Post Coital Depression

So, initially this was going to be a "Oh boys, aren't they silly? They think nipples are like dials on a radio and that our breasts aren't attached to our bodies" in a faux Kathy Lette (a nation groans at her inexpert crow-barring in of 'amusing' one liners in that subtle way that say, a rottweiler would attack a toddler, into both her interviews and 'books'), Robin Williams inspired way. How sometimes it's a case of "and...?" This would just be saying something that we all know already, whether or not we admit it.

Instead, I'm cheerfully going to talk about depression. More specifically, mine.

I've had depression for most of my life. I recently (for that read 8 months ago) admitted defeat and started some medication. Things haven't massively changed for me since. I still have my moments, but they are more controlled. It's not even a case of taking the edge off of things. I still feel how I used to, I'm just not crying all the time.

I can actually recall the exact point that I went to the doctor about it. I had been to see a health professional about Midget 1 ,who told me he was retarded (exact words) and that nothing 'could be done with him'. In my usual state, I would have made a snide remark and pulled her up on her comparing him to a particularly bad dye job. On this particular instance, I started to cry. And I didn't stop for five days.

I felt totally out of control. I had no idea where these emotions were coming from. I had previously thought maybe things weren't quite right with me after I had Midget 2 - but these feelings made me feel vile and I felt I had to hide them, to expel them from my mind entirely.

Being pregnant with Midget 2 wasn't easy. Her father - a truly lovely man who I couldn't speak more highly of and wouldn't hear a bad word against - was totally freaked out, but tried hard to be interested. He is from a family where there aren't great displays of emotion or affection. This is the case in my family too, but this has changed as my family got used to my innate odd-ness. When you're pregnant, you crave love and affection. I still crave the cuddles now. I dish them out to The Midgets and the people in our lives freely and often. We have an open arm policy at Wiltshire Towers.

Then we discovered, when I was first pregnant, that there was quite a high risk that Midget 2 could die. We would be unable to test the baby until it was born. It was possible the baby would be born and die within the day. I found this out whilst Midget 1 was in intensive care, on a ventilator. He had had to resuscitated three times that day. The day he was taken into hospital, my favourite Uncle had died. This was not, as you can imagine, a good week for me.

Three months later, I miscarried what would have been Midget 3. It transpired I had been carrying twins. A month after that, I had to have my beloved cat put down. This was not my time of wine and glory.

Still, I tried to bounce along as things appeared to be getting gradually worse. The birth came and when I had Midget 2, I was overwhelmed with love and exaltation, in a way that I wasn't when Midget 1 was born. When Midget 1 came onto the earth, things were confusing. I'd had an unusual time during my pregnancy, with extremely high stress levels, and I was totally on my own. It didn't help that Midget 1's father was in the room when I had him, after an absence of 4 months after our nine year relationship had ended.

When I had Midget 2 - I was with a man I loved. I was extremely surprised that she was a girl. I fell in love with her instantly. Midget 1, it took a bit of time for me - but when it hit, it hit me hard.

I remember, throughout life, having incredible lows. Hating myself and everything about me. Feeling useless and despondent, not in control of my destiny. Relying on fate and karma as if these could take care of things for me. I suspect I have a fear of responsibility or some such. I certainly have a fear of commitment. The only people I can commit to with any certainty whilst retaining and acknowledging the fear are the kids.

So - being depressed. I can clearly remember planning how I would kill myself on seven occasions as part of post natal depression with Midget 2. Four of these happened during the time I cried for five days non stop. I'm not talking about some pitiful little "overdose" with paracetamol, where you take 10 rather than 2, the kind we do when we are teenagers - or at least I certainly did, when I was 13. I'm talking about sitting down and planning to die. How you will do it, what will work. How to do it so that no one will find you and 'rescue' you. A way that won't cause you too much fear. A way that is relatively easy to clean, so that deposit will be restored to my estate.

In confession mode, I've tried it a few times in my life. Suicide that is. What stops me these days is the thought of what would happen to the Midgets. I couldn't leave them. And I certainly wouldn't want to take them with me. Back then - I just think I wanted to bring to people's attention that I was a bit screwy.

I was in counselling for about seven years or so, both one to one and group therapy. Do I think it helped? Not really, not me. I try to regard these things as work - so it makes me work harder. The problem is I regard anything I do for myself as a waste of time or money, sometimes both. I am the anti L'oreal - I am so not worth it. I would be hard pressed to tell you of ten things I like about myself, physically, emotionally, intellectually. I can't think of anything I've ever done that is deserving or worthy. I veer between total narcissism and levels of detestation and poor self esteem that would be shocking if you knew how bad they are. I mostly reside in the latter area these days.

I often think that I don't deserve anything good. I can't believe The Midgets are mine - they're so fantastic and true, it doesn't seem right that I have them in my life, even though they are on borrow as it were. I think that I am destined to be unhappy. That I will be forever burdened with other's responsibility when I am constantly ducking it myself.

I feel that it should be a brave thing to admit that you feel like this, whether or not it comes about as part of having a baby, or because you just are depressed. In the same way that some people are short sighted, some people are depressed. It's a condition - I think we as a society forget this. Mental illness isn't something to be afraid of, unless it involves people cutting people with large knives, it is something that just is.

I can appreciate that you may not find that particularly articulately expressed, but trust me. If you've been there, you can identify with that. The fact that it is defined as an illness - it means that the symptoms, whilst not necessarily cured, can be alleviated. There is help you can get. There are ways to help yourself. Yes, I know everything is shit and it feels like you're literally swimming through it. Yes, I know you think that you're shit and everything you do is shit. Yes, I know you think that everyone else thinks that you are shit. And yes - things will get better. You can get helped through it. It's brave to admit to feeling like this. If people tell you otherwise - why are you talking to these people? Why are they around you draining your energy?

Part of me is scared to admit how low I have been in the past. There's other things that have happened, that I've done as part of my experience of depression, but they're not of relevance here. Knowing what is wrong with me - it is a relief. Being on the medication - that is a relief. I'm not mulling things over too much. Being able to regard things as dead and buried - and not going back every five minutes to dig it back up and check for a pulse. It's a relief.

The thing to remember - there are many people out there who feel like this. It's not just me. It's not just you. You can do a Wiltshire and ignore it for decades, until you are so fucked up (technical term) about yourself and your place in the world that you start to doubt your own decisions. Whether there is a place in the world for you. You can eat your emotions, stay with someone out of fear, and think you deserve violence & aggression, physically, mentally, emotionally.

Or - and I recommend this - you could say "I'm not going to put up with this. I am far too important and brilliant and shiny to feel like this. And I don't feel ashamed for feeling like this. Or embarrassed. This is who I am. And anyone who doesn't accept it - why am I speaking with them at all?"

Because, despite how the disease makes you feel, you are so worth it. You just have to hold on to that fact during the times nothing seems possible.