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0 By Nadene
During the last few days of Maternal Mental Health Awareness Week I have read so many amazing stories of mum’s who have recovered from mental illness after the birth of their baby.
The stories should have inspired me. Eleven years ago I struggled with severe post natal depression. I spent four months in a general mental health unit before being transferred to a mother and baby unit, where I spent a further eight months with my youngest son.
It was hard going but I recovered and I even managed to return to work. A very happy ending you may think.
So why do I feel even more of a failure than I did before? Why do I hate myself so much?
The reasons are many and they go around my head 24/7. You see my mental health story does not end there.
I have not worked for around three and a half years now, due to my lingering depression and anxiety. My official label is ‘recurrent depressive disorder’ which I think in a nutshell means that you have had several prolonged bouts of depression.
For me it means that I have exactly the same dark thoughts as when I had post natal depression. I am evil. I can not do anything right. I don’t want to leave the house (but I do) Everyone hates me. I do not deserve to have anyone who likes me. I am ruining my children’s and my husbands lives. Everyone wishes that I would just shut up and stop moaning. If I wasn’t evil, I would be better by now. What else am I supposed to do? Does everyone think that I am putting it on? Does anyone really believe me? Why has none of the medication or therapy worked?
Those are just a few of the things that are played on a loop inside my head.
I still see myself as the evil person I was. Don’t get me wrong. I have an amazing bond with both of my boy’s now. I just do not know if I really believe that I ever had post natal depression.
All the way through my illnesses I have battled to be well enough to return to the job that I loved and that kept my brain ticking.
There are four things that have kept me going when it was the last thing that I wanted to do. My two sons, my husband and my job.
After the NHS could offer me no further assistance, I turned to the medical insurance that I had through my employer. I saw a psychologist once a week and a psychiatrist every couple of months to make alterations to my medication.
Although it was a huge relief to be able to say exactly what I thought, my sessions with the psychologist were counterproductive. We talked about things that had happened years ago. How I had become a joint carer for my dad after his brain operation and how myself and my then partner (now husband) had taken over the care of my mum on top. How I had not allowed myself to grieve over the death of my parents. We did not once talk in-depth about me having post natal depression. All I kept ending up with were more questions and no answers.
Around a year and a half ago I was informed by my employer that they had initiated the process of medical retirement. I did not take it seriously because there was no way that I was poorly enough to qualify.
After two separate medical assessments, it was decided. The specialists prognosis were both the same. The chance of me ever being well enough to return to work was ‘not good.’ I was completely in shock.
There was no presentation. No speech and no cards. I had a meeting which I thought was to go over what would happen next but it soon became apparent that it was my exit interview. Bang!! Twenty plus years service down the drain!! If I can’t work, what bloody use am I to anyone?!
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I have lost count of the amount of times I have been told how lucky I am. There seems to be a mental block after you mention the words no more work! Apart from the obvious financial aspect (not all private pensions are massive) I had lost my ‘me space’. At work I was able to be just me. Plain old Nadene. Not a mum or a housewife (although those are full time jobs in themselves). It was somewhere that I could actually feel as though I made a difference and a worthwhile contribution to life.
What you find when you are retired at an early age is that everyone else works and when they are not, they are busy trying to fit everything in. If I go shopping I end up having several anxiety attacks and I haven’t even got the confidence to decide what brand of something we are having! At the moment I am even having an anxiety attack when I go to bed.
You become so fed up of doing the same cleaning every day and some days you can’t even bring yourself to do any. You just kick yourself several hours later for not trying. Every little comment about the state of the house becomes your personal failure. Hell, every comment becomes something else that you have failed at!
Going for a walk is a great idea in theory but the thought of going anywhere on my own just brings on my anxiety and I can’t think of anything more boring than my own company.
Strong is one of those funny words. Many of my friends have used it to describe me. The people around me, especially my husband and my two boy’s are the strong ones for keeping me going and sticking with me, even though I am such a shit person.
If I didn’t have to make sure my husband got up for work and my children for school, there would be many days, especially recently, that I would struggle to get up at all. I simply want to hide from the world, yet at the same time I really need to shout and scream from the highest mountain to get someone to understand.
People tell me how well I am doing but maybe if they looked closely they might see. I put on a show so that I do not worry or annoy anyone. I say I’m okay because that is all that most people want to hear. I listen to other people because I do not want anyone else to feel like I do and because it shuts up my inner voice for a few minutes.
Everyone’s favourite saying is that it takes time but when a majority of days are the same constant low and you can not shut your head up for a moment, there are days where you just think that time has won.
Reproduced with permission, originally posted here: skybluenadworldpresscom.wordpress.com
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