From The Beginning

Please keep in mind that this is my personal blog and I request that if you are reading this and would like to post a comment that you do not berate the feelings you will read about on this blog. Many women suffer from depression and too often, too many women are berated when they finally decide to "come out of the closet" and tell someone they are depressed. Depression is not a "get over it" illness and no woman (or man) would want to live like this. It could probably be one of the most horrible illnesses in the world...to the woman (or man) who has it, especially major depression, it is.

Thirteen years and 2 months ago, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Craig (my husband) and I named him Matthew. He was perfect in everyway. From the very beginning I loved my new baby boy. While Craig was home on paternity leave, things were great. I felt comfortable and everything seemed so perfect. However, from the time my husband went back to work, my anxiety began. I was afraid to be alone with my baby because I was afraid I would do something wrong, that I would hurt him, unintentionally in some way. One night I called Craig at work. I was scared, my heart was racing and the left side of my face had gone numb. I was so scared that I had had a stroke. Craig rushed home from work and we loaded up Matthew and Craig drove me to the hospital. Craig's mom and dad met us there to help with Matthew. While in the emergency room it was determined that I had a panic attack and I was scheduled to see my regular physician. After asking some questions, my doctor determined that I was suffering from post partum depression and I was started on 10 mg of Paxil. This took the edge off, but I was still extremely tired, a little down, but not so anxious. At my 8 week check up, my doctor asked how I was doing. I told her how I was feeling and so my dose of Paxil was increase to 20 mg.
My mother-in-law would help out when she could and when Craig worked nights, I would often times stay at my mom and dad's house. When I went back to work (I helped my grandma H. out with her daycare) things got somewhat better. I was able to be with him and feel comfortable around him, but I was SO very tired, all the time. Everytime the kids were napping, I would fall asleep in the chair.
For about five years I lived with the feeling of being "ok". I mean I felt better than I did, but not good. I guess I thought that was all I was going to get and that I would have to just live with being "ok".
Little did I know that this was just the beginning of my battle with depression.
Mandy