Day 18: A problem you have had…

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Oh where to begin??  I can’t compare my life to a Greek tragedy, but I have had to jump over some major hurdles. You would think I would be in better shape.

Let’s begin at the beginning. My father was an abusive asshole who basically abandoned my mother and me at a year old. Luckily, my mother is one hell of a woman! I think the limited contact I had with my father was due to my grandma and mom constantly nagging him. Believe me, the lack of attention that I got from him was  enough to make me not want to have anything to do with him from the ages of 13 to 19. Prior to that, unfortunately, there was some slight hero worship. At the ripe old age of 19, I decided to give him a second chance.  My then boyfriend convinced me to try to fill in the gap that my father’s issues had left in my soul. We actually started to make progress, then the boyfriend became abusive, and I moved far away. Fast forward to 21 year old me, living in Austin, TX, when my mother came up to my job to break the news that my father was on life support in Corpus Christi (a 3.5 hour drive from where I was).  Nobody had called me! I had just spoken with my father the month before! He didn’t even indicate that he was sick. So, we made the drive down, and I arrived just in time to hold my father’s hand, tell him I love him, and watch him fade away when they took him off the machines. See, by the time I had arrived, all brain activity had ceased. He didn’t even get to hear my voice.

That brings us to depression. I have dealt with some sort of depression probably from a very early age. I remember at 7, wrapping a rope around my neck, and hoping that it killed me. At 13, my boyfriend decided that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so my solution was to take a handful of my mother’s pain pills. Whether by luck or by design, my stepbrother arrived home from work in time to shove his finger down my throat, and he monitored me for the rest of the night.  By 14, I was actively bulimic, but the suicide attempts had stopped. After high school, my mother and stepfather divorced, and I felt like I had to be strong for her.  As long as I was focused on someone else, my problems faded away. When my father died, I spiraled quickly. My guilt from not making as much of an effort as I possibly could have made me lash out at the people who were closest to me.

Then I met my future husband.

He helped me through a lot at the beginning. The asshole boyfriend? Decided he would follow me up to Austin. I soon realized that it was a horrible mistake to be in a relationship with him. Having someone imprint their hand on your face will definitely improve your clarity (sometimes). My future husband saw the hand print, and was livid! He wanted to drive down to Corpus Christi right then with his friends and beat some ass. I convinced him it wouldn’t be worth it, and we became friends.

We married when I was 24, and had our first child when I turned 27.  My baby boy was a handful from the jump. He was due December 19, but didn’t cause a contraction until the 29th. I went into labor at 8:00 p.m. and finally at 6:30 p.m. on the 30th, my doctor decided that it might be best to have a c-section.  Do the math. I’ll wait. After being on pain meds for that long,  I was too shaky to hold my newborn. To add insult to injury, I started throwing up, and nobody noticed!! Duh! New baby! Then I wasn’t able to get him to latch for breastfeeding. This motherhood thing wasn’t at all what I had been expecting! I was in the hospital for 3 days, and upon release, I was tired and weary. This was not how I pictured this day, at all. Postpartum depression. There’s that word, again. This time I had more to deal with. I had a tiny human who was dependent on me to hold my shit together. I was able to make myself into a reasonable facsimile of a human being, and my son has been giving me hell ever since!

I’ve had therapy. I’ve been on medication. I’ve tried yoga. In my opinion, there are some people that are just going to be depressed. Whether it is cyclical or constant. I am able to psych myself out a lot of times. I can sense when a dark time is coming, and can usually warn my loved ones. I’m not violent towards myself or others, but I can be hurtful with words. My depression has led me to do things that I wouldn’t do in a normal situation.  I have put my marriage in jeopardy many times with my casual disregard to my husband’s feelings. I can only hope that he loves me enough to see that when I do the things I do, it is because I need his help. I don’t always deserve his forgiveness, but he gives it nonetheless.

 

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