This is something I haven't openly talked about with many people. Not
because I'm ashamed, at the end of the day I am who I am and I can't change
that, but because of the way people seem to judge mental illnesses. Don't get
me wrong, people’s perceptions are improving. I think mainly due to the fact of
more publicising of different areas of mental health. Postnatal depression is
one of the more spoken about illnesses under the mental health umbrella, along
with depression. To me depression has such a huge range of severity. I believe
that the term 'depression' is used all too easily. Many people say how
depressed they are feeling, yet they aren't at all depressed. Maybe they are
feeling low or fed up, maybe having a bad day or week. We're all guilty of it,
even myself, it just makes depression seem so unimportant and such a trivial
illness, such as a common cold, when realistically it can be very very
debilitating.
My journey started at 17. I'd left school at sixteen and began an
apprenticeship in hairdressing. I'd always been a very confident, loud,
outgoing person, probably too outspoken and very opinionated. When I started
hairdressing I started in a town several miles away. I had to get the train at
just gone 7am every morning to be there in time for the shop opening. This was
the only train I was able to get as the next train would have meant id have
been late for work. So during the cold, wet months of October I was catching
the train in the dark, hanging around getting soaked through some mornings
waiting for almost an hour before I could get into the salon. I'd then work a
nine hour day with just one half hour break, then at the end of the day I'd
again have to wait in the horrid dark weather awaiting my train home. Darren
would then pick me up from the station at around 7.30pm. They were long hard
days all for £300 a month. By the time I'd paid for my daily train I had very
little money left and I began feeling fed up and uninterested in my course. I
stuck at it but I began feeling more and more down. I began thinking very dark
thoughts. It got to the point that every morning waiting for my train I
contemplated jumping onto the tracks so I could just end everything. The
overwhelming dark cloud became harder and harder to shift and slowly but surely
the once confident, happy and social person I once was started to disappear. I
dreaded waking up in the morning and all day just wanted to hibernate away from
the world. Every night as I dropped off to sleep I hoped I wouldn't wake up in
the morning. I had absolutely no reason to feel like this. I had a lovely
boyfriend, family and friends and a good apprenticeship at a fantastic salon so
I put it all down to tiredness from my long hours, after all, I had only ever
been used to short days in school. I decided to plough on and thought id
eventually get used to it, all the older apprentices seemed to cope and loved
it, so one day I knew I would too. Until one day at work it suddenly all became
too much and I broke down in uncontrollable tears. I left work half way through
the day, got the next train home and went to the doctor. I knew the way I was
feeling, the thoughts I was thinking weren't normal. I spoke to the Dr very openly
about my thoughts of jumping in front of the trains, my hope for not waking in
the morning and how fed up I felt. The Dr suggested I spend some time in
hospital, to have medication under supervision until I was in a better frame of
mind. I refused hospital but decided I would take medication and I was signed
off for four weeks. I started to relax and almost immediately felt better,
until nearer the end of my sick leave and the thought of going back to work
filled me with dread. I decided it must be work making me feel like this, the
long hours, tiredness etc so handed in my notice and never returned to
hairdressing. I didn’t feel my tablets were helping at all so I stopped taking
them, in my mind it was work that had made me feel like it anyway.
Things seemed better. I had lost a part of who I was, I was no longer let
loose and fancy free but I thought maybe I was growing up. I had my low moments
but nothing extreme springs to mind, until I was pregnant with Ethan, my first
child. Again at the time I put it down to hormones, tiredness of pregnancy and
maybe even a bit of fear of becoming a mum. I didn’t think dark thoughts like I
had done during my last episode of depression so had no reason to think it was
anything serious. My pregnancy went on and I carried on feeling 'low'. I did
speak to my midwife about it and she thought maybe my iron levels had dropped
and explained hormones play havoc with us during the end of pregnancy, so I
carried on awaiting the delivery of my baby. I had a tough labour. I was induced
on the Friday night and eventually on the Monday Ethan was born. I left
hospital on the Wednesday and felt empty. I did love Ethan but I did struggle
to like him. Again I found excuses as to why I was having such negative
feelings. It was probably from a bad labour, tiredness and the struggle of
breastfeeding. He wasn’t an easy baby as he suffered with colic, which any
mother who has had a baby with colic would agree; it’s a hard few months
waiting for them to grow out of it. I remember as though it was yesterday one
day imparticular. Everything and I mean everything had me in tears. Some tears
were shed for no apparent reason other than the need to cry. Perfectly normal
for a new mum to cry lots don't get me wrong, but it dawned on me that day that
this was more than just 'baby blues'. I didn't talk to anyone about it, kept it
to myself just how awful I was feeling. I hoped it would pass and that I could
put it down to all the other factors it could be, until Ethan was six weeks
old. This was when we were due our six week check, like every new baby and
mother has. As part of the check you have to fill out a questionnaire about
emotions. I knew I had to answer truthfully. The health visitor added up my
score and explained it looked like I was suffering with postnatal depression. I
was already aware that I was, I just didn’t want to admit it. I was put on
medication and told to go back to the doctors a few weeks later for a check-up.
I never went back and I stopped taking my medication.
Skip forwards a while. All had been relatively ok. I gave birth to my
healthy daughter Georgina. I'd had a great pregnancy and an amazing birth. I
felt elated in the weeks to follow her arrival and was glad to have escaped
post natal depression. When Georgina was a few months old we moved to Poole. I
did feel lost and lonely once the initial excitement of our new home died down,
that was natural wasn’t it?! Time passed and the feeling didn’t pass. Georgina
turned 8months old and when a child turns 8months they have another routine check
up with the health visitor. I'd not met our new health visitor yet. She seemed
very nice and did the same questionnaire with me that I’d done at the
mother/baby six week check. I was surprised when she told me that my results
had indicated postnatal depression. I hadn't picked up that the lost lonely
feeling wasn't just the anti climax from moving but was actually the start of
depression again. I thought it was good that I’d be on medication early enough
to stop me dropping to an awful darkness that I possibly could have done if it hadn’t
come up with the health visitor. I started taking an antidepressant that I
hadn't had before. I became happier and made new friends. I suddenly felt on
top of the world. Life was perfect. I had a great husband, two gorgeous
children, a lovely home and great new friends, what could be better?
The 'on top of the world' feeling did last a while but obviously wouldn’t
last forever. After a while life was just normal life. Nothing amazing but
nothing awful either. It felt good to be content at last. Numerous things
changed in the coming months. We moved house, the children got older, we had Christmas,
and life was passing by nicely. We found out we were expecting our third child
and shortly after finding out we decided to move back to the area we had originally
moved from. We found a house to move to. It wasn’t a great house in my opinion
but still, it was a house in the area we wanted to live in so we moved. I was
happy to be back but something didn't feel 'right'. I had an inkling that maybe
depression was rearing its ugly head again but as normal I pushed the thought
to the back of my head, after all, I was pregnant with two children to look
after and so I ignored it. Until one Monday morning when it hit me and it hit
me hard!!! Darren had gone to work early this particular morning while the
children and I were still asleep. I woke up and immediately felt scared. I felt
that the walls were closing in on me and felt enormous panic. I can’t describe
the feeling but I felt what I assumed it felt like to be going mad. I got the
kids up and dressed and had to get out of the house. It was still very early
but I didn’t feel safe to drive. I'm not sure I’d have physically been able to
drive even if I’d tried. I was shaking and didn’t feel in control of myself at
all. We walked along to my parents’ house, a ten minute walk away. When we
arrived they were still in bed, they are fairly early risers so it must have
been very early that we showed up. I rang their house phone and said I was
outside and asked that they'd come and unlock the door. The children went into
the living room and started to watch the tele. I on the other hand stood in the
kitchen and burst into tears. I don't remember greatly what happened; I just
remember that my parents were worried. Mum rung Darren and told him that I
wasn't well; he was unable to speak at the time and said he would ring very
shortly. When Darren did ring back I’d calmed down a great deal and felt almost
normal again. Mum took me to the dr that morning. The doctor agreed that I was
depressed again but she said she felt she should refer me to the mental health
team so I could have ongoing support for the rest of my pregnancy and in the
early weeks of the postnatal period. I was put on antidepressants that were
safe to take while pregnant and would also be safe for me to breastfeed while
taking.
While waiting for my appointment to see the mental health team things went
from bad to worse in my head. I felt suicidal. It was all I could think of.
Everything I did I thought would it be possible to turn this into my death. As I’d
have a bath I’d think of drowning myself so I didn’t have to put up with being
in this world any longer. I'd walk along the road and think about getting hit
by a lorry to be able to end my life. While I was cutting the vegetables I’d
envisage myself cutting my wrists. Suicide consumed my thoughts. It was a hard
place to be and if I’m completely honest, the only reason I didn’t follow
through with any of my thoughts was purely because I knew if I ended my life I’d
also be ending the life of the baby I was carrying inside of me. To end my life
was one thing, but to end my babies life was a whole different thing and
something I couldn’t do. I made my mind up that I just had to keep going until I
had had the baby and then I could slip away and leave everybody to live their
lives without me being in the way.
My appointment came through to see a member of the mental health team. I
went to my appointment and spoke a bit about my past history with depression
and my past in general. It was decided that maybe what I’d been experiencing
was more than depression and that I should see a psychiatrist. To say I was
worried would be an understatement. Mad people see psychiatrists; did she think
I was mad?! My appointment to see the psychiatrist arrived. I remember
nervously waiting in the waiting room worried that someone may see me and think
I was crazy just for being in the mental health suite. Once in the room and
talking I felt eased. It wasn’t as bad as I expected. She didn’t think I was
mad or crazy which made me more comfortable. She did however feel I had bipolar
disorder. This wasn’t a huge shock. I had discussed the possibility of bipolar
with a Dr in Poole but shrugged it off at the time thinking I could deal with
it alone, without medication. My recent experience however said otherwise. I
was taken off the tablets my GP had prescribed and given a different
antidepressant to take alongside an antipsychotic medication. Taking an
antidepressant I could deal with, but antipsychotic...REALLY?? How embarrassing
to have to go to my local pharmacy and collect this prescription. Still I knew I
had to take these tablets, I didn’t like feeling the way I’d been feeling so
had no other option. I was assured they were safe for pregnancy and
breastfeeding so I started them that evening.
After a couple of weeks I did notice a difference in my mood. Only slightly,
but slightly was better than nothing. I then gave birth to our 3rd child,
Reggie. It really was a traumatic birth this time. I assumed from my experience
before that a bad birth would result in depression, that's what had happened
when I had Ethan, surely it would again. Luckily it didn’t seem to have much of
an effect on my mental state. I had routinely booked an appointment with my
psychiatrist for a few weeks after the birth to just talk over medication etc.
While talking and actually taking the time to think about how id been feeling I
realised I hadn’t actually been feeling too great. I hadn’t felt bad, just not
particularly good either. We decided to alter my tablets now while I was still
ok rather than waiting. The tablets that I was changed to meant I couldn’t
breastfeed any longer. I was sad to have to stop feeding as I knew I wouldn’t
be having anymore children so I knew I’d never feed again, which I felt gutted
about. Some may say my decision was selfish, but in my eyes I had to put my
mental health first in this instance.
My new medication so far has been brilliant. I so far I haven’t had any
'manic' episodes or any low moods. I don't think of suicide anymore and I'm sad that I ever have. I, like everybody else has good days and bad
days but I don’t want the dark days that I once had. I have had periods of very
elated mood. During which I sleep very little, if at all. I am busy busy busy
and can’t stop. My mind races quicker then I can speak and I do have the
typical tendencies of spending. Since my new medication I haven’t had this
either so all in all things are looking good right now. I do have bipolar yes.
I'm not ashamed. It doesn’t effect who I am as a friend, as a wife and
certainly not as a mother!! I do sometimes need peoples understanding but I do
not need their pity. I am who I am and I can’t change that, nor would I want
to!!
Here is a link to the NHS website. It will take you straight to the page
about bipolar if you want to read more about it.
http://www.nhs.uk/Conditions/Bipolar-disorder/Pages/Introduction.aspx
