The last couple of months were tough, but the last couple of days were interesting. I came to the realization that I might have Post Parfums Depression, most likely thanks to Chrissy Teigen, however ridiculous that sounds. Her essay (if we can call it an essay) in Glamour magazine made me think about what I was going through since the birth of our son in January of 2016. And to be honest it was a good match and then some.
To put all the cards on the table, I am not a big fan of depression as a condition, never liked it, always thought those people should seriously reconsider their lifestyles and approach to life. I have always believed in PPD though. I was also labeled bipolar with OCD by a psychiatrist, whom I have never seen again when I was around 15. And as some of you might know from reading my blog posts I do have a bunch of health issues (severe chronic migraines, daily headaches, adrenal insufficiency, Rathke’s Cleft cyst on my pituitary gland, osteoarthritis of my hips, insomnia and so on). So I don’t know why I was ignoring how I was feeling for so long.
How was I feeling? I ceased to exist. I became this machine that performed scheduled tasks to keep the baby happy, healthy and thriving. My body began to shut down, my muscles and joints hurt so much I felt like collapsing to the cold floor in the bathroom and just never moving again. My head just throbbed, all day long, every second of every day, especially after I put the baby to sleep at night. I had no a petite and my intestines and stomach would just spasm out of control randomly. My hands would shake.
I lost interest in every single thing that I have previously loved. I no longer took pictures, cooked, did yoga or exercised in any way other than our daily walks. I stopped reading, watching TV, communicating with my family (we are currently abroad because of my husbands work, so I just keep pretending everything is absolutely fantastic so that my mother doesn’t go crazy but the amount of emails and calls has dramatically decreased).I stopped taking care of myself, no more healthy eating, daily meditation, excessive Korean-style beauty routine.
And this has been going on for the past 14 months and I have been obsessively trying to pretend everything is fine, or is going to be fine. Until I have read that article it is not fine, I am not fine. I am barely surviving. Yet I feel that no one cares and why should they. I am at home, no care in the world, everything provided for me. My child is the happiest baby I have ever seen, he is healthy (all I could ever ask for) . I live for every second I spend with him, otherwise there would truly be nothing.
So there, here it is, black on white, something I wanted to say, scream from the rooftops for some time now I just couldn’t find the strength, the time, the “marbles” to do it.