Sing With Me, Just For Today

I know you are all wondering what is going on with me.  There’s all this crazy shit on Facebook… I’m on Facebook one day, I’m off the next.  My status updates appear crazier than usual.  People are private messaging me, IM’ing me and texting me about other people’s comments.  People are telling other people they are worried about me and talking about me behind my back.

Don’t think this doesn’t bother me.  I may be really good at pretending I don’t give a shit, but I do.  I don’t want people thinking I’m a complete whack job or that I’m a huge asshole or that I’m an unfit mother.  I want people to see me for the good and the bad.  No one is perfect.  I’ve never – ever – said that I’m perfect.  I strive every day to be a good person.  Do I fail sometimes?  Yes, I do.  But the next day I try all over again.

I know I set myself up to be judged.  I mean, I write a blog putting my deepest thoughts on paper and letting you read them.  Certainly people are going to disagree with things I say, certainly people are going to be angered by things I say, but hopefully some of you, even if it’s a small number, can somehow relate to things I say.  And I’m okay with being judged.  I’ll be honest; I’m not a big fan of criticism.  I want everyone to like me and agree with what I say.  But, my skin is getting thicker.

What worries me is I don’t want to lose “me” trying to be someone I’m not.  For some reason this little blog I started has caused quite a stir….people love it or love to hate it.  I’m honored that my blog friends want to read what I write.  I’m even honored that the ones that hate me take the time to tell me so.  A writer who sparks emotions is a good writer and is doing their job.

The problem is I’m hurting right now.  I’m vulnerable.  There.  I said it.  I admitted something I HATE to admit.  The great (or not so great?) thing about me is that underneath this tough exterior is a sensitive woman who cares way too much.  I care what people think and say, I care how I look and have had plastic surgery, and I care when I lose a friend; a Facebook friend or a true friend.  I care when I hurt people close to me.  I care that I’m not a good mom right now.

This is a very private matter.  But, since my life is anything but private due to my blog and FB status updates I’m going to fill you all in on something.  I don’t have to.  But, I feel like my blog readers are friends, and my blog readers deserve to know the truth.  So here goes….judge away.  I know you’re going to.

I almost died two months ago, and a wonderful doctor saved my life.  I got new blood, and I was feeling better than ever.  I had turned a corner.  I was the new and improved Jen.  I was happy, positive and enjoying life with my husband and my beautiful daughter.

And then it hit me like a piano falling from the sky in a Looney Tunes cartoon.

I woke up one day and started crying and thought I may never stop crying.  I hated my house, my husband, my baby, my life – me.  I couldn’t think of one thing to be happy about.  All I could think about was escaping.  I wanted to run.  I wanted to hide.

Every day I want to buy a one-way ticket to Vegas and perform in Peep Show with Holly Madison.  I want to run away from this life.

Why?  What’s wrong with me?

What is it that I’m looking for?

One night I just left.  I got in my car and drove.  I just drove around wondering where to go.  Wishing I could drive forever.  Thinking….knowing….that something was terribly wrong.  I wound up on my friends door step like a little lost puppy.  Bra-less, in Pj’s, and completely humiliated I rang her door bell.  Mascara was smudged under my eyes, and my hair was a mess.  The only thing I had was $50 and my Juicy Couture purse.

She opened the door and looked at me with concern; she too in her jammies.  Being the always together person that I am its not too often I show my vulnerable side.  I get mad before I get sad.  I yell and swear before I cry.

I finally broke down.  I broke down in front of my friend, sobbing helplessly.  I went home and broke down in front of my husband.  I’m a failure.  I’m a bad mother.  I’m a bad wife.  I’m a lost soul.  I look in the mirror and wonder where I went?  I wonder will I ever be back or am I destined to this prison sentence?

Feeling deep and dark I dyed my hair – almost black.  I stared in the mirror at the new me.  I’ve listened to Eminem’s hate music non-stop.  Sure, I’m a bit melodramatic, but I like to think of myself as “artsy” sort of like Earnest Hemingway or Eminem or Van Gogh.  Artsy, crazy, whatever you want to call it, it gives me the depth I need to be a better writer.  And isn’t everyone in Hollywood crazy?  That’s where I intend to be some day…on Oprah’s couch talking about my books.  Or in Vegas working on Peep Show if things don’t work out for me.

I want to wallow in self-pity.  I want to get drunk and hope my problems fade away.  I want to escape so my daughter doesn’t become like me.  I want to wake up and be another person, someone else, someone happy.

Finally, after some urging by loved ones I went to see a postpartum specialist.  I have postpartum depression and every day is a struggle.  I’m embarrassed and ashamed.  I’ve failed my daughter.  I’ve failed myself.  I’m trying to climb out of this cave of emptiness.

Post Partum Depression is scary.  It’s sure kicking my ass.  But I’m not going to throw in the towel.  I’m trying to get well by working with this specialist, and I am lucky enough to be getting tons of support from my family and friends.  I wanted to share my story with all of you because PPD is rarely talked about.  No one wants people to think they are bat shit crazy.  No one wants to admit during what should be the happiest time of your life that you are truly miserable and are drowning.

I know sooo many pregnant women, and I can only pray you don’t go through this.  It is isolating and debilitating.  But, if you do, I am here for you.  I am here to listen and help ease your pain.  I will be the hand that pulls you out of the raging rapids that is dragging you down.  Hang in there.  You can do it.  And I can, too.  I am on the mend and will get better so that I can be the mom I want to be to my little angel.

* I found this website to be very helpful: MayoClinic.com.

** I am also reading Brooke Shields’ book, Down Came the Rain: My Journey Through Post Partum Depression.  It can be purchased on Amazon.com.

*** And lastly, if you or someone you know is suffering from PPD, please get help immediately.