The Bipolar Bitch

I have contemplated writing this post for weeks now, and every time I started, I would end up deleting it. I’m pretty sure I was just scared at the perception of it all, because I tend to pour my heart out when I write, making me vulnerable, which has always been a scary feeling for me.

I’m just going to say it…..8 weeks postpartum, and I still feel like shit!

Any new mom would most likely say that they take advantage of those hours during the night when their baby is sound asleep, and they can finally shut their eyes for a few hours and catch up on their own desperate need for rest. I do enjoy my sleep, but my brain has a mind of it’s own, no pun intended!

Four nights ago my body decided it didn’t need sleep, and I was wide awake, at 1:30 in the morning, scrolling through Pinterest, Reddit, and watching stupid videos on YouTube. I finally got up and cleaned the house, which included scrubbing toilets, doing dishes, doing laundry, and mopping the floor! At first I welcomed this burst of sudden energy, after all, it was about time I started feeling something other than extreme tiredness, but then I realized what the hell was going on, and knew this energy and happiness wouldn’t last.

My manic periods have never been insane. I don’t see or hear things, and I don’t think I can fly, or doing anything else grandiose…..I just have a lot of energy, and feel like I can conquer the world with my ambitions; I am super happy, positive, and full of life.  The high only lasted three days, and those three days where the best three days I’ve had in a long time. I cooked, the house was spotless, I had energy, I could laugh, I felt alive, and it was good to just feel, “normal,” for a change. I am just gonna say it….. I LOVE BEING MANIC!

Now I am back to feeling like the world is caving in on me. I feel like a horrible mom, who can’t even play with her kid, because I am too tired to function. My life has turned into a Groundhog Day routine, and I hate it. I wake up, just to repeat the same shit day after day, and it’s miserable. Oh how easy things would be if “focusing on the positives” could actually change anything…NOPE… I still wake up with the same fucked up brain chemistry, and a desire to feel an ounce of long lasting happiness day after day. 

FUCK YOU BIPOLAR DISORDER, YOU NO GOOD PIECE OF LIFE ALTERING SHIT, I WISH YOU WERE A PERSON SO I COULD MURDER YOU!

I know postpartum depression can rear its ugly head even worse for those who have prior mental health issues, but for some reason I continue to always think those statistics don’t apply to me. I am also stubborn, so my goal is to always deal with things on my own, even if I know how it’s going to end.

I am agitated, angry, irritable, numb, and have lost pretty much all enjoyment in anything. I’ve lost my appetite, find it hard to climb out of bed, and snap at my husband for every little stupid and annoying thing he does.

The only solution….FUCKING MEDICATION!!

I was on medication prior to pregnancy, and weaned off when I found out I was pregnant. I was doing great during pregnancy, and had no issues, other than the normal pregnancy hormones. My doctor assured me that my issues would return once I had the baby, thanks for that ounce of confidence doc! I was hoping that my brain would be so mesmerized with all the chemical changes postpartum, that it would forget all about how messed up it used to be.

I hate taking meds. It’s a constant reminder that you’re sick and can’t handle shit on your own. It’s a visit every 3 months to the doctor, where they ask you the same annoying ass questions:

Q: have you had any thoughts about hurting yourself?

A: Yes No

Q: how are you feeling now?

A: Numb inside  Good

Q: you would tell me if you were having trouble right?

A: No! Of course

It’s a constant adjustment in medication doses, which increases the already annoying side effects, which then in turn makes you need another medication to counter act the first medications bullshittery! Oh and my favorite are the judgemental nurses who do their intake questionnaires and ask you about why you are taking said medication, and you have to say the fucking word BIPOLAR to them, which is nothing far from horrifying, because then you feel the need to have to explain that you don’t have the kind that makes you go bat shit crazy, or homicidal, but rather the milder version that makes you just feel like shit 24/7, with an occasional, short lived, Mary Poppins moment.

I’m just tired! I am tired of my brain’s inability to filter out the noise, especially when I could use a quiet moment. I am tired of the intrusive thoughts that constantly flood my brain like Hurricane Katrina. I am tired of being broken, and feeling hopeless. I am just simply, TIRED!

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Postpartum

As I sit on my couch, juggling a laptop on my legs, Criminal Minds on for background noise, a newborn snoring in an awkward position on my chest, and a overfilled bladder, I can’t help but think to myself, “I don’t know if I can do this!” 

My hair isn’t brushed, and hasn’t been washed in a few days, mostly because once I step in the tub, and wash the necessary smelly bits and pieces, I’m either too damn tired to wash my hair, or the baby starts screaming bloody murder, and I need to jump out to deal with a starving baby vulture. The tiny human knows mommy will come to the rescue, when daddy starts to panic because he can’t figure out what’s wrong, and small baby cries have turned into blood curdling screams, a red face, and breath holding.

Making bottles has turned into an agitating process, not so much during the day, but most definitely throughout the night. No one tells you how much more difficult it is when your child goes from being content with two ounces, to now demanding three at every feeding. One would think an extra ounce wouldn’t be challenging, but when formula only has directions for even ounces, and some genius in the powdered formula lab assumed babies like to count by two’s, mixing bottles like a chemist at 3 am is exhausting, and just takes away from that precious sleep I strive for.

There’s something about the way my body looks now that repulses me. I had stretch marks prior to pregnancy, so it’s not that at all, I couldn’t care less about the battle scars of life….BUT….the flubber around my abdomen, extra jiggle on hips/legs, and the way everything just hangs down like a depressed inner tube being sent to the recycle factory, has my self-esteem waining slightly. It also doesn’t help that my scalp is flaky from the hormonal oil slick that has made its home on my head, and my face is so dry that it looks like the texture of a cats tongue.

I hate everything about the way my brain is making me feel. The crying for no reason, that lasted a week, and I was glad to see it go, but to be honest, I would rather cry than feel the way I do now! It’s so weird staring into the eyes of your perfect little miracle girl, thinking how happy you are that she is here, and at the very same time feeling so depressed. It takes everything I have to get out of bed, and mostly because I can’t crawl under the covers, die to the world, and be a good mother at the same time.

I’m healing from a second degree tear, wearing depends, taking Colace like candy, constantly leaking from the baby feeders, feeding a newborn every two-two and a half hours, cooking, cleaning, taking care of poopy blow-outs, filling syringes with baby Simethicone…and in between…trying to grab something remotely edible, before the hunger gremlins strike the baby like she hasn’t eaten in years…MEANWHILE…the hubs complains he’s been “extra tired today, and needs more sleep.” It takes all I have not to grab a weapon, (not for murder, just for a sincere beating about the head and shoulders), when I hear him complaining about things I consider minute. He is very helpful, and I know it’s just my current mood that makes me want to slap him with a board, but it doesn’t help when I am exhausted from the day, and still have to manage to repeat the entire process throughout the night, without a complaint, yet he is, “exhausted!?!?!”

The dog next door is barking again. The landlords won’t do shit about the fact that it never shuts the fuck up, but they have no idea that I am dealing with extreme anxiety, and I am two seconds from throwing a rock through the neighbors window, and strangling the fuck out of that damn dog, with my bare hands!

I feel so alone.

I feel trapped in my home.

I feel stressed, and overwhelmed, but perfectly capable of handling things at the same time.

I feel like I am letting my daughter down by just going through this daily routine, without a smile on my face 90% of the time.

I feel guilty because I get annoyed and agitated with the 4 am, 45 minute gassy scream-fest, that seems to be in our nightly schedule lately. I feel guilty when my baby wants to sleep in my arms, and I just want to put her down in the crib so I can lay my head down on the pillow by myself. I feel guilty because I say things to my husband like, “I will be glad when the newborn stage is over.” I feel guilty because I waited so long to be a mom, and now I feel like a failure who can’t even get a grip on my emotions. I feel guilty because I should feel overjoyed, but feel so dragged down.

Right now, what gets me through the day is a little angel I call Averie. I also realize that, just like my tattoo says, “every storm has its end,” and I’m hoping the turmoil I feel now is temporary.