There was this place I once fell into, its rapture something like the arms of hell barricading me, holding me back. I fought and struggled to break free but the force kept me still. Like running through quicksand. I remember screaming at blurred faces that couldn't hear me. Because in the reality outside my mind, I wasn't speaking at all. I was numb. Empty. Gone.
It was something like five years ago I found a darkness so dark, thought I'd never see the light again. This thing called postpartum depression is real. It's not a bad day. It's not something you can wish away. It's real, like the scars you can't see. I had next to no support system (still don't, really) and almost didn't recover. In fact, it was me who saved myself. No one else. Not my family. Not my friends. Not my husband. I pulled myself up, dragged my lonely heart into any [and all] remedies and did something that seemed impossible at the time.
I started talking about it.
Opening the dialogue let me set the pain free. I found TWLOHA. I got some Medicine. I opened up. Not because it was comfortable or because it was easy. It wasn't. I did it because my daughter deserved a happy mother.
And now, I'm doing it again. For both of my babies. And for me.
My beautiful son, Sullivan, is now 2 weeks and a day. My gorgeous daughter, Lilliana, is now 5 years and a day (yes, they share a birthday). They are everything that is everything to me and I desperately want to feel the blessings they've bestowed upon me. But first I have to clear away the clouds in my way. Like...
And an overwhelming sense of Skynyrd Syndrome...
("If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?")
I'm a writer, so I write. With all the truth I have in me. About pain. Loss. Grief. And everything in between whether it's easy or not. Whether it's comfortable or not. Because the Internet is written in ink. It's OKAY to tell someone you're hurting. It's OKAY to tell someone you need a hug. It's OKAY to tell someone you need help. It's OKAY to open up.
It doesn't make you weak. It makes you strong.
This is the first step and I know this too, shall pass. As long as I keep talking. From here, I will hold on with both hands to those two miracles that shared my body and kicked me awake as I slept. It's in those faces I have reason to believe I can heal.
For good this time.
Miss you. Love you. Mean it.