Depression is something that I have been struggling with for the majority of my life. Depression and bi-polar disorder are genetic in my family. I have come to grips with the fact that it is going to be a lifelong struggle, one which I have been able to manage and live a relatively normal life. I have learned my triggers. I know the warning signs that a depressive episode is lurking around the corner, and I have learned to pay attention and care enough to take preemptive action. It took me a long time to get there.

There are days and weeks where it is a struggle, but the majority of the time, I am healthy and happy.

It wasn't always like that. There were months, hell, years of my life that were lived in a depressive haze. Looking back, there are periods of my life that I only recall in pieces. They exist like flashes on a monitor; grainy, fuzzy images flickering in consciousness, jumbled audio amidst the white noise. Somehow, I mustered through, able to see the other side. But, to be honest, that in itself is a pure miracle (and a testament to my husband Ben).

The worst of these times was after delivering Sweetie. And, although I lived through times when I considered suicide, this trumped any and all previous depressive episodes. I so wish that I could say that becoming a mom was a joy. I so wish that I could say that I felt instantly bonded with Sweetie, and that the day that Sweetie was born, I too was born as a mother. Postpartum depression robbed me of that. It left me weak in spirit, with mush for brains, and spawned thoughts I care not to speak out loud.

The thing about postpartum depression, or even dysthymia (low level depression) after the birth of a baby is that it isn't talked about. We can talk about it in general terms. It can be discussed on talk shows or in the media. Celebrities can bring struggles to light and argue about treatment. But, when you are the one suffering, talking about it is a different story. As the mother, you are supposed to be over the moon happy about your new arrival. You are supposed to love being a mother, stare into your child's eyes, and commit yourself wholeheartedly to your new role in life. You are suppossed to be perfect. Sure, people expect that you are going to be tired from the late night feedings, the day/night confusion, the being at the beck and call of a 20 inch crying, pooping, eating infant. But being depressed, confused, lonely, even wishing for a taste of the freedom from before you had a child? Would anyone really listen without brushing it off as exhaustion? Would anyone really understand? Or, is it something that you don't even want to admit to yourself, let alone anyone else?

Denial. It is a powerful thing.

In my personal experience, talking about it was extremely hard. I talked to Ben about it, as with him, I can fully let down my guard. But he was an overwhelmed first time dad too. I really couldn't get across much to my family as they were states away at the time. Being so far away, it would have stressed them too much as well, yet they would have been able to do little about it (again, the genetic component). I didn't need extra guilt their stress would have caused me (oh, and that guilt wouldn't have come from them. It is just par for the course growing up Catholic).

We were living with my in-laws at the time, so I felt like I was a bit under the microscope. While my mother-in-law have an excellent relationship (I consider her a second mother), I really didn't feel like I could completely open up to her about all that I was feeling either. I mean, risk looking completely insane? To your mother-in-law? To whom you have just given a grandchild? Well, I really didn't feel comfortable doing that. On top of that, I have this need to maintain control (not of others, but myself and my personal situation). If I don't have control, I feel the need to maintain this facade, for better or worse. I did not feel secure in letting anyone into the madness brewing in my brain.

As the weeks went on, the PPD got worse. Alot worse. And to add insult to injury, Sweetie had terrible colic. Nothing I could do would end her incessent crying or her pain. This fact only added to my feeling of inadequecy.

The chips were down. I sought help, and went on medication. I wish I had done it sooner. I felt the shadow lift, and I was able to concentrate on being the mother I wanted to be for her.

I think the worst part of PPD is the loneliness. Motherhood is a rewarding, but a difficult job. Unfortunately, we often find ourselves lacking in a proper support system after the first few weeks. Friends that don't have kids yet don't tend to come around as much as they used to. The friends that do have kids, well, many of them are busy caring for their own brood or don't want to expose your new baby to the germs that their kids are bound to have. So, we are left, managing the chaotic twist life has taken, with little validation, and often alone (or with a significant other who feels overwhelmed by the experience as well).

I guess what I want to say to all of the mothers out there suffering from PPD or dysthymia is, please, don't hesitate to get treatment with medication, talk therapy, or a combination of both. Don't hesitate to share your thoughts and feelings with those around you. I wish that I had done more of this. You need support. They might be able to facilitate in getting you the help you need. They might be able to understand more than you realize. Find a mother's group to get involved in. Commisserate. Share your joy. Share your struggles. You will begin to feel like you are not alone.

And please, if you ever feel so completley lost that you feel like you may be a danger to yourself or to others, call 911. Don't worry about how it looks. You need to do right by you and your child. Brain chemistry is a tricky thing, and it is something that you cannot deal with alone.

My hope for all mothers is that, one day, the stigma of PPD will honestly disappear. One day, we will all find the support we need to become the best mothers we can for our children. One day, we will all be able to find the joy that we deserve.

Cross posted on http://www.dtemama.com