Postpartum

Journal entry June 25th:

"My days have fallen into a pattern: Fake happiness for as long as possible - actually enjoy a few moments with my husband or children, sob uncontrollably - repeat. I guess this is what is meant by postpartum depression. Whee."

My journal is usually long-winded and detailed, but I haven't written any more than that in weeks. Mostly because I can't really describe being depressed while I'm actually depressed. Not just because it makes me cry (it does, but everything does) but because I can't actually think the way I normally do. It is an interesting thing, to know I'm not thinking properly and still not be able to do anything about it. I wasn't suicidal or anything like that, but I could not shake the overwhelming sadness.


The first several weeks after the miscarriage I expected to be bad, and they were. After that I tried to get things back to as normal as possible. I started a bunch of projects to keep my mind busy, I exercised and did everything I could think of. It worked for a few days and then things started to get worse. And worse. Everything around me seemed so . . . dark. I still can't quite describe it.

The good news is that I'm writing this all in the past tense. I went to the doctor again and he was very good about understanding what I was not very good at explaining. Instead of recommending that I get pregnant again (like last time) he prescribed some anti-depressants. Three weeks later, I feel like myself again. I'm still very sad about the miscarriage, but I am able to see all the wonderful things about my life again.

So here is my little plug for Prozac. No amount of positive thinking is going to help a chemical imbalance - an actual physiological problem. I am a big believer that prayer, positive affirmations and will power can control emotions. But there is a huge difference between having a bad day and being clinically depressed. I was really not myself in an obvious, quantifiable way. I know that this is temporary and that my hormones will be back to normal eventually. But right now, I'm very very glad for the wonders of modern medicine.

And as much as my dear, dear husband insists that "human tissue" is part of the job description of a husband, and that he doesn't mind my crying on him, I know he is glad too.