When Enough Isn't Enough

Yesterday was a bad day.


It wasn't a bad day just because Isaac didn't feel good, and when he doesn't feel good, he doesn't sleep well. When he doesn't sleep well, I don't sleep well.


It wasn't just a bad day because it was 10million degrees outside and the neighbors dogs were running rampant through my yard and barking, preventing Isaac from taking his nap and I'll be damned if I was going out there to send them on their merry way while they are covered in dirt and a mysterious water like substance and look down right rabid and like carriers of H1N1 (haven't had that vaccination, thanks).

I woke up to a black cloud. I couldn't help it. It was just one of those days. Some days I wake up in an amazingly sugary happy you would want to slap me if you were around me moods. And others. Nope. Not even close.

Yesterday was one of those days where no matter what I do, how little or how much, how hard or not I try, I end up crying for hours on end and feeling like a failure. And once I start crying, I can't stop. I cry about everything, even the fact that I am crying and because I am crying I can't be the type of mother I want to be to my son. He sits in the play pen and stares at me, confused and concerned so I have to pop in Handy Manny or Baby Einstein or something and retreat into the back of the house or the kitchen. And it just descends from there. It's pulling at the preverbial thread. Everything unravels, and it unravels quickly.

We drove to pediatrician in So.no.ma to get the 1st flu shot, and a song on my ipod set me off. That's what really started the tears. And the only time I have for phone calls on days like these are when we are in the car and Isaac is contained. No one answered. That made me cry harder. And I know that my friends weren't ignoring me. And I don't ever like to sound full of desperation in voicemails. Everyone has their lives that go on. It is mine that seems to be at a stand still and moving too fast all at once.

I felt all alone and overcrowded at once. I was jealous of friends' freedom and frivolity and independence. I was resentful of being tied down with a baby so I couldn't be that way. And then I felt horrible for feeling that way and I cried harder.

Everything felt like a blow. A parking ticket bill that came in the mail turned me irrate at my husband, who thankfully wasn't around for me to cut up. A broken glass in the sink. The aforementioned rabid dogs. A telemarketer that got an earfull respect and tact.

It was a day where nothing makes it better. No amount of talking, or distraction. It dragged on forever and ever. I craved any form of relief, just a little escape from being stuck in my own head that screams at me what a horrible mother I am and how much I hate myself for being me from one side and the rational other side that tells me to chill the %$&# out and breathe and that everything will be just fine.

It was a day when no matter what anyone tried to do for me was enough. Nothing helped. It made every single step of progress I made to becoming a healthier person seem fruitless and worthless. Because that is how I felt. I craved just a second of relief. I just wanted to be someone else for a minute. Just a minute. Preferably someone who was sleeping. (Note: PPD apparently is a type of depression that makes you exhausted but you can't be depressed in bed all day. Makes it suck more.) It made all the days that I felt happy and more like myself seem so far off and like they never happened. It kicked me back down.

Anyone that doesn't think Post Partum Depression exists or is a serious thing can kiss my @)*$.