Dancer in the Dark

I've alluded to post partum depression in past posts, (say that five times fast) but I won't link you because

a) I'm anxious that I link past-posts too much and it's annoying.

b) The mentions are minor and in passing where I basically call it the PPD fairy which makes it sound all sorta swell and almost charming and not the insidious mother fawker that it is. Yes I'm afraid of balls out swearing, dontcha know my grandmother reads this blog? The one with the abs of steel, ya, that one. Damnit! I just did it again. I have no self control.

Oh crap, fine. Here are the PPD ones. Here. And here.

But whatev's. We're all here now right? And let's get to the problem.

That charming little insidious beeyatch fairy is back. She's flying by dropping her thought bombs including these hits: 'Oh you're wasting your time on this planet and worse everyone else's' and 'This poor child will never survive with you as the Mother' or 'Darkdarkdark thoughts that one does not write out loud or certainly not put on the interweb'.

I know it's been documented and thank god for the Brooke Shields of the worlds who make talking about this dark-ass shit somehow okay but it's hard to come clean about it. Especially so publicly. I mean seriously god bless her, she admitted that she herself was suicidal and even wanted to hurt her child and sure that sounds freakin' nuts - but I get it. It got that bad for me on two separate occasions and it scared the living keerap out of me.

Today I didn't have to go all the way there, just enough into the darkness to remember what there felt like. It's a strange phenomenon that I will try to describe. I know this movie is damn old, but has anyone seen The Blob? Here's the trailer. Try to subtract the campiness of the movie and imagine what it might be like to actually get eaten alive by the blob. As if the worst feeling you've ever had came over you and enveloped you intending to kill you. You can't shake it, because it's slimy and stuck and worse of all, it's spreading. This is a great time for a panic attack, so you have one. Hopefully your Mom or sister in law or someone is there to hold the tiny helpless baby so you can go shake in the shower.

I find that the most insidious aspect is the mental discussion that insists that I'm at fault...especially now. 'What hormones? Comon' it's been six months...GET OVER YERSELF' kinda dealio. So that's where I've been these last few days. The only thing that's cheering me up is the gorgeous soaking that the LA basin is getting. At this very moment I hear rolling thunder (no wait, that's someone taking the trash). Damn. But it's raining buckets which is just the sound of hope, renewal and a tiny dream of green for our burned forests. Photo credit.
 
I think BHB is aware of the shift in me, which makes me feel even worse. He's still a laughing-banchee-screaming-guy with a ready smile but he no longer has any interest in going to sleep at night. Yep, we've resorted back to the three hour 'go-to-sleep-baybee' opera. I guess the bragging up here came back to kick me in the ass. Karma is a bitch.

And if you're wondering how I treat the PPD, back then I used acupuncture and homeopathics. Please email me if you want more info, I am so happy to share the 411. Today I used the Haagen-Daz cure which will only make it worse because sugar is evil dontcha know but sometimes you just gotta.