I have thought about writing this for a long time. I chose to do it now for two reasons. 1) One of my old neighbors suffered from postpartum anxiety and depression and tragically stepped in front of a semi and was killed instantly. She was a kind, beautiful, amazing woman whom I looked up to, and I never would have guessed that she was suffering. Her wonderful husband set up a foundation in her honor to help women suffering from postpartum disorders. Please check it out here.  2) We’ve had some hard days lately. I have been having health problems and unfortunately that makes it harder to deal with the depression. Writing this has been a way for me to cope, step back, and remember why I fight each day.

I always believed suicide was selfish. How could you do that to those who you love, those who love you? Mother, father, grandparents, uncles, aunts, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, neighbors, friends, possibly husband or wife, children. It wasn’t until I stood on the brink of this permanent, irreversible choice, that I understood why someone would take their own life. At that point, you feel so little value, you actually, truly believe that everyone in your life would be better off without you.

For me, I figured my parents, siblings, and extended family would be sad, disappointed even, but I honestly didn’t think about them beyond that. Same for neighbors, old friends, people I used to know. I could imagine someone hearing about it, and saying, “That’s too bad” or “How sad” and their life would go on.

Those who I really thought about were my husband and my two kids. And for a long time, they saved me. They were my reason for living. That was when I couldn’t understand how someone could be so selfish. The thought would occur to me once in a while, when I was struggling with a hard day or time. But I couldn’t imagine doing that to them. But then my self worth started slipping. I compared myself to others and began to see myself as less of a mom, a person. I would get mad, extremely frustrated and grumpy at my children, then I would feel horrible; they’re only kids, I’m a monster.

I started to believe they would be better off without me. If I was gone, my husband could find someone else, someone who would be a better mother, a better wife. I wasn’t good enough, I thought. I didn’t deserve these sweet kids and this amazing husband.

When I was 15 I was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and (I believe) misdiagnosed with depression. I was given an anti-depressant and sent on my way. I took them every day for years. Life went on, it was a part of it. I graduated high school, fell in love, went to college, and got married. I had bad days if I forgot my pill, but otherwise I thought I was a normal young adult. One day, while driving on the freeway I felt an urge, stronger than any I have ever felt, to turn the wheel, drive into the concrete barrier and end my life. I was so shocked I began to cry, and my husband, who was riding passenger, asked me what was wrong. I couldn’t speak, I just drove home in tears. Later I told him what happened, and he consoled me.

It didn’t happen again until a few years later, after I had my daughter. I was so excited to be pregnant; we had planned for a baby, everything was going according to schedule, she came on her own, she was perfect and beautiful and life was good. Or so I thought. I got anxiety, such terrible anxiety that at night, after feeding her and putting her back to sleep, I would lie awake, adrenaline coursing, ears tuned to every little sound. It would take an hour or more for me to get calm enough to fall back asleep. I slept a lot during the day, when she did. I kept the blinds closed, I didn’t go outside except in the car, and usually only with my husband. I felt safe only in my home, and even then I was constantly afraid someone or something would come in and try to hurt her. After months of suffering, I had another urge to end my life.

At that point I knew I needed help. But it was hard to admit. I felt like I should be able to “get over this” by myself. I didn’t want to tell people because I felt wrong. I had a home, a husband, a baby, I got to stay home with her like I wanted. I had so much more than so many other people, and I felt if I complained or admitted what I was feeling, people would think I was ungrateful or selfish. After many nights of crying and feeling hopeless, my husband convinced me to see a therapist.

It took a long few months, but eventually I got better. I opened the blinds, I took my daughter outside and sat on a blanket, enjoying the sunshine. I slept at night; I wanted to do things again. After a few more months, I was able to wean myself off of my antidepressant. I still had my ups and downs, but I was a much happier person, and for the first time almost 8 years, I didn’t need a pill to be that way.

A few months later we decided we were ready to add another baby to our family. While I was pregnant with my son I started slipping back into depression. After struggling for a month, I told my doctor and got put on an anti-depressant again. I felt better in some aspects, but struggled a lot with the feeling that I was a failure.

I mean, women throughout history have had babies and and made it just fine. Depression is just this new generation problem. THIS IS THE STIGMA. The reality is, it doesn’t matter why you have the problem; knowing won’t fix it. Say I catch a cold. Knowing where I got it from doesn’t make it go away, or get any better. You have to treat the problem regardless of why you have it.

After my son was born, it was more of the same. Good days, hard days, times when I felt so overwhelmingly inadequate. I began to understand how someone could make that choice. I don’t want to do that. I feel as if walking along life I have found the edge of a cliff. Every day I keep walking along the edge. At any moment I could decide that I’m done, and jump. I don’t want to do that, but I don’t know how to get away from the edge. It is always there, constantly bugging me, life constantly pushing me. I don’t want that. I am going to be selfish and stay. Stay with my husband and kids because I want to, I want to be with them, share this life with them. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be done fighting this battle. It is exhausting, but I don’t want to give in because I would lose everything.

I don’t want to be popular, I don’t want to have a ton of friends, or a super successful career. I just want to wake up and not wish the day was already over. I want to enjoy watching my children play, learn. I want to look forward to life events. I want to enjoy life, the messy, the sad, the dirty, the grumpy, the complicated, they joyous, the smiles, the laughter. I want to live. So I will keep going. I will be patient, I will forgive myself, I will always share my love, and I will take it one day at a time.

If you are struggling with postpartum depression and need help, please reach out to loved ones, friends, neighbors, anyone. I know you may feel alone, but I promise you are not. When I am in my dark hole, here are some things I do to help.

• Watch videos of my kids-my daughter loves watching videos of herself, and seeing them when they were younger brings back good memories and reminds me why I want to keep going.
• Get a yummy treat-I know, I know, food for comfort is not the best, but TOO BAD. When I am struggling, seriously struggling with depression and suicidal thoughts, I usually haven’t been eating well so I’m hungry. So I sit and think of what sounds good to eat, then if it’s feasible, I get it.
• Watch one my my shows-as a parent, I try to not watch my shows while the kids are up. It’s not that I watch particularly vulgar or violent shows, but most any live action tv nowadays has language that I don’t want my children learning. My daughter already copies me when I say “Oh, crap!” so I don’t need to give her any more words. When I am in overwhelming despair I get to watch my show.
• Talk to a friend-I am not an extremely active social person. I am very friendly when I’m already around people, but it is difficult to get myself to a social situation. I try to keep in touch with family and a few friends, and it helps me remember why I choose to live.