Strange Days

I think that I'm getting used to the medication. The first week was spent in a somewhat euphoric stage, where there was equal amounts of placebo effect and hormone stabilizers going through my brain and I felt good. This week there have been moments of "Oh God I can't do this" that I was able to calm down, and then there was a moment of a near panic attack while driving home from the grocery store. But I think that one was due to sleep deprivation. Can we say thank you to whoever decided that the first immunizations for infants should be during a development leap?

I've shared this blog - and subsequently my rather sordid past - with the internet at large. I gave the link to two mom groups that I belong to (one for each kid) because I feel like there would be less judgement that way. Or rather, there wouldn't be the in-my-face judgement.

I have no problem sharing my issues and trials and tribulations with complete strangers, yet I can't seem to face up to it with people I know in real life. As of right now, there are 4 people that I know face to face (aside from my husband) that I'm going through a rough time. Four. Out of all my family and friends, I've only told four people that I'm not doing okay. Why is that?

Because I can't deal with the pity. I can't deal with how they're going to react when they find out that I've been so off the deep end after this wonderful baby was born that I now require medical intervention. I can't deal with wondering what they're going to say about me behind my back to others. I can't deal with the shame.

And therein lies the crux. Shame.

I am fucking ashamed of myself for feeling this way and for needing help. Why? Why should I feel ashamed about a chemical imbalance that leaves me unable to control how I react? Because pretty much since the beginning of time, mental illness/instability has been something to be afraid of. It's been something to belittle and shame. It's been worthy of killing people, back in the good ol' days, or locking them up in a horrible institution to be experimented on - corkscrew lobotomy, amirite.

So today, I'm going to take a step in the right direction and share this struggle with my friends and family at large. I want them to know that where I may have hardships, I'm getting through it. I'm admitting that I have a problem, and that I need help and support. And dear God please let them help me.

One last thought before I close out. Everyone knows that I'm not the smallest score on the golf card. I'm big in heart and size. I wear a lot of colourful clothes, which I know has some people confused. Most bigger people tend to stick to darker colours in hopes that it will slim them down (but if you've ever watched What Not To Wear, you know that's mostly false). Not me, I love colour. And the reason for that is my (late) Gramma. I don't know how old I was, somewhere in my teenage years, and she berated me for wearing too much black. Said I should be wearing colour because I was too pretty to wear dark colours (as a Gramma is going to say regardless of if you're pretty or not). She would always compliment me on a good colour top, and give me that boost of confidence to wear it.

So there's my closet, full of colour, thanks to my Gramma. Miss you and love you every day.