I’ve come to the point in this pregnancy where I don’t want to veil my uncomfortable feelings as something else.
Yes, I’m scared.
The word I’ve been avoiding saying, however, is that more than anything else, I’m DEPRESSED.
It feels like such a heavy word these days, even though I’m already well-versed in the world of depression and mental illness. Depression has always been the biggest threat while managing my Bipolar Disorder. It got really bad for a while after Madeline was born, and don’t even get me started on how low it got after Rossi died.
I was certainly not ignorant to the fact that at some point in this pregnancy that depression would show its ugly face. Especially since I made the decision to go off of medication at the start. What I did not prepare for was everything else that would happen along the way, that would allow me to subconsciously put my mental health on the back burner. Which brings me to now, where I feel pretty much it is all out of my hands until my delivery day.
Things did feel a little better once I started admitting I was depressed. This whole pregnancy, it’s been easy for me to list the things that could make me depressed, or feelings that can relate to depression, or using my journey after loss as a way of covering up my dark feelings that go beyond that pain.
Though, I’m not necessarily thinking about my loss when I have to cry for 10 minutes every single morning before getting my daughter out of bed. All because the thought of going through another day of the same thing is even too overwhelming.
I’m not thinking about the state of the world when I can sit for hours staring into nothingness, feeling numb and jittery all at the same time.
All I know is that I lost motivation for pretty much everything.
I no longer take joy into documenting my pregnancy on my socials like I used to. I would be absolutely content to not talk to anyone until after the baby gets here at the earliest. Madeline spends way more time with her tablet than she does with me recently. Although it pains me to admit it, I’ve reached my breaking point in this pregnancy. Most of the time I don’t know what the hell I’m doing or what I need to do next.
I would like to just comfort anyone reading this and let you know that I am safe, and I do have professional support on my side.
At the end of the day, I know I will survive this, what I’m scared of is I don’t know how I will.
Each day seems to get even harder than the last. When Joey does get here, some things will get better and maybe a few other things will get worse. As it stands right now however, this reality that I face constantly is biting. I need a change.
Saying “I’m depressed” especially during the last weeks of pregnancy is so defeating. I’ve heard over and over again that the finish line isn’t far, and yet this sentiment never provides any comfort.
I know I’m close to meeting her. I know that some weight will be lifted when I do.
4-6 weeks may not be a long time. But, it is when your mind isn’t even letting you take it day by day. You’re being forced to take it hour by hour, minute by minute, and every single one either ruthlessly drags on or goes by terrifyingly fast.
What hurts is that I never wanted to be this pregnancy, that I’ll never get to redo, to be about survival. At the very least now, I accept that shoving these feelings aside and pushing myself to do things I was not able to this whole time was not helping me or the baby.
I now know that the best thing I can do for us is to sit with the thoughts, rest, and recharge.
Even if that means watching reruns of Friends and living off candied nuts for dinner.