my creative writing fiction final was about my ppd experience.
Obviously it's based off of my situation but some places are dramatized. I want to expand this into a full novel one day. I have a lot of ideas I just wasn't able to implement!
(When I saw this picture it was the first time I really felt a connection to her, and realized I was okay and did love her. She was NINE months old. )
I
would wake up and start each day feeling fine. Going through the
motions of the day posed no problems for me; I was fine, felt fine,
felt ?normal,? but the moment the last ray of sunshine slyly seeped
behind the horizon, it drug with it my soul, my unresisting soul; it
did not kick and scream and struggle to be released as one would
imagine; it went willingly, lifeless, as if it knew it was defeated.
At that exact moment, the moment the Vitamin D was no longer able to
reach my fair skin, I turned emotionless and cold. It was as if the
setting sun was replaced by a dark cloud that washed over me nightly
and everything I saw through my clear, blue eyes during the day, now
looked a depressing shade of grey. I would sit in the dark nursery and
hear nothing but the loud rhythmic suck of this thing that was attached
to my breast. I could feel it?s heartbeat against my chest keeping
time like a metronome; it?s breath bursting calmly out its nose onto my
skin, but the only thing that I could not feel was the one thing that
should have been most natural. Love.
What did feel natural to me was not feeling any attachment to this tiny being that I held in my arms. I would sit and stare out of the un-covered window impatiently, desperately, waiting for the first ray of sunshine to emerge and bring my soul back to me. The day provided an escape; I craved that escape. The night trapped me in this nursery with this thing; I was its prisoner. Even though the bars that imprisoned me were invisible, they stripped away my freedom and made me a prisoner in my own home with great force. The nursery was my prison cell and this thing was my warden, dictating my actions, yet still unable to control any of my emotions.
It was as if the sun going down each day flipped a switch and turned my soul against me. My insides felt as if a thousand lightning bolts shot through my veins. I could feel my blood run faster than necessary; the echo of my heart beat growing louder each second.... my soul aching to breaking free.
The last time that I felt complete is forever etched into my memory; it?s perfectly clear to me.
In the cold, hospital room, I laid there waiting for my life to change. I awaited the sound that every new mother yearns to hear, the beautiful first yelp that creeps past the most perfect pair of lips, innocence in its most natural form. This was the moment when I was supposed to feel as if my meager life now had meaning. I was responsible for bringing a person, a child, my child, into this world. This was the moment when I was supposed to feel gratified, overjoyed, like every little piece of my life was now perfectly placed together, and I was now complete; however, for me, this was the moment that I felt a huge piece of me being taken away.
I walked into the hospital, hand in hand with my husband, my best friend. I probably wouldn?t have been able to stop smiling if I tried. I thought I knew what was to come. I thought I was prepared for what laid ahead of me. I thought this is what I, what we, really wanted. We had been together for nearly a decade. We knew each other inside and out. We had each other, heart and soul, and we were ready for our love to grow as we welcomed our child into our lives. Things were moving in slow motion. It was as if time was standing still for us, allowing us to soak in each and every moment, so we could relish everything about this: the smells, the sounds, the emotions.
Then, something changed. My perfect vision
was shattered; something crumpled up my envisioned plan, threw it away,
and replaced it with a new, less perfect, one.
The moments leading up to the change are not as significant as the exact moment it all came to an end, the moment I heard it.
My pregnancy was considered high-risk, because I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes and was considered to have boarderline Toxemia; however, I was reassured there was no reason for concern during labor and delivery. Once we go back into our delivery suite, everything was routine: cords, monitors, IV; all the works were put into place. At first, the beeping of all the machines was distracting, but after awhile, it became harmonious. We were advised to ?get comfortable,? since a normal, routine delivery of a first child could take hours. But with this less than perfect, new plan, nothing could be routine.
They
laid this wet, bloody, screaming thing in my arms and what is usually
the moment that most mothers can recall with perfect precision, I can
remember almost nothing. I only remember the intense urge of wanting to
close my eyes and drift away.
Everything around me was
spinning and seemed to be on fast forward. I saw all of these smiles
and all of these faces stained with tears of joy, but I just laid there,
silent, waiting, pleading with my heart to do what I knew it was
supposed to do, but yet it did nothing; there was nothing.
I couldn?t understand why I couldn?t allow myself to let go and fall in love with this thing, this thing that came from my body. It was a part of me and yet I couldn?t feel a single ounce of connection to it. It cried and I felt nothing. It cooed and I felt nothing. It smiled and I felt nothing. I didn?t know what was happening, but I knew that this was not how I was supposed to feel; this was not how this was supposed to be. I had done everything I was supposed to; everything was done according to plan, but this thing came and threw my perfect little plan out the window.
I thought, as I looked down and stared
endlessly into those tiny eyes, that this was the defining moment of my
life. I looked into those eyes, searching for a glimmer of hope, but
there was none to be found. I knew she couldn?t be mine. She didn?t
feel like mine. This wasn?t possible. My daughter had to still be
inside me; I could feel her. She must just be so comfortable and still
inside my stomach. This thing wasn?t her in my arms, but it was. This
was my child, but why didn?t if feel like she was?
?Everything will be perfect,? I said hushed to myself. ?It has to be.?
I
panned the room trying to make eye contact with someone, anyone. I
needed someone to look at me with reassuring eyes and say, ?you?re
alright, nothing is wrong? but no one did and no one could. How could
they? Everyone was busy bursting with the emotions that I should have
been experiencing, but I wasn?t; I just couldn?t. Didn?t they realize
what I was seeing? Wasn?t the terrified expression painted on my face
a red flag for anyone? Could they not understand? My heart was
draining and I was starting to feel the coldness rush over me. In my
head, I was screaming for help, but I couldn?t produce nor speak the
words to express what I was feeling. I needed help, but I couldn?t ask
for it; I didn?t know how. How do you ask for help with loving your own
child?
While still in the hospital, I must have learned how to wear a fake smile fairly well. I went through all the firsts that a new mother experiences within the first few hours with her new baby wearing a caring, loving smile, while deep down inside, I was begging to go back, to leave this thing, and run away while those around me were none the wiser. Each and every first was now tainted with this feeling of nothingness for this thing that that I created. My days now felt like weeks, my weeks felt like months, and the months came and passed with no resolution. I did each and every motion with perfect precision. My life was now a routine with no emotion involved. My once irreplaceable smile had been secretly stripped from my face, and my once bright, blue eyes were now nothing but a hollow gateway to my faltering heart.
It was the day we were supposed to be coming home to start our new life. The sun snuck into our hospital room and the little beams of sunlight were scattered all over the walls mocking us with the warmth and comfort of the new day. The crying coming from the bassinet was loud and overwhelming, but worse than that, it was unstoppable. I could see the comfort level in my husband?s eyes sinking away. I could tell he was struggling and quickly losing control.
?I can?t handle this. I don?t want this anymore,? he blared out. He looked at me with utter disgust, and then without a second thought, he turned around and walked out the door.
With him went my sense of security and every hope and dream that we ever had. I sat there and felt myself just let go. I tried to convince myself that everything would be okay. I repeatedly said to myself the only thing I knew to say, ?You can do this.? I looked over at this tiny, two day old child and felt hatred; finally an emotion, although not the emotion that most new mothers feel for their child. Tears were streaming down my face as I picked her up considering the unthinkable, when suddenly then the door creeped back open, and there he stood as if nothing had happened just moments before, as if he didn?t just say he didn?t want this, as if his actions weren?t the catalyst to these awful thoughts raping my mind.
My once perfect marriage was gone. We were now as different as two people could be. We rarely touched, we couldn?t talk, I never felt love from him. I watched as everything I knew and cherished turned cold. I told him at that moment that what he did ?was fine,? that ?I could handle it? that he should ?do whatever he needed to do.? At that moment, he should have realized that something was wrong. A wife doesn?t tell her husband that it is okay to walk out on her and his newborn child, but I told him that, because that?s what he did; what else was I supposed to say? I couldn?t seeming say anything that I desperately needed to say to anyone. Within a few months, my entire world had turned into nothing but smoke and mirrors. Everything was an illusion. On the outside we were this perfect, beautiful, and happy little family; that left this secret back in that hospital room, but within the four walls of privacy that our humble home provided, we were none of those things.
Every night I laid in bed, alone. He was never there, but even if he were, it wouldn?t have made any difference; the feeling of closeness, as well as the love and comfort that he once provided me, were non-existent now. I had a gut wrenching suspicion that he had taken the love that should have been given to me and was willingly giving it to another. That premonition came to head when I heard him on the phone, whispering:
?I love you endlessly.?
?Nothing matters but you.?
?Don?t worry; it?ll all be over soon.?
Listening to him with her, the other woman, was like watching my life on a big screen. I was entranced, focused, unmoved, and then it happened suddenly, as if someone clicked her fingers to make me focus and bring me back to reality; something in me snapped, just like that. This wasn?t real. I closed my eyes, shook my head, and I thought, this wasn?t him. That wasn?t her. It couldn?t be, but, that was them, and this is me, what?s left of me anyway, and right now I feel as if my mind is teetering, quite wobbly, on the edge of sanity. It?s like watching a piece of glass that has fallen, and all I can do is stand and listen as it quickly echos, "tink tink tink tink.? All I?m left to do now is wait to see if that sliver of glass, my mind, shatters into a million pieces or lands safely, undamaged, all in one piece.
My heart stopped at that moment. I switched into survival mode; I made a plan and within a few days I did what I knew I needed to. I went to see for myself.
I could feel the pine needles poking at my toes through my tiny, purple, plaid, ballet flats. What did I expect from crouching down underneath that large Tall Mountain Pine, desperately trying to remain unseen in the shrubs? I remember that I was thankful that is wasn?t freezing outside. For it still being dark, and a few hours before dawn, it was unusually warm. I was so uncomfortable, not because of what I knew I was about to witness, but because my legs kept falling asleep, and I had to repeatedly switch positions, silently; every inch I moved, the needles and mulch below me would loudly crack as a reminder that I would need to remain completely still very soon. The birds were beginning to chirp and the crickets were becoming silent; my breathing was calm, until the back door opened. I instantly froze. My breathing stopped, my heart raced, and my life was forever changed as I witnessed my husband walk out of that door, at this extremely early morning hour, hand in hand with her..... smiling.
I did nothing. I said nothing. I sat in the background frozen. Continually blinking, hoping that one of those blinks would erase what had happened, what I had just seen. I watched as he opened her car door, just as he had done for me for the past decade. I listened as he told her that he loved her, just as he had said to me more times that I could count. My skin tingled and ached as I watched my husband embrace and passionately kiss her lips. I touched my own lips, searching for the remains of his kiss; watching them, I felt it as if he were kissing me. She easily slid into the passenger side of our car, and he strutted around, so proudly, and got in the opposite side. After what seemed like forever, they simply drove off. I stood there, frozen, until I could no longer see the bright red shine of the taillights. I knew at that moment that I had no choice. I wasn?t just paranoid. I wasn?t merely having unfounded suspicions. This was happening.
I wondered if my eyes looked as if they were pleading for answers, answers I already knew, answers to questions that I shouldn?t, but that I would inevitably ask. It?s not as if the answers were going to change what I saw, change what I have heard, or alter anything about how the events of that night played out, but for some reason, I still asked. For some reason, I needed to hear his response.
?Where were you last night?? I heard my voice crack and instantly I felt my skin flush as I got embarrassed for myself. I was embarrassed that I had to ask my husband this. I was embarrassed that I did nothing when I witnessed it. He just stared at me with his now cold eyes. It must have been mesmerizing to watch me fall apart so quickly, to watch as my entire world teetered just outside my grip, to watch the life quickly drain from my eyes as if my purpose on this Earth was destroyed. She was everything I was not, everything I could not be, everything I hated myself for becoming, but had no control over. I thought he would run to me and hold me, comfort me, love me; however, I was wrong. He just stood there looking at me. I was shaking slightly, fighting to hold back a flood of my previously non-existent emotions, when he opened his mouth to speak. All of the wonderful things I thought he would say were gone as he had nerve to ask me to ?calm down.? At those words, I morphed into a maniac. His asking me to calm down caused the total opposite effect. I could see myself screaming, acting totally insane, but I could not stop yelling. He was looking around nervously as I was lashing out and screaming things that made no sense to even me.
?I don?t even want it anymore, but I can?t shove her back,? I screamed through the gasps of breath I was struggling to maintain.
?Shhh, lower your voice or people will ??
I didn?t even let him finish his train of thought, because I knew what he was going to say. It wasn?t anything I needed to or wanted to hear anymore. He could offer me no response that would make me feel any better. He could have said a million things, yet all he said was calm down. He could have lied, he could have said it?s not what you think, he could have said I?m sorry, but he didn?t. I knew, right then, my marriage was over.
Almost instantly, my anger was gone.
The whirlwind had ran through me and passed. When he uttered those
disgusting words, it was as if I was outside of my own body looking
down at this situation from a place where I was safe from all the
fighting, all the screaming. It was like I was watching a scene from a
movie where a wife just found her husband with another woman and the
confrontation ensued. There was no love in this scene, no apology.
There was a wife, scorned, and a husband who seemed more concerned
with his neighbors overhearing the argument than with the fact that he
just crushed the soul of the woman who has loved him for years, well
what was left of her soul anyway. I wasn?t angry anymore. In that
moment, I wasn?t even hurt. I continued to watch this scene from
somewhere that kept me away from the pain, tears, and the finality of
this life. I looked at this with acceptance. I knew already what had to
happen; this just made it crystal clear.
Then I heard it
crying, wailing as to announce to the world that it was awake. That cry
thrust me back into reality and I walked away from him. I left him
standing there, alone in the cold, and went into her room where
everything, for once, felt so warm. She was so fragile and tiny. For
the first time, I really looked at her; I really noticed her. For the
first time, my mouth made a small, unforced smile. Because her
instincts told her I was the one who should provide her with love and
protection, she was looking up at me lovingly, and finally it seemed so
clear to me. With tears running down her face and cries echoing from
her mouth, I picked her up. I began to go through the motions that I
have done time and time again, but this time, it felt different. As I
sat down in the over-sized, tan glider, and I felt it nestle in and
begin to nurse, I looked down and softly whispered, ?one day sweet
child, we will be alright."
I can?t say that what I felt was what a normal mother feels for her child. I can?t even say that it was love, but I knew, right then, that it was different. I knew that my heart and my brain were finally working together in an attempt to love this thing, this baby, my daughter. I knew that there was hope and I finally felt relieved.
If someone would have told me that it would take losing my husband, the one person I valued more than life itself, to another woman for me to begin to feel for my daughter, I would have chuckled. For one, I would never have thought that my husband choosing another woman over me would even be possible, and for two, how could I not just naturally feel for my own daughter? But, he did choose someone else, and I didn?t feel anything for her. Those are the plain and simple facts. Live and learn.
In retrospect, I suppose life rarely turns out how we expect and things don?t always go as planned. There have been times when I have thought that my life has gone so far off track that there was no way to get it headed in the right direction ever again, but time heals most wounds, and time offers new opportunities. I have learned a tremendous amount about people, the world, and myself over the last few years.
I
guess my heart just didn?t have room for both of them. I spent so much
time trying to keep him with me, that I didn?t have room for her. With
time, I learned to let him go and to let her in. Life isn?t perfect,
but I?ve learned that life just never is. I?ve also learned that no
matter what, I?ll always have this thing, and when I?m at my best and
when I?m at my worst, that thing, my child, my daughter, will always be
the one person to remind me that I am loved, I am needed, and I too will
be alright.
-Me
Re: my creative writing fiction final was about my ppd experience.
I "quit" the bump a few months back. I've been feeling a relapse of PPD coming on and decided to visit this thread. Your story struck so close to home. Some of the sentences were the descriptions of my experience word for word. Thank you for posting this. I still haven't found anyone who suffered from PPD in person and I need this outlet sometimes. I find comfort in the notion that I am not alone, although I wish none of us had to go through this.
PS blondek8 - nice to see your post here too
We gotta catch up.
Yules! I was thinking about how I hadn't seen you post lately. Hope you are well.