All the Horrible Girliness

The anxiety is keeping me awake at night now. Laying in bed is the worst. When the kid cries, I leap out of bed, having not slept at all, happy to have something to do and a reason to be up. In the early mornings, when I tend to sleep deepest, I dream that I'm awake and trying to sleep. The only reason I know I'm dreaming is, I'm a character in an RPG or something.

In the morning, I fall asleep with The Bug next to me, and sometimes don't wake until after noon. The whole day is off-kilter then.

The anxiety is contagious. Now Mister Aran feels it, and he can't sleep either. The only difference is, he doesn't get that leisurely morning nap.

***

I inherited the problem from my father. I wish I could talk to him about it. The last time he visited, I was suffering from the worst of it, the post-partum depression, and I brought it up to him. He advised me to take the medication offered, and if it had been left at that, it would have been fine. But he couldn't leave it. He obsessed about it. He had to bring it up every day, wanted to know whether I'd filled the prescription, why I wasn't taking it, and he'd go on and on and on. Laying in bed at night, obsessing about shit, I know my father is probably in his bed in Colorado, doing the same thing, and his mother is in her bed, staring at her alarm clock, worried too. It's a disease.

***

When I finally called the doctor about the PPD, it had gotten out of hand. I don't remember if I've already written about it here, so I'll keep it brief. I wasn't functioning. I could take care of The Bug but that was it. It got progressively worse as the day went and by early evening I was in bed, sobbing, incapacitated, about nothing in particular. I couldn't eat and I couldn't sleep. I called the doctor and he was on vacation. The nurse asked me some questions. I took very deep breaths because I was not going to cry, god dammit. I made it through admitting that I cried daily, that I was unable to eat and unable to sleep, and when I did sleep I had horrible nightmares. Then she asked what my nightmares were about, and my voice got very squeaky and I cried because I had to tell her that I was dreaming of my baby dying in horrible ways.

These days, I can eat but I still can't sleep and at least I'm not crying, but the nightmares now happen while I'm awake, and all the time. If I think of taking The Bug to the grocery store, I imagine a car hitting us in the parking lot. If I think about him on the plane to Colorado next week, I think of the plane crashing, the expression on his face. Oh god, I can see his face. I know exactly what his face would look like.

In my mind, we fall down stairs, and I drop him on all manner of hard surfaces and edges. Earthquakes bring every heavy item imaginable down onto his body. People come in through windows and take him away while I put wet laundry into the dryer. He's been shot, stabbed, burned, picked up in tornadoes, drowned in floods, shaken by the babysitter at the gym. He's rolled off all kinds of high spaces while my back was turned. He's had every malady, from heart disease and cancer to acne and bad teeth. Then there's the crib death. How many times have I been absolutely certain, while watching him sleep, that he was dead? Dozens. He's only been alive sixteen weeks. There are so many ways for a person to die that I can't imagine he has a chance. I remind myself that most kids make it these days, but it doesn't help.

***

I wish I could tell my father about this but it wouldn't go well because I want the solution and he doesn't have it.

I wish I could go to a psychiatrist, but all he'd do is prescribe. I've been there before, and the drugs worked, but I don't want the drugs. I want to know how to deal with this. I want to follow steps. I want to check things off lists. I want tools to deal with this problem.

***

For now, I do what I can. I'm going to have less caffeine. I'll start weight training again, go to the gym more often. I'm going to get outside into the fresh air more and keep writing. I'm not going to watch the intense movies or listen to the sad music. I had to do that before and I'll do it again. I'll get through this.

***

Oh, I hope to god I don't pass this down to my son.

posted by Samus @ 12:01 AM