I had my 6 week check up today. I'm not sure what that's all about, honestly. "Yep. There's no baby in there anymore..." or "We just charged you $17,000...what's another $25 copay?!" Or maybe it's just a "one last time" feel-up from the doc. In any case, it was...to put it plainly...blurgh.
My only "issue" was the raging PPD that I can't seem to shake.
It's weird; when I'm lucid (like I mostly am right now) I know that I'm nuts. When I'm in the middle of a freak out/melt down/whatever, you can't POSSIBLY convince me that it's not the end of the fucking world. I've struggled with depression my whole life, and I turned into a giant bucket of freak show basically the whole time I was pregnant, and I went a little psycho after Dylan was born, so I'm not shocked AT ALL that I ended up with PPD again. What I am surprised about is how bloody bad it is this time.
It probably doesn't help that Liam hates sleeping. It doesn't help that I haven't had more than 2 hours of sleep at a time in over 7 weeks. It doesn't help that my house is totally chaotic as HELL right now, and Dylan takes advantage of my breastfeeding times to act like a rabid wolverine on crack. It doesn't help that I still haven't figured out how to do simple things like go to the freaking grocery store with the kids. And it sure as hell doesn't help that we're poor as...as poor as...as something stereotypically poor that I can't find a metaphor for at this point because I'm too tired to be witty...
So anyway, my doc asked me if I wanted a prescription for an anti-depressant. I declined because I've done that route before and it made shit worse. Zoloft made me homicidal with a side order of suicidal, Seroquel made me have brain zaps so bad that I would twitch and squeal like I had Tourettes, Prozac made me a zombie, and Cymbalta made me lose every scrap of impulse-control that I had (which wasn't much to begin with...) So...yeah. No crazy pills for me.
Which has left me with...this.
Someone please tell me what to do. Because my well-intentioned husband keeps saying shit like "calm down" and "this will pass." That's great, sweetie...does reasoning with a crazy person EVER work?? In retrospect, of course, freaking out and weeping bitterly and asking if we're getting a divorce isn't the obvious reaction to the statement "I'll take the baby in the living room so you can get some sleep..." but it seemed perfectly reasonable and NECESSARY at the time. How do you reason with that?!
Siiiigh.
I knew I should have eaten my goddamn placenta.
