Sunday, August 23, 2015
I heard this item about antenatal depression on the radio this morning and burst into tears. For me the depression was worse with each pregnancy until the only thing that kept me from suicide during my last pregnancy was the fact that killing myself would also kill another human being. That, and the certain knowledge that this awful state of mind would disappear the moment my baby was born as in the previous births.
But back then, 25 years ago, no one took me seriously. Post-natal depression was accepted as real, antenatal depression was not. When I asked a friend for help (something I had never done before, as asking for help is well nigh impossible for me) she refused saying I needed to pull myself together because it would be much worse once the baby was born. It wasn't, I didn't ask her for help again, and that friendship ended for good.
This morning on the news I was caught unaware by the confirmation and acknowledgement that what I felt was real, is indeed a 'thing'. I have talked about it openly ever since that time, helping other women who were feeling alone in their misery. But it seems that deep down I wanted this - this acknowledgement by the establishment that my pain was real. It appears that after all these decades of questioning experts, I still have a buried need for their acceptance. It seems I still have work to do.
I watched the sunshine creep down the hills in the west and cried. So much to do this morning, and all I want to do is cry. I am weeping for that sad, lonely, desperately depressed young woman who was disbelieved by almost everyone.