Friday, September 30, 2011

That hard part of your story…

I took a suicide prevention class last night. It was something they really wanted all the key callers to take. And I’m glad I took it, but it was SO hard to sit through, and it brought up so many memories and feelings, that I had to step out, and when I came back in I was like, I’m sorry, this is just too hard, and it is bringing up memories, and started crying. Nobody in that room knew my story. And I wanted to share, but I didn’t want to share either.

I can’t remember if I’ve told this part of my story here. I know I brought it up to a fellow birth mom blogger. She’s going through her own stuff, with the adoption, because it is way more recent than my adoption, and I really want to help. So I think last night it made it clear I needed to share this part of my story, again, if I already have.

So I’ve dealt with depression for years, been on and off anti-depressants and seeing a therapist and psychiatrist since I was a teenager. When I got pregnant I was off my meds, and out of therapy. I shouldn’t have been, but I was. But when I found out I was pregnant, and started to think about the adoption plan aspect, I knew I needed to get in to see my therapist pronto. So I spent the whole 9 months in therapy, I wasn’t on any medication, I honestly didn’t need it, and I didn’t want to subject that baby to that. But I knew that the minute he was born, I’d need something, I’d need help.

As soon as it was safe, they added anxiety meds to my IV, and I think even that night in the hospital I started Prozac.

When I got home, I went back to therapy and started taking medication regularly. But about a month after his birth, I hit rock bottom. I didn’t know how I was going to go on with my life. I didn’t want to go on with my life. So my therapist and psychiatrist put me on suicide watch for a weekend, and when that didn’t really help, they told me I needed to check myself into the mental hospital. As scary as that was for me, it was really the best thing for me. We got my medication fixed and I got coping skills. I spent maybe a week, but then I had to spend a few weeks doing intensive outpatient, and that also helped, gave me more coping skills, group therapy was also a part of the IOP. It helped, to focus on other’s problems, give them input, it helped to get their input.

I know I took some of my friends for granted during that time. And I really didn’t realize it until it was too late. I have a way of laughing about problems, or staying busy so I can’t think of what’s going on. I came off as faking and making light of what I was going through. But that was just my defense mechanism. I wish I could tell them I’m sorry. I wish they knew that I account them for a large majority of why I survived. I’d like to think they know. That some how they have always known.

I’m doing so much better than I was almost 3 years ago. Sure I’m still on medication, and sure I still see a psychiatrist and therapist, but I have a better outlook on life. And I’m dealing with things in a healthy way.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Officially Suck

I officially suck at blogging. I mean, hell, it’s almost been 2 months…

Not much is going on here, I’m super busy working and hanging out with friends. It sure does make the time go by so much faster.

I’m actually off work for a week or two, they’re on the mainland. So I’m catching up on sleep, and chores. But mostly sleep. I’ll try to catch up on blogging too.

Saturday will be 6 months down, 6 months to go in the deployment front. And the hubby sent me these wonderfully beautiful flowers to “celebrate” making it halfway through the deployment.

I’ve been thinking about the baby a lot lately too. But seeing as he’ll be 3 in a few months, he’s not so much a baby anymore is he…it’s so hard to imagine that it’ll be 3 years in December. I mean, it really doesn’t feel like it’s been that long.

I still miss him a lot, and I’m sure I will miss him for the rest of my life. Which I’m sure some people just don’t understand, because I don’t understand…I don’t know how I can miss him when I never really knew him or had him, you know. So it doesn’t make much sense that I miss him. But I guess, that’s just the miracle of childbirth, you carry this thing around with you for 9 months, and even though you try like hell not to get attached, you end up attached.