The first time I met depression, and why I think it's a total arsehole.

This first entry is a little sad, but is a true account of the first time I was diagnosed with severe depression.
Whilst the remaining entries of this blog will be lighthearted and peppered with my attempted witticisms, this first entry is essential to explain my past experience with the illness, and how I learnt to combat it.
So please read on, and I assure you in future entries the mood of this Blog is most definitely an upbeat one.

The worst thing about pregnancy for me, is the knowledge that with every passing day I become increasingly mental.
Not crying like the somewhat endearing 'cry at how the family on the cereal commercial love each other' type of cry, nor the 'collapse and weep in front of the pantry cause you don't know what you want for dinner' cry, no. I am talking about the bleak, soul crushing, total devaluation of self that is severe antenatal (then leading to postnatal) depression.

 I had my first two children back-to-back, born just under a year apart.
The void my mind pulled me into was so utterly consuming and destructive, I was under home-visits and observation for over a year, with 2 separate nurses.
One was incredible; she was warm and caring, taught me to see the humour in even the darkest of times, and allowed me to see a way through the darkness. She never once stopped reminding me that I was not alone.
The other nurse made me feel like a freak show, "Why are you feeding your son on formula? Are you quite sure that you tried hard enough at breastfeeding? I'd hate to think you were taking the easy way out". I had already informed this woman of the reason why, in fact the details were there for her to read in my file if she wished. I had planned to breastfeed, I wanted to, but my thoughts had deteriorated to such a state that my body refused to work. I couldn't feed my own child.
From his first day I felt like a failure. The choice to formula feed was made for me, when the midwives at the hospital had presented me with the fact that if I didn't feed my baby soon, he would start to starve, and since I couldn't feed naturally, I should strongly consider formula.
Without entering too much into the ridiculous argument of breast or bottle, I shall state that I personally believe that each situation is unique and should be treated as such.
I don't think people have a right to judge. I am fully aware that breast milk has all the antibodies and other amazing properties that formula just cant provide, but that doesn't mean that formula is bad. Being a new mother is hard enough, without hearing the 2 cents of every man and his dog, who cant help but tell me that I'm 'not giving my baby the best start in life' or that I'm 'only using formula because I'm lazy'.
Yeah, that's a great thing to tell the crazy lady who is so racked with depression, that her 2 week old son refuses to even look at her. They can do that you know, some babies born to chronically depressed mothers. They, as tiny helpless infants realise that the mother is in no way equip to care for them. They don't see her as a nurturing figure, as they can literally feel the despair and detachment seeping out from her. So they wont make eye contact - an occurrence that only added to my feelings of worthlessness and failure.
My son first started to make eye contact at roughly 10 weeks of age - it was one of the most incredible moments of my life.

 But even with Amazing Nurse, support from friends and family, and counselling, I felt utterly useless, alone, pathetic and deeply,  overwhelmingly depressed.
During this time in my life, I would flood my then-husband with bleak suicidal-like text messages and phone calls. I'd tell him how much better he and our son would be without me, that we shouldn't be having another baby (who would be our daughter). Remind him that being a mother was the one thing I was always so sure about, and now I was failing.
If I couldn't be a great Mum, what was the point?
I lost count of the number of times he would be forced to leave work and rush home, finding me rocking on the floor and crying.
This depression was completely devastating.

In the end it was the catalyst that destroyed our marriage.
There were other things of course, there always are. Both of us were at fault at times, but we could never really connect after I had been to such a dark place. He was forced to become numb just to deal with the stress of work, household duties, money, new baby boy and myself - the crazy miserable wife. He didn't recognize the person I had become, and neither did I.
Even once I was back to myself (after the birth of our daughter, where I was immediately medicated, to finally restore my serotonin levels) we just didn't have a spark anymore. Any romantic feelings seemed so long ago. We were friends who lived together.
It always amazed me how lonely you could feel even with someone sitting right next to you.

We finally separated just after our daughter turned one.

Even though everything was crumbling and changing around me; marriage dissolving, house being sold, possessions being divided, and the uncertainty that had suddenly become my future - I felt strangely confident.
I realised that no matter what happened next, I would be fine.
I would come out the other end victorious, and nothing anyone could say would stop me.
As far as I was concerned I had already faced the scariest thing that could come into my life.
I had fought it once, and I had won.

I now knew how to beat this nasty monster called depression, should it ever rear its head again.
I had all the tools needed to fight it off; an incredible support network, knowledge that the type of thoughts created by this illness were all untrue and shouldn't be dwelled upon, a GP who was amazing and would help me manage anything on the medication front, and most importantly, I knew how to write. I knew how to express my feelings in a healthy way, and hopefully, just like Amazing Nurse, I would be able to help people in the same situation to see a way through, and find the funny side in the mean time.

And so, faced once again with this horrid thought-polluting illness, I am starting this Blog.
I will be completely honest about all my feelings and thoughts, and finally put my skills of self-deprecating humour to good use.

I will attempt to nurture my childhood dream of someday being a writer, through stories of my past, coupled with the crazy internal dialogue of a more-than-just-a-little-off-centre Mummy.