Postnatal Depression: I'm not crying - you are.

I felt good. It had been ages since I felt good. Being pregnant is total shite fun. I’m such a whale and none of the good things happen to me. I’m just a big, sweaty, greasy, hairy, emo wreck. 

But I had my red dress on, heels and even fishnets - I felt good.

I had been speaking at an all women event for DIWC in Dundee (Nov 2017). I spoke about being the influence for the women in your life - I had my mum and daughter with me and got the chance to tell them from the stage how they influence me.

Afterwards I was exhausted and although I knew I was done I insisted on adding to my pressure. Having a blended family is tough - especially when amiability seems utterly impossible - another ‘she can’t do this’ bullshit conversation followed by sulking in the toilet for a bit of peace.

I was bleeding.

22 weeks and I had absolutely scunnered myself. Working all the hours, taking on personal responsibilities way beyond my need all to prove to myself pregnancy won’t change me. I was so ungrateful for my baby, seeing the whole thing as a major derailment for what I had planned…

But now I was just fucking terrified. I prayed for my baby girl, hands shaking, tears streaming - I begged god to sort it. Which is ironic because he doesn’t even know who I am. I’m not religious.

My confidence in being able to carry her was shattered. Pretty shit considering my confidence in celebrating her from the offset was black clouded. I spent most days being resentful of others, uncomfortable and of course ungrateful (still).

Making sense of how I felt then was important to understand how I feel now…

Depression during pregnancy, comforting eating, persistently low, no pleasure in things I normally enjoy, irritable and tearful, GUILTY, isolated, exhausted, rapid heartbeat, headaches, blurred vision, hostile and defensive towards my partner...

As I read through the symptoms with my tears bouncing off the keyboard and an overwhelming need to fucking scream. I already knew what I was looking at.

The Answer.

The blood tests, the medication the dire need to lose some fucking weight - all completely pointless.

Postnatal Depression isn’t diagnosed in women like me. It’s not picked up by the midwife who came 3 times or the health visitor who phoned twice in 11 months. It’s not recognised when your baby is number 4 to an already complex family…

“Ms Mackay? She’s a bit arrogant and clearly doesn’t have time for playing the new mum game.” 

For the whole of last year I thought it was my thyroid or diabetes or maybe I was terminally ill? I’d let myself off for drinking wine, sabotaging my diets and generally being a miserable arsehole because I was just about to get blood tests, go and see the doctor… I finally went in November.

The Doctor chucked me a box of beta blockers, booked me in for heart monitoring and sent me on my Merry Christmas way.

I liked to pretend for a short while that the Drs diagnosis of ‘burn out’ was all that was wrong with me but eventually the nagging guilt forced me to find the words to tell myself the truth.

If I admit this, that’s it. I’m weak, pathetic, incapable, unstable, UNFIT. I've not got PND, I've been a mum for 14 years, don't be fucking stupid.

I dressed it up as not getting enough support and having to do everything myself. That Luna was just hard work, just needed me… Anger and resent for time lost and so cripplingly guilty for time spent.

I’ve not got PND I’ve just got too much to fucking do as fucking usual!! Why won’t they look after themselves? Why am I constantly fighting fire and picking up everyones shit? Fuck everyone.

Trapped and cornered by my own mind.

Finally I gave up fighting...

‘Hey - I think I’ve got postnatal depression can we meet up for a chat?’

2 weeks on, I’m already better.

I have accepted that to get better I have to stop behaving like a fucking idiot on self destruct, accept help and be kind to myself. I am ready to talk now and I know rebuilding myself with a bit of counselling is what I need to.

I am in two minds on whether I should press publish but I’m thinking if there’s another arrogant arsehole out there who thinks it’s all their fault - it might not be, you might be like me.