Question of the day: How long after birthing a kid can you claim your depression is postpartum and get away with it?
I'm beginning to think I'm on the brink of not being able to hide behind that nice little PPD label any more. I might actually have to own up to the fact that I'm mentally unbalanced all on my own.
My appointment with my counselor on Wednesday confirmed what I already knew - I'm depressed. Again. Or still, probably. The crippling apathy? Depression. The burning desire to run far, far away from my life? Depression. The vivid fantasies I keep having about being single and childless? Depression. The little "talking to" I got at work a couple of weeks ago about my (lack of) productivity? Depression.
I'm in a, um, super awesome place right now. Can you tell?
The lecture from my boss is what prompted me to call my counselor again. Though I've known for months that I needed some help, in typical fashion, I put it off and off and off until things reached a critical mass.
My counselor suggested (with the required caveat that she's not a medical doctor) that I probably need to have my medicine changed. She gave me something I can try with my current meds until I can get myself switched. She wants to see me again. I thoroughly like this woman and love that she tells me how beautiful my babies are, but seeing her means I'm broken (at least in my effed up brain...leave me alone...). Blah. Even though I can't seem to muster up the emotions to feel anything but nothing about anything in my life (except for stuff I'm still actively messing up, which causes some small twinges of anxiety), I've managed to find shame in needing mental health assistance. Good for me.
I don't really have much else to say about this right now. Other than mentioning that I've managed to avoid calling my OB for a conversation about changing my meds all week. The depression rears its ugly head again. Maybe some day I'll be able to put all this behind me. Blah.
I'm beginning to think I'm on the brink of not being able to hide behind that nice little PPD label any more. I might actually have to own up to the fact that I'm mentally unbalanced all on my own.
My appointment with my counselor on Wednesday confirmed what I already knew - I'm depressed. Again. Or still, probably. The crippling apathy? Depression. The burning desire to run far, far away from my life? Depression. The vivid fantasies I keep having about being single and childless? Depression. The little "talking to" I got at work a couple of weeks ago about my (lack of) productivity? Depression.
I'm in a, um, super awesome place right now. Can you tell?
The lecture from my boss is what prompted me to call my counselor again. Though I've known for months that I needed some help, in typical fashion, I put it off and off and off until things reached a critical mass.
My counselor suggested (with the required caveat that she's not a medical doctor) that I probably need to have my medicine changed. She gave me something I can try with my current meds until I can get myself switched. She wants to see me again. I thoroughly like this woman and love that she tells me how beautiful my babies are, but seeing her means I'm broken (at least in my effed up brain...leave me alone...). Blah. Even though I can't seem to muster up the emotions to feel anything but nothing about anything in my life (except for stuff I'm still actively messing up, which causes some small twinges of anxiety), I've managed to find shame in needing mental health assistance. Good for me.
I don't really have much else to say about this right now. Other than mentioning that I've managed to avoid calling my OB for a conversation about changing my meds all week. The depression rears its ugly head again. Maybe some day I'll be able to put all this behind me. Blah.
1 comment:
*hugs* I'm sure you've heard it before but would you think twice about seeking medical help if you had something wrong with your heart? There's nothing wrong with taking medicine to make yourself happy and healthy!
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