to see that my usual coping skills of dealing with problems were not working.  Sometimes taking that first step in getting help is admitting you have a problem, that step is the hardest one of all to take.