More drugs to ‘fix’ things

We’re going to change my antidepressant.  I knew it weeks ago (in fact, I probably mentioned it in some long, wordy blog post) but what I was on was just not working.  Well, now the overpriced psychiatrist finally agrees with me.  So we’ll try a new pill.

I should be delivering a beautiful baby girl in 3 weeks and a new pill is supposed to make it better that I won’t ever get to hold her?  It’ll make it better that she was scraped out of me on Mother’s Day at 16 weeks gestation instead of me laboring with her and hearing that first cry.  Some pill is going to make me not hate my body and hate myself every day for the rest of my life?  Doubtful.

The psychiatrist asked about my daily schedule and how I function.  I don’t.  All I do is take care of Sweetie.  That’s all I have the strength for and many days I barely have that.  We were supposed to go to all these fun classes together this fall- half the time we don’t go because I just can’t face other people and every class but one we signed up for has a pregnant woman or a woman that brings her little infant and her toddler.  Some days we get in the car and drive to a park and we turn around and go home if I see other people there-  other mothers with multiple children, other mothers who are pregnant.  I just can’t do it.  It’s just another way that I’m ruining her life- not only does my body kill her siblings, my f*cked up mental state is taking her away from playdates, classes and library storyhours.

Sweetie is too beautiful and sweet and lovable.  She’s all I live for and I don’t think that’s good for her anymore.   Every moment I look at her I know that having me as a mother is going to mess her up.  I’m just too far gone.  I look at potentially having a surrogate carry another baby for us and I don’t even know why I think I deserve that, why I should have more children when I know what I’m like inside now?  Broken.  Shattered.  Beyond fixing.

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8 thoughts on “More drugs to ‘fix’ things

  1. I feel this pain, I know this pain so well. Your thought processes, the guilt, everything is so so familiar. We aren’t alone and we have to hang in there. I’m so so sorry. I know exactly what you’re going through and it’s horrendous… I’m so sorry.

  2. I wish I had the magic words, but of course I don’t. You don’t have to fix things, love. It’s okay to feel broken. Some days, survival is all we can hope for. Still, I’m holding onto the hope that the pain eases a bit in time. It will never go away -we both know that. But maybe eventually, you will smile again. Stop putting pressure on yourself to get there before you are ready, though. This is still too new, too raw, for you to feel anything except exactly how you feel.

    Sending love, and hugs, and all the hopes for a better tomorrow.

  3. I hate that you are having to go through this 😦 It’s good that your psychiatrist finally listened to you and agreed to change your antidepressant. I have gone through those thoughts of feeling that others would be better off without me at a couple of different points in my struggle with depression, and it’s important to remember that depression lies. You are the best mama in the world for Sweetie, and I can tell from your writing how brave you are and how hard you’re fighting. This may not be something you are interested in right now, but I nominated you for a Liebster blogging award (info is on my latest post). No pressure at all to participate, but just wanted to let you know I was thinking of you.

  4. I am so sorry for your loss. I guess those words are pretty empty and I don’t really know what to say except send a lot of big hugs. You’re right, pills don’t really “fix” things.

  5. I’m so sorry this is happening to you. It’s completely unfair. But please know – you will not mess your daughter up. You love her, you take care of her, and there is no way you will mess her up. My mother struggled with depression when I was little. I know about it now, but at the time I had no idea. You are getting the help you need, and that’s what matters.

    • I used to have the same fears about my son. I was horribly depressed with losses intertwined, before and after him, many. The guilt was excruciating and I used to beat myself up about his first five years, he is seven now. I couldn’t give him a sibling and I was completely ruining him I thought. I sunk into a horrendous long term depression, suicidal, constantly changing meds, nothing really ever worked. I had to go day by day, sometimes minute by minute and boy did I beat myself up about it and I thought I was ruining him and that he’d be better off without me. Sometimes I could barely do the simplest things for him day to day and I felt just rotten. However, I was always very honest with him since before he was even born, telling him I was sorry I was depressed and that I didn’t know why I couldn’t just shake it and be happy but that I loved him very much. He knew he was loved, even if mommy was unwell and sad. I would explain as appropriately as possible, what I was going through and why. We talked about what my goals were and that I was always trying, always trying for him and me. I told him that we are always making mistakes and learning from them in order to become better people and that I didn’t want to hide it from him but I wanted to be an example… and that it was taking me longer than others and I couldn’t make any promises other than that I would be here with him and I would try. I’m saying all of this to tell you… while I thought I was ruining him, in all of the devastation and poor parenting choices and sadness and grief and loss and pain and financial ruin and marital strife and trying trying and loving him… he was learning. Learning things he would never have learned otherwise….he was learning empathy, learning kindness and patience, learning that it’s ok to make mistakes and try again, learning that sometimes sharing life is better than hiding it, learning critical problem solving skills, learning to love others despite their faults, learning how to handle transition and change, learning coping skills, learning that it’s ok to feel feelings, all of them. He was still a child during all of this, never bogged down by the stress, and he was being a normal kid doing normal kid things. But he developed this other side of him that people always comment on and that is apparent after just spending a few minutes with him, an insight and wisdom that draws everyone to him,.. he wields it effortlessly and is more equipped to deal with his life’s issues than any child I’ve ever seen. It’s astonishing. It’s amazing. It makes him feel good, this gift, it gives him self esteem and self worth. He is so very very kind and insightful in ways I never thought a child could be. Beautiful ways that make this world a better place. This is our story and how it was supposed to go. I’m not supposed to be Suzy homemaker or Glenda super working mom or Naive Nancy who is happy all of the time and has all the energy in the world. It’s so messed up to think about this but somehow I AM the mother he needs and is supposed to have, mess and grief and crap and all. He was supposed to develop and become the person he is now by learning through my experiences. I couldn’t see it while I was in the deep dark pit of despair. And you may not be able to see it now, but Sweetie NEEDS YOU JUST AS YOU ARE. It will not be better with you gone. Do what you can, keep letting her know how much you love her, and she will be ok, maybe she will be better than ok, maybe your struggles right now will be pivotal in developing some amazing qualities in her that will direct her life in incredible ways. When you feel you are faltering and are just going through the motions, she may be learning perserverance and buliding character in ways you never thought. Not every mother is supposed to teach their children valuable lessons from books and from perfect examples and from constant thrilling activities and crafts… some mothers teach their children through their souls, their broken hearts, their ability to go on in the face of grief and devastation, their ability to show love when joy and peace is not in their hearts, their ability to take their children on the journey of try, fail, try, succeed, try, fail, try try together. I’m sorry this is so long but I have such a strong compelling need to share this and to let you know that sometimes things turn out in ways you could never possibly imagine. Much love xoxo

  6. Oh hun- I totally feel your pain. My wee woman is the light of my life, but the pain I experience when I even see a pregnant woman is almost unbearable. I am depressed (and have a lengthy history of clinical depression), but am reluctant to go on anything, because I know that it won’t take away the pain. I’m not functioning well at all, and spend my days staring out the window while she’s in school. Sigh… I wonder if this will ever get any easier?

    Anyway… no advice here. Only sympathy and hugs. Life is just so unfair sometimes.

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