My first clue should have been when our ice maker went kaput. Now, I adore having tiny ice cubes made by my freezer (or is it by ickle gnomes? I’m just not sure WHAT to believe) just as much as the next person, and I won’t lie when I tell you that this is probably the best feature of our crappy ancient side-by-side fridge.

But when I realized last week that it was broken, I was slayed. Floored. Insanely upset and saddened. I went over it in my mind, over and over, when was the last time I heard it make ice? Why hadn’t I seen that the ice I had been getting was badly freezer burned and stinky? How long had it been broken before I noticed it?

No matter what Freud would say, sometimes an ice maker isn’t just an ice maker, is it?

It seems that after 10 months, I am finally falling victim to post-partum depression.

I considered not telling The Internet (not because I don’t trust you, darling Internet, because I do) what I’ve been going through, and I can’t pinpoint why. It’s probably a mixture of shame and remorse, and when I realized that this was what was keeping me from doing it, I further strengthened my resolve to tell you about it EVEN IF I’M NOT BEING CLEVER OR FUNNY OR CUTE.

It’s not pretty to admit, and Heaven knows, with my genetic predisposition to mental illness, it’s an even more bitter pill to swallow (when I inform you that my biggest fear on the planet is NOT a New Kids On The Block comeback, but is that I might someday turn into my mother, this should clarify it). It sucks realizing that this is something you cannot simply will away (like a food craving) and that you just might need someone else to help you through it.

I hate asking for help. Really, I do.

I could type for the next 36 years of my life about why I hate this so much, cleverly illustrate my posts with color coded charts, graphs, and footnotes, write AND deliver 9,308 Power Point presentations (complete with blinky graphics!) to a billion African schoolchildren, and STILL wouldn’t be done complaining about my dislike of admitting that I do, indeed, need some help.

But today I made that call, against every fiber of my being, and on Wednesday I will be seeing my OB about this.

And one can only hope that his suggestion isn’t warm milk.

23 thoughts on “All The Dishes Rattle In The Cupboard When The Elephants Arrive

  1. All I can send you are virtual hugs and virtual ice. Or maybe dry ice – that would survive the mailing to your house, but I don’t think you can ingest it. HMMMM…I will have to look into that.

  2. You’re singing my song, sister. I got stung with it on my second kiddo (horrible pregnancy + bad sleeper + 10 pound baby who wanted to nurse nonstop = mentally distrubed mama).

    First, good for you on making the call. Second, talk about it. Lots. It won’t seem important and you won’t want to do it, but you’ll have to. You’ll need to. Trust me.

    You’ll be in my thoughts. Take care.

  3. I had severe, hospitalization-worthy PPD. Very resistant to treatment. It was a PAR-TEY lemme tell ya’. If you ever want to chat, email me. You have nothing to be ashamed of, and you are going to be okay, even if it doesn’t feel that way right now.

  4. Don’t be ashamed of asking for help. I did not want to ask for help either. I most obviously had PPD after my #2 and I didn’t get help until around 9 months later. Looking back I wonder why my husband didn’t divorce me or my daughters didn’t ask for a new mom. I was an angry and wretched mess. I didn’t want to seek help in the form of a pill because my mom abused pills and alcohol for my entire childhood. So I was afraid of becoming her. Once I realized that it was ok, and I talked to my dr, things really did get better. And 3 years later I’m not my mom and I sure intend to keep it that way.

    Good luck! Remember it’s ok! And yes, talk talk talk about it.

  5. “And one can only hope that his suggestion isn’t warm milk.”

    And if it is, please go to a REAL mental health perofessional. You’ve tweeked my soap box.

  6. I had it after my first and was so mortified and ashamed, I told no one (though I’m pretty confident it was evident to all). I wanted to toss my OB out the window because she wouldn’t stop rubbing my hand and telling me it’s okay to need help. Still wouldn’t admit it to myself and it was a *very* bad nine months or so. I wish I’d had the courage to seek help, but you can’t rewrite it. Good for you, and I hope the doc does right by you.

  7. Crazy runs in my family too. My grandmother was certifiable, my Mom was Just A Little Tense OK??? and I am afflicted with alphabet soup (ADD & OCD). Grandma got no help and everyone hated her until the day she died. Mom resisted help, but eventually succumbed and leveled off nicely. I ran screaming to the doctor the second I realized I was crazy (about three years after the crazy had actually settled in, to tell the truth) and I am so fucking stable (and goddamned lovable, too!) these days it’s unbelievable.

    This too shall pass, interminable as it seems right now. And you can drop me a line anytime you feel the need to vent.

  8. My biggest fear is becoming my mother. Who suffers from bipolar depression.

    Which made my own struggle with depression that much more difficult.

    I am back on medication. So that I DON”T become my mother.

    Hugs darlin’. Email me if you’d like to chat…

  9. Acknowledging any issue that personal is difficult, and a brave thing to do. I’m happy, impressed and envious to see that strength in you. And well I know virtually nothing about PPD, being neither a parent or a woman, that doesn’t mean I’m not here for you as well. (Though it seems like I’m pretty far back in the line here. Geez, now I need to get in line to help out?) If you need to talk feel free to call me, or you want to do lunch, just hang-out or some such, let me know, and I’ll do everything in my power to get out there as soon as I can for you.

    Hope the doctors appointment goes well, keep us (and me) informed, and remember there are a lot of people who are here for you who will help you and care about you.

  10. I am echoing the support here; it’s a GOOD THING to get help. The people who don’t are the ones we call crazy.

  11. Ok, for the moment I am writing as a psychologist rather than a fellow blogger.

    Please do tell the internet about everything you are feeling. The worst thing to do is keep feelings inside. There need be no shame for depressive symptoms during, after, or even months after pregnancy. Expectant and new mothers are at a high risk for depression and many don’t ever seek any help or support because of social taboos.

    Please unload. Tell us about it. Chances are, a few or many readers can relate.

    Family history is also predictive of susceptibility to PPD. Plus, your hormones may still be out of wack even 10 months later. There is no magic wand to wave to erase the negative mood, but please TALK or WRITE about it. And tell your OB of course.

    (Switching back to blogger mode) If your OB suggests warm milk, give me his address so I can deliver a fresh red ass beat down to his office.

  12. Well done on phoning your OB. I had/have quite severe anxiety issues tied to what I think is/was PPD and have been to my GP twice about it. The first time I was told to read a book, and the second time I was told to do yoga, or take a walk. I hope your doctor isn’t a fucktard like mine. Can I say fucktard here?

  13. I’m always here for you if you need me. If he suggests warm milk (which I seriously doubt he will) just call me. I’ll hook you up with someone who knows better. Keep me posted and call if you need me to come out.
    >Big hugs<.

  14. Although I’ve never had PPD, I know how hard it can be to ask for help. It’s really good that you did and I hope your OB handles everything well. Hang in there and keep us posted!

  15. I, too, will echo the well wishes and the glad you made the call sentiments. After I had Alex, I think I had some PPD. I never sought help, though, due to my family history of depression and my own stigmas that I’ve attached to it. I can remember not wanting to set Alex down for anything and bursting into tears at the mere thought of not being able to hold him 24/7. I didn’t start working in any place that wouldn’t allow him to be with me until he was 4 months old and that was only due to the fact the my ex-husband took off with him and I had to get a lawyer involved.

    So, long story not being continued, I sincerely hope that you are able to get help. And if dude tells you to drink warm milk? Please video tape the curb stomp.

  16. I know that my friend had a great deal of luck with Lexapro. The difference was amazing, and it really pulled her out of her depression and eased her anxiety (at the time she could barely get through an hour without bursting into tears). I went to the doc with her and he felt that it was a nice mild choice to get her through a really tough period. I was so grateful that she was getting that help, and I’m sure your family (internet family included) will be grateful you’re feeling better. And I agree with the others, tell us about it. I’m not great at letting people in on my stuff, but ya’ll are definitely teaching me to let it out. It’s your turn! :: giant hug ::

  17. I think it both incredibly smart and incredibly brave of you. It is SO hard to ask for help, I know. I hope you find a solution that works for you and you’re feeling better soon!

  18. Becks, just checking in to say good for you for putting it out there and for asking for help!!!

    You go girl!

    On a side note, B had mild PPD after Dean arrived but we didn’t recognize it because neither of us really thought that happens with adoption (turns out it can and does).

    As for me, I should probably do what you do and start with the regular mental health checks to make sure I’m not falling into the bi-polar form of crazy that runs in my family. I’m a pretty tempermental person with big reactions, so it can be hard to see in myself.

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