How Post Partum Depression & Anxiety Ruined My Expectations.

I was rereading a post from a while back, Halfway to the Great Unknown, and I realized I still have no answers to those questions and thoughts. I don’t really think I’m supposed to, but they’re just as interesting to mull over now as they were then, almost eight months ago. I really approached pregnancy, birth, and parenting like this big, grand, and exciting science experiment. It was exciting and new and I couldn’t wait to test some theories I had, as well as brace myself for the unexpected. Yeah, no, I was totally trying to expect the unexpected. And that was a big flop.

There’s this post I never actually hit publish for that I wrote when Ziggy was about 4 weeks old. it was about how hard my pregnancy was, how it completely wrecked me. There’s one paragraph in particular that I wrote about how all my fears from how hard pregnancy had turned up pretty unfounded, but not dismissed. Being bipolar puts me at a high risk for PPD/OCD/Anxiety, and we took that pretty seriously, especially since the pregnancy became so much harder than it should have been with the med managment snafus.

Ziggy is the easiest baby I could have imagined, and it made me feel pretty confident that the PPD/OCD/anxiety was a worry I wasn’t going to have to deal with. I was four weeks into the parenting gig and really feeling like I had my stride. My baby and I had a great relationship and while I wasn’t madly, truly, deeply in love with Ziggy, I knew that these things take time and that it was just nice to enjoy my baby the way you would enjoy a cute, fluffy sweet new puppy. I wasn’t worried, and no one else was either. I mean, there was still a finger to the pulse of my stability, sure, but you know. We had downgraded from red alert.

Ziggy turns six months old soon and I’ve been flailing around desperately in a sea of pretty awful post partum emotions. I have days where I think I’m finally on the other side but I’m not on the other side of this yet. I want to be. I’m working so hard at keeping up with everything in this attempt to make what’s going on in my head reconcile with the awesome, incredible life I have right now and it’s not working super well. I have great supports and an excellent medical team helping me get through this, but we seem to be stalled at this waiting game of seeing if the current med cocktail is going to work and that’s a shitty fucking place to hang out in. Every day I drown in this is one more day I feel like I’m missing in Ziggy’s life, it’s one more day I won’t get back.

Taking pictures of Ziggy is literally second on my Self Care List and it’s been really nice. I spam the crap out of my instagram with photos of that baby because being able to look at them helps give me this perspective of what my life looks like, rather than what it feels like. Photos of all our happy little adventures helps show me what I’m missing when I’m too lost in my head and I hope they’re enough.

There’s not really a happy ending to this post, even though it’s been in my drafts for months. I keep adding paragraphs hoping to have a happy ending, but I’m still just waiting it out. And that really, really fucking sucks.


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