Down

Ha. Well. Here I've been walking around feeling the weight of this blog on my shoulders (which is actually a good weight and the reason I shared my blog with all of you in the first place, to keep me motivated to come back here even when it feels tough). I didn't realize I actually posted the partial-post that appears before this one--I thought it was still in draft form. So! I didn't mean to share that quite yet and was actually mortified to see it up there but oh well! Half-finished thoughts are representative of where I am these days.

I have been having a tough time. The girls came home from the NICU almost two weeks ago and I was in the middle of a brutal colitis flare. Colitis--blood in the toilet that comes from the insides of your large intestine being sloughed off. Stomach cramps. Urgent runs to the bathroom. A feeling of wrongness that starts at your core and radiates out to your fingers and toes. It feels like someone took a vegetable peeler and scraped it up and down the walls of your colon--this raw, exposed ache of yuckiness. It sucks.

When I'm sick, I get very down emotionally. This happens when I have a cold and it definitely happens when I'm in the thick of colitis. All my energy drains away and I can't see the positive side of anything. I just want to lay on the couch under a blanket and watch crappy TV and hide from the world. Motherhood is not conducive to this desire. I have been dragging, physically and emotionally and taking care of babies has seemed to require more oopmh that I could ever imagine dredging up from somewhere inside myself.

It was into this mindset and bodyset that our daughters came home from the hospital. Not what I imagined. It has felt so very hard. My husband is on leave and he has been wonderful. He takes such good care of these babies and does not complain. Our babysitter Stephanie has been wonderful--juggling the four kids and cleaning the house while she goes. I don't know how she does it but I bow down in gratitude to her. She also reminds me that I'm doing a good job, even when I really, really don't feel like it. My brother and sister-in-law have come to help us several times and they have saved the day, especially on a Sunday when I knew I did not have it in me to do anything but lay in bed. My mom has come, my dad is here. People are helping and want to help. I know this and feel grateful. And yet, no amount of help touches the lonely, afraid feeling that has been lodged in my chest since the babies came home.

It is a weird feeling to know that you can't take care of your own kids by yourself. A bad feeling. My husband and Stephanie have each assured me that they can do it and yet I feel, deep in my heart, that I can't do it. The idea of both of them leaving me alone with the four kids fills me with dread.  I've been alone with all of them for a few hours at a time and it was so hard, so draining. I've found it difficult to take things a minute at a time. Instead I look ahead to the weeks and months to come and think "Oh my god, this is my life, how in the hell am I going to do this?"

Last Wednesday I went to get a massage. I sat in the hot tub in silence and breathed deeply, breathed in being alone. I laid flat on a table and felt strong fingers dig into the ropes of my muscles, pulling out knots formed by carrying other humans. My breasts filled with milk as I lay on my stomach and the pain of turning over was intense. Still, I relaxed. I thought often of the people at home. It wasn't until I was driving back that the anxiety that I hadn't known was there began to fill me up again. The closer I got to our house, the more anxious I felt. As it tightened my stomach I thought of my colitis and the inevitable relationship between fear and worry and my guts. I was all twisted up.

Someone once told me that digestive problems can cause depression, because you lose all the good vibes of oxytocin (I think) through your intestines. When I remembered that I felt better--like I wasn't crazy to be feeling so down, there might actually be a physical reason for it. I was telling myself that once the colitis flare passed I'd feel better. I'd feel happier about having the girls at home. I'd feel less afraid. I was prepared to wait to feel better. When the anxiety filled me up on my way back home from the massage, I knew I couldn't wait.

I called my OB's office and told them I thought I might be experiencing some post postpartum depression. I wasn't sure what they'd recommend. They told me to come in the next day. It was nice to be taken so seriously. At my four week follow-up appointment I'd been given a survey asking questions such as "Do you find it difficult to see the positive side of things?" and "Have you been feeling anxious for no reason?" I'd answered "No" to all the questions. But that was before the babies had come home. It was also when I was on a physical high from not being pregnant anymore. I felt so good that I thought I was fine.

At this appointment I answered "Yes" to almost every question. My doctor was not surprised. She was calm and gentle and she offered an anti-depressant. I said yes, gratefully. The relief I felt was immense. Immense.

During my first pregnancy I actually asked some of my friends to watch out for me and let me know if they saw signs of depression. I saw myself as someone at risk for the postpartum blues and I was afraid I wouldn't know to ask for help. Sometimes I think I get so used to doing hard things, to feeling bad or to feeling down, that I don't even think there might be an alternative. I gird my loins and look ahead, knowing that if necessary  I can get through anything. Gut it out. And look what it's doing to my guts. They are literally falling apart, in tatters, bloody shreds.

It's hard to admit that I'm having a tough time feeling connected to my daughters. It makes me want to weep, thinking of them reading this when they're older. I'm sorry I'm not happier, I think. I don't know what's the matter with me.

The silence on this blog has been due to a total inability to get myself up to write anything down. Too afraid. Too tired. Too sick. I've been hiding, because that's what I do when I feel bad.

I don't feel better yet. I still get hit mightily with the blues almost every day. I am reminding myself like a mantra to take it easy on myself. Be gentle with myself. This too shall pass.