Surviving

The last ten months of my life, the first ten months of Zalia's, has been a long and hard road to self discovery. While I watched her tiny little body writhe and scream in pain, I could feel my soul being tortured by the pain of hers. While I fought to make life easier for her, I forgot to fight for myself and so I slowly, but surely, drifted away. 

I became someone that I did not recognise, with thoughts that felt like nightmares. My body ached in a loneliness that I cannot begin to describe. My heart would constrict and I felt suffocated by my own body. My mind was no longer my own. My feelings towards the people I love changed, my view on life was obscured and my belief in myself was non-existent. Whilst my mind became warped by the exhaustion I was suffering, my past began to haunt me. 

My entire life I have always apologised for not being good enough, for being too boring, for being shy. I apologised for not being more like other people, for not knowing how to make people happy, for being a constant disappointment. Through all those years of doubting myself and apologising for my person I was very rarely corrected, comforted or relieved. These thoughts, this low self image that I carried, started to leak into my Mothering and I felt stripped of any abilities I once believed I had as a Mother.

I have only said these words out loud to my psychologist, but I am at a point in my recovery now where I feel like it is time to bare bones, show my skeletons. I would have days, in my darkest days, where I would walk up and down the roads aimlessly and I would daydream about admitting myself to hospital. Just to escape, to press pause, to take a leave of absence. From my body, my home, my life... mostly, from my thoughts. I wanted so desperately to be away from the self loathing, the self doubt, the hate. 

I do not suffer from post natal depression, but I do suffer from depression. I have, on and off, since I was a teenager. In amongst this depression that comes and goes, like waves upon the shore, I had taught myself that I was of no worth. I have suffered desperate depression, which flared up to its absolute worst after Zalia was born. Not because of her birth, or her life, or presence, but because of the five months worth of two hours of a sleep a night... every night. The complete exhaustion. The utter desperation. There is something to be said for sleep deprivation, it is a powerful torture. I became delusional, erratic, dark and... different.

I am on the road to recovery. It has been a long and dark, twisty road. With lots of turns, forks and surprises. The thing about depression is that only you can make it better, with the help and assistance of people who are qualified. With my hand being held, I have fought my way to the top and I am looking back thinking phew. 

Along the road I have been able to discover myself and qualities that I never even knew I possessed. I am breaking all those self loathing thoughts and I have changed my entire view of myself. I have always believed I was shy, but over the past few months I have learnt that I am neither shy, nor unlikeable. I have been able to walk into a room of strangers and I have actually been able to find words. Not only find them, but speak them. I have opened my eyes and in doing so I have filled my life with the most incredible people. Friendships. Real friendships, where I no longer feel like I might be boring the person. Where I no longer question why they are sitting with me. 

I have been suffering depression, but it has opened doors, turned on lights and changed my life. I am a better person for it, I am a better partner to Anthony, I am a better Mother for my children and I am a friend. I am a better me. 

This post has been completely mixed up, random thoughts spat out, with no true point other than to say... I am a survivor. 

And you can be too