Okay, I lied. It's definitely been months since my last blog. Do you have kids? Okay, then you understand!
So, I guess it's time to finish the story...
The piece of paper my dad handed me had the name "Erin Silvertooth, Psychiatrist" written across the top along with a phone number. My dad hadn't really seemed in the right kind of mood to provide me with any more details of this mystery woman, but I certainly wasn't going to question him at this point in time. An appointment was made for the following day.
I sat in Dr. Silvertooth's soothing waiting room, listening to the what I'm pretty sure was the same Enya type music that's played when you go get a massage. I anxiously picked at my fingernails and tried to figure out how I was going to explain to her everything that was going on in my head, without sounding like a terrible mother. The door opened and Dr. Silvertooth appeared. She was much younger than I expected, and looked like a girl who I absolutely hated in high school. I attempted to push that thought aside and NOT get mad at her for sleeping with my boyfriend.
We sat down in her dark office and had the basic introductory conversation, exchanging names, me thanking her for agreeing to see me on such short notice, her thanking me for agreeing to come in for help. Then there was silence. I looked at her, wondering if I was supposed to just start talking, or if she was going to initiate it. But then she pulled out her notepad, got her pen ready, and said "So Ginnie, why don't you tell me what's been going on." And with that, all formalities were tossed aside, and I burst into tears.
It all came pouring out. Everything. I guess one of the lessons future psychiatrists learn in Medical School is to never make a facial expression of surprise or judgement when listening to a patient. No matter what I said, Dr. Silvertooth kept the same calm, understanding look on her face. This couldn't have been easy when I was explaining to her that during my pregnancy, I had wished I were pregnant with cats, because I knew how to take care of cats. Before I knew it, I was telling her things that I had been too ashamed to even think about. I told her about the time when Justin came in to say goodbye on his way to work early one morning, and I pretended to be non-responsive. He was shaking me, turning lights on, saying my name loudly in hopes that it would wake me up. To this day, I still don't really know why I did this. Maybe I wanted him to think I was dead so he wouldn't have to go to work. Maybe I just wanted attention from him. Maybe I was so reluctant to be around my babies, I would stop at nothing to get Justin to take care of them instead of me having to. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter that day in Dr. Silvertooth's office. She just listened and took notes.
At the end of our session, Dr. Silvertooth put down her notes and looked straight into my puffy, tear stained eyes. I waited for her to tell me it was time to put me in the looney bin. Instead, what she said surprised me. "Ginnie," she said. "You have been going through these problems, and nobody has known to tell you that what you're suffering from is not insanity, but Post-Partum Depression. I am so sorry that you've gone all these months without feeling like you had anyone to talk to. You poor thing." I sat quietly, looking blankly at the pastel colored wall across from me, tooka a deep breath, and the waterworks started all over again. I don't know if I was crying because I was sad or scared or what, but I do remember feeling a sense of relief... finally, I could stop feeling guilty and hopefully start feeling better.
Dr. Silvertooth decided to put me on Lexapro, an anti-depressent that would also help with my anxiety. Although I had never been one to go for the pills, Dr. Silvertooth explained to me that without pills, the only other option would be to see a psychologist, who could help target where my anxiety and depression were coming from, and I could perhaps get better with some deep breathing exercises. Hmmmm... okay, pass the pills, please!
The first couple of weeks on the Lexapro, I didn't really notice a difference, and I thought I was doomed to be stuck in a world of dark clouds the rest of my life. Why wasn't it working? I almost gave up. But then, slowly, about a month after I started the medication, I saw the sun through the clouds. I'm not even exaggerating. It was as if something in my brain snapped back into place. I could think again. I could laugh again. I was ME again. And I loved it...
I'm not going to give you every detail of what happened in the following months. Let's just say that I suddenly believed again that life was worth living. I didn't want to fall asleep and never wake up. I didn't want to sit in my room and cry. I actually LIKED my husband again! And oh, those babies. I finally really, REALLY loved my babies. I became the mom who laughed over hiccups and burps, and couldn't get enough of their funny facial expressions. I talked about poops and crawling and rolling over and different methods for getting little ones to eat their pureed green beans. Now don't get me wrong... I definitely still had my moments where I wanted to scream because Ashton wouldn't sleep, or cry because Graysen got more attention that day than Ashton did. The great thing about the medication was that it didn't numb me from all emotion... it just helped get me back to who I was before this mess.
I'm sure there are some of you reading this who have very negative opinions of me, not only as a mother, but possibly as a person in general. I understand the fear of pills and being drugged up and "loopy", and I don't blame you for turning your nose up at me or my choices. You obviously haven't been through this yourself. But I also know there are some of you who are going through (or have already gone through) this same thing, and have felt like you were alone. YOU are the people I'm trying to reach. YOU are the ones who don't have to go through this hell without any help. I'm not saying that Lexapro is the answer, or any other pill for that matter. But I do know that when I was at my lowest, I wanted to be done. Done with life. Done with everything. And I just want to tell you that IT CAN GET BETTER. Okay, that sounded really corny and I swear nobody is paying me to advertise for them :)
Time to go for now. Hattie's waking up, and Ash and Gracie are getting impatient waiting to play on my computer. So, until next time... okay, I need a catch phrase. I'm thinking "Stay sane!" has a nice ring to it.
Stay sane!
