I woke up today after only a couple of hours of sleep. That awful feeling in the pit of my stomach in full blast. I am having a really hard time coming to terms with the fact that my sons first birthday is only a few days away.
For the longest time I’ve been convinced I would not make it this far. It feels so surreal to grasp that for 365 days or since the birth of my son I’ve been in the most horrendous depression of my life. I’ve made it through some excruciating days. Days where I had to keep forcing myself to choose to continue living. Ive fought thoughts that no human being or new mother should ever have to wage war against (but many new moms sadly do) I still don’t understand what has happened to my life…or most importantly my brain. Why did this have to be my journey? It is so painful to have to come to terms with being robbed of a full year with my baby. Day after day has been a fight for me but yet, I’m still here.
I pictured motherhood as this time of pure bliss. I thought seeing my baby would consume me with this intense love and happiness. That life would feel complete. I thought my fight with Hyperemesis was the end of my suffering but once I went into labor I knew that just wasn’t the case. In my sons first year of life I have endured 5 hospitalizations, two stroke scares, an emergency appendectomy, one procedure, a two month intensive therapy program, session after session of trauma work, and a horrible debilitating mental illness. I think I’m having ptsd from having ptsd. I’m still afraid to be alone. I’m afraid of being around people I feel as if there’s a sign on my forehead that reads “this one is crazy, stay away” I’m terrified of driving so I don’t. There’s still some days where I need to be distant from my baby but I can’t have him too far away from me because it hurts me. Physically and mentally hurts me. I still have days where I battle severe intrusive thoughts. Some days I feel a little normal I can manage to function ok I’m able to get ready and interact with my son. Others, getting out of bed is an uphill battle. That feeling of impeding doom still greets me every morning. I haven’t seen much progress in myself (though there has been some) and sometimes the guilt of that kicks my ass. The best way to describe the pain I’m in is to compare it to a third degree burn that life keeps pouring alcohol on. I feel that burning and pain in my mind and body almost every day, literally. I know now that there is no timeline for my healing. I have continue to chip away at my trauma and anxiety session after session. I know that years of abuse and neglect in my childhood really did affect me even though I never knew it until now. I know that if I had listened to those shitty voices in my head I would have missed my sons first laugh, first crawl, first tooth, and first walk. Those moments are what I breathe and live for.
Today, like any other day. I’ll make the choice. The choice to continue to breathe against all odds. The choice to believe that one day my nightmare will end. The choice to believe that I will be the mother I always dreamed of and have a bond with my son that is nothing short of amazing. I choose to believe that I am worthy but most importantly over my terrible pain and my irrational anxious thoughts….
I choose my son.