I am eighteen years old. I love my daughter, she was born on the 6th of August and I tell her I love her everyday. She's beautiful, and gives me comfort, hope, and a warmth that I've never experienced before.
But the bottom line is, I'm tired. Not just physically, but mentally. Don't get me wrong, I am not fed up of looking after my little girl and never will be, it's just I can't keep on top of everything.
DP's usual hours including travelling time are 6:30am to 5:30pm, but now he is doing overtime he leaves at 5:45am and gets back at 7:30pm. I can't argue, we need the money and he doesn't get paid much. But I'm extremely lonely, due to being shy and antisocial outside of the internet/my home I don't really have any friends - not in my area or even close to it I mean. I love my DP so much I miss him every second of the day.
To top it off I'm getting extremely depressed because of my size, I was a size 10/12 when I got pregnant and am now a size 20. I am disgusted at the thought or sight of myself and am desperate to lose weight. But being someone who has suffered from an eating disorder, all the 'eat healthy and try a little exercise' plans I get advised on just aren't quick enough! I am agoraphobic and don't want to go outside, especially when I'm this size, but end up forcing myself to go anyway for my daughter's sake. I feel like I cannot enjoy my life if do not lose this weight. What's even worse is that I am engaged, and myself and DP hope to be married within a couple of years... If I hadn't lost the weight by then I would most likely put it off. I am terrible, and I feel guilty for opening up like this. But I feel as if no one can help me.
I'm struggling to keep up with all of the housework. I am aware that due to DP's hours he is in no fit state to help me, but doing housework day in day out is making me want to tear my hair out. If the housework doesn't get done everyday somehow the place becomes a bloody bombsite again! To be honest even if DP did my most hated chore - the washing up - everyday, I would be immensely grateful.
On top of that with the health visitors hovering over my shoulder to weigh her pretty much every week (despite her thriving, their words, not mine) it adds to my growing anxiety that I'm not being a good mother. I don't trust health professionals (very bad time in hospital) and probably won't for a long time.
What on earth do I do? My anxiety disorder is worsening and so is my depression.