For those of you that stuck with the 20-odd pages of this original thread and held my hand through the terrifying PND diagnosis and early weeks, I wanted to come back on here to bring you an update.
Our baby boy is seven months old now. I can hardly believe it. He and I have come a very long way in that time.
I still can't bring myself to read my original thread as I am sure I sounded as if I was bordering on insanity (and for a time I think I was). It all feels so surreal now. Did I really have a hospital mental health team calling me each night, probably to check I was still alive? Did I actually have a parent support worker glued to my side because she was so worried I was about to harm myself or my four week old baby? Did I honestly wish he'd never been born or that we'd had him adopted? Did I really break out in a sweat just trying to get to the corner shop? Did it all really happen?
I feel as if I am talking about a different person. I feel ashamed and stupid for reacting in the way that I did, although logically I know I couldn't help it. I regret so very much that those precious first few days in hospital saw the beginning of the slide into mental collapse, instead of what it should have been; a happy, happy time surrounded by flowers and cards, cuddling our precious son. I wish, how I wish, I could have enjoyed bringing him home, being with him, getting to know him. I wish I could change how it all began, but I can't and I have to live with that.
But at least now I know it's how it should be. It's normal. Sometimes it's amazing and my heart sings and I feel like the luckiest person on the planet. Other times it's a drag and it's boring and hard and frustrating, but even on the worst days the underlying love is there and it's unshakable.
Seven months down the line, what have I learned? That, for me, postnatal depression was less about hormones and more about my circumstances. I was isolated, afraid, inexperienced with babies and without any family in the country to help me. I was used to a tidy house, an ordered life, money and the freedom to be spontaneous. I am more of a perfectionist and a control freak and certainly more selfish than I'd ever cared to admit to myself. And I went into this pregnancy with emotional baggage that came back to bite me on the bum in monumental style once the turmoil of a new baby and sleep deprivation was thrown into the mix. So if ever there was a prime candidate for postnatal depression, it was me.
But I've also learned that you do come out the other side, as so many of you kept telling me over and over again. You do survive, you do get your sanity back, your sense of self, your ability to think straight, your sense of perspective.
It's still tough without any help. I still miss my family. I still get frustrated that the house is a permanent tip. I still wish I could do it all, and do it well. I hate that I look like shit most of the time. I yearn for more time for me. But doesn't that just come with the territory? That's not PND; it's normal.
I can't imagine life without him now. You were right. It does get better.
THANK YOU for being wise and wonderful!