I keep a lot inside. Pretty much everything. Even my husband has a hard time getting me to come clean about how I feel. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll give you an earful of opinions on this, that and the other, but when it comes to my feelings, it just doesn’t happen.
I cried at my doctors visit this week. Cried. Yes, you should have a horrified look on your face, because this is one of those “no-feelings” things that comes standard on your Karly. I just couldn’t do it anymore, I couldn’t pretend that I was OK and totally, 100% sane.
I can’t smile anymore, or laugh. I can’t keep up that Sure this hurts it’s the end of my pregnancy pains but I’m a trooper! look anymore. It’s so much more than that.
I tried to stay off the meds because I thought I was strong enough to get by, because I wanted to breastfeed. I just knew I could make it six weeks like with my other girls, and I wanted to treat them all exactly the same. Give them all the exact same start in life they deserve.
But when you spend almost every waking (and sleeping) moment in utter despair from crippling pain and a desire to harm your own children that you can barely contain…it’s time to seek help.
Yes, I did say it. You may never know what it’s like to get so angry you can actually SEE yourself doing the most horrible things possible to your children. And you may never know how it tears you up inside, tears ME up inside, to think those things, or to even remember thinking those things like I am doing right now. And as I am typing this I am trying to not cry, or even appear upset, because my “no-feelings” tell me to not let Rudy see I am upset on the other couch.
When people see me with my girls and with my giant stomach, they always kind of giggle and ask me how I plan on surviving. I want to tell them I don’t plan on surviving. I don’t want to grin and bear the jokes and the heaving sighs of good luck they pass in my direction. I want to punch them, kick them, kill them. And when the girls start acting up, I want to do the same to them as well. I’ve told people that I will be like those crazy mothers who drive vehicles into bodies of water and we’ll all drown, and they think I’m kidding.
I’m not kidding.
So I am going back on a heavy dose of anti-depressants, and will formula-feed Baby #3 when she arrives. In a way I feel like a weight has been lifted from me, but I still feel guilty for making this decision, as though I have failed my child. I already feel like I’ve failed my other kids, and I knowknowknow it’s a bunch of bologna to think like that, but until the medicine kicks in I know I am going to have to struggle with guilt that shouldn’t be placed on myself like that.