Rock Bottom

The last two days have been two of the hardest ever.

On the way home from the shops yesterday, as I attempted to stop Penny from chewing her new shoes and grew increasingly frustrated, I started to fight back tears. When I got home, I walked into the kitchen to get a bottle ready for her. Instead of doing that, I slid to the floor and started sobbing. Huge tears fell from my eyes and horrible dark thoughts flooded my brain. I contemplated asking a friend to come and take Penny for a couple of hours so that I could have a break, but decided against it. I needed her here to save me. To remind me why I need to be here.

 

I filled my night with distractions and fell into bed completely exhausted.

When I woke up this morning, I knew that I couldn't wait another day to speak to a professional {I had already decided that I would see my GP on Monday}. I tried calling friends, but to no avail. Then I received a Facebook message from a friend I had plans to catch up with, and in a state of desperation I asked for help.

She came over, the tears began to flow again, and I somehow kept it together enough to get us ready and off we went to hospital.

As we did laps around the hospital trying to find the carpark, I started to wonder if I should bother speaking to someone today, or if I should just wait to see my GP. I didn't speak up though. I knew I had to do it.

We walked into the Emergency Department and I felt so foolish. I stopped and started to cry again. Wondering why I was there, what I was supposed to say, and if they'd bother to help. My friend spoke to Reception for me, and luckily the wait wasn't too long. It was damn hard though.

Speaking to the Triage nurse, once again I wondered if they'd bother to help. As I sat and waited again, this time for the doctor, I tried to find some sense of normality. Again, the wait wasn't too long, and off I went to speak to the doctor.

I don't know how I'm not completely dehydrated with the amount of tears I have shed lately. As soon as the GP started talking to me, I sobbed. She asked confronting, but necessary, questions and I was ashamed of the answers I gave. Honest as they were, it was hard to admit that to someone.

Fortunately she was a really lovely doctor. Looking at my symptoms and my past history of depression, she advised that I am very high risk for Post Natal Depression (PND). I knew the 'D' word would be said. I'd tried to fight it, but it was useless. Depression has been a part of my life on and off for close to 10 years now. 

The plan of attack from here is for me to see my GP {who fortunately specialises in mental health} and have a long chat to her. From there, it'll be back onto anti-depressants, and an assessement to begin a Mental Health Plan and see a psychologist.

It's going to be a long, hard journey. I know that. I have to do it though. I have to find the strength. For Penny.

I know I can do this. I know I can fight. I'm sick of fighting to get somewhere, but with the right help, I know I can do it. I can conquer this. 

I accept that depression is a medical condition that will be a part of my life for many years to come. I just need to treat it, rather than try and deal with it on my own. 

My daughter is my world. I will do this for her. And in turn, for me.