Survival.

I've never been good at maintaining a journal or anything really. My ideas and intentions remain present, but my motivation and drive falters. Unless it is a project I can finish quickly or see progress. This is not progress and there is no finish. But the main reason for my blogging hiatus is post partum depression.

It hit me. Beginning in February. I knew there was a problem, but I thought at that point I was strong enough to survive it. I was exhausted. I lied when I said I was okay. I was overwhelmed. Stressed. Not just about being a parent, but finances, a lack of family and community, the isolation, not knowing who I am. My nipples still hurt every time she ate, my only break was a 10 minute shower. My husband tried the best he could, but looking back it wasn't enough and I allowed that.

I have panic attacks every month due to the return of my period and therefore hormone surges my body isn't used to. There is not a birth control I can be on until I stop breastfeeding - another five months minimally. So until then, I just have to keep surviving. I became so tired and so anxious, the depression overtook me. To the point I would be suicidal. I had to be babysat while I was watching my own baby. And, sometimes, I still get there. But I know it is always due to a lack of sleep. To a lack of caring for myself. 

So I started taking Zoloft on April 1. Does it help? I don't know. I don't know if its the pills, going back to weekly therapy, forging friendships, forcing myself and the baby out the door every day. Trying to be a positive thinker. Somewhere in there something is working, or it is all working. 

At this moment, we are seven months in. I have learned that I allow myself to be neglected because I put my needs last. The main one being sleep. That my husband is going to be frustrated and overwhelmed with a screaming baby because at seven months, it is the first time he has really had to deal with it. I still get up every 2 hours on average at night because she wants to eat. But, during the evenings, he takes her because she has to learn self-soothing to some extent. Food can't be her comfort forever, especially with her teeth coming in. Ouch. And so these two people, know of each other, but don't really know each other yet. That is a struggle for them both. And for me. I don't want to listen to her crying and I don't want to listen to his complaining. They both tense up, cry in their own ways, and so the cycle continues. But, who knows where I would be if I couldn't just throw a boob in her face. 

I am still depressed. I am still anxious. I am still alone. I am still trying to find me. I am still poor. But, I do know my daughter. I do know what I need. I am starting to find a voice, and learning that it must be loud. Right now, it must be the loudest. Because, now I know, if I am not heard, I know where that leads. And I don't want that to be my exit. 

Here is to getting through the next five months. To remembering, this really is so much easier right now than it was at the beginning. Instead of a newborn, I have a crawling, healthy, baby with a huge personality. She laughs when I laugh. Smiles when I smile. And sometimes, falls asleep when I fall asleep. And stays asleep with me - for at least a couple hours. How can that not make you happy?