I almost didn't write this.
I didn't want it to become real. I didn't want it to be something that actually happened. But I would not be doing what I believe God called me to do, which was to educate others about this really rare, but really severe and detrimental illness that plagues up to 1 to 2 out of 1000 women. That doesn't sound like a lot, but to the women who it hits, it hits hard, and it's something like you have never experienced.
If you want more facts, visit this site here: http://www.postpartum.net/Get-the-Facts/Postpartum-Psychosis.aspx
And for more personal accounts, visit here: http://www.postpartumprogress.com/the-symptoms-of-postpartum-psychosis-in-plain-mama-English
But more on my story.
My symptoms started at 5 days postpartum. I remember the second it started, then everything else afterwards is a blur. I had a full on hallucination of a stationary object moving, then not moving anymore, and that should NOT happen. I was sleep deprived, yes, but my reaction was a total psychotic break down. The weeks that followed was a giant blur of fear, delusions, and constant irrational thoughts, followed by extreme irritation, uncontrollable crying, and begging with God. I would prostrate myself, shiver in the shower, and plead with Him to make it stop. To end it all.
That's when I knew I needed help.
I would research for hours, pace for hours, sweat and cry and thinking non stop. I reached out to my OB/GYN and they gave me Zoloft. That made it worse; that made it much, much, much worse. I only thought longer, harder thoughts, and I believed them. I believed every single thought in my head. If you had told me that the was red and grass was purple, I'd believe you. I questioned everything, even God. That shook me to my being.
During all this, I never had thoughts about my baby, but I was scared. I was so scared I was going to end it all. I was scared of being alone. I didn't know what I was capable of, with those thoughts.
At six weeks postpartum exactly, I checked myself into Carolina Behavioral Health, knowing they would not let me out until I got better. Not with a newborn at home.
I was so scared. It was such an extreme decision; committing myself. I was surrounded by, what I thought it the time, psychopaths. But I was in there, so I was just like them. Turns out, I was.
We all had a bond. We all had families that needed us, we all had mental illnesses that needed treatment. And most of them had a relationship with God. But more on that later.
As soon as they got me a room, and I had an extremely tearful and scary goodbye with my mother, I lay down and waited for sleep to take me, where I had the one solace from my thoughts. Prayer and sleep; it was all I had left.
The next morning, I was woken up at 5:45 in the morning to get my weight and blood pressure taken. They refused me my Zoloft, but I didn't care. It didn't help me, it only made me feel more insane than I already felt. I saw a psychiatrist almost immediately. She listened to my sobbing (I had already told this story about five times, and each time it got worse and worse) and she nodded her head and seemed totally unfazed by what I had to say. She had a swift diagnosis. Postpartum psychosis with an underlying bipolar one disorder. The Zoloft had made my mania way worse, what I needed was an antipsychotic and a mood stabilizer. She started me on those right away.
I immediately felt relief. I felt somewhat "normal" knowing that I had a diagnosis. But that did not take it all away. What I had needed to be treated fast. I would be staying a week. I could only see my family every other day for an hour. And thankfully one of those days would be Christmas.
That was the worst part, being away from my family. I had been nursing, so I continued to pump and send home bottles. But formula still had to be supplemented. And when they had to add an antipsychotic dose in the morning time to rid the morning of anxiety, I couldn't use that milk anymore, so I was forced to dry in the hospital.
I don't remember any of that first month. I had to acclimate back to being at home and get to know James all over again. I didn't know him at all. And Isaac seemed foreign as well. I had to be gentle with myself, I had to give myself time. But I could not feel better fast enough.
Healing from this will be hard. I have residual depression. That will remain for months. This was a traumatic experience, to say the least. My relationship with God grew in the hospital. I met people from all walks of life, and on the first night I had there anxiety free, we all held a little Bible study and took verses that meant a lot to us and applied them to our lives. My favorite one was Luke 9:23 "Then he said to them all: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me."
My cross to bear in this life was enduring this illness. And the bipolar will remain with me the rest of my life. But, I believe God gave me this illness to show other women that there is help when you need it. There is a God who loves you, and awareness needs to be shown for this illness as well. I feel as though women hide in the shadows when they feel bad after their babies are born, that they have to be perfect. That is so not true! Postpartum hormones do a number on your mind and body. There is a huge gradient of feelings you can have after having a baby. Do not be ashamed. Reach out. Someone will be there.
Thanks for reading.
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