It was starting again. After 8 years of being in recovery from anorexia and bulimia, there I was. 23 years old, mom of 3 beautiful boys, married to the love of my life... and at the highest weight I had ever been in my entire life.
I had just given birth to my third son, 5 months ago- and suffered from horrible postpartum depression. I have a fairly large and complicated medical history when it comes to mental health disorders. I was 12 years old when I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Severe Anxiety/Depression, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and Attention Deficit Disorder. I've been medicated most of my life. Nothing ever really helped in the long run. The drugs were more of an experiment to see how my brain and body would handle different doses of different antipsychotics and antidepressants. It felt more to me like a 'guinea pig scenario.' I was constantly getting my medications readjusted and changed. I always felt like a zombie and I hated it. I stopped taking most of them after a decent while, but I continued with my antidepressant. It helped my mood swings and my uncontrollable fits of anger that would result in a battlefield of depression, that sometimes lasted for months at a time. Nothing helped completely but it worked better than nothing at all- I guess.
After my third son was born, they had to give me a higher dosage of my medication. It was too weak for my PPD and it was the only medication that was said to be safe while breastfeeding. I remember like it was just yesterday, feeling like the worst mother in the world. I had just given birth to this gorgeous little miracle who looked exactly like me. He was perfect. So why couldn't I stop crying? Why couldn't I bring myself to hold him? I didn't even want to touch him and I had no clue why. All I knew was that I was severely depressed and hadn't cried that much in a long time. I couldn't be alone with my own newborn baby. After about a week or two, I finally snapped out of it and became so obsessed with my baby boy. I never really questioned why I felt so strongly towards him at first. I've always had sudden outbursts of emotions, but that kind of comes with having Bipolar Disorder. I just never imagined that I'd ever be able to feel unsure about my love for my own child. How could a mother not want to touch her own newborn baby? It sickened me. Even though I know it wasn't me. It was my disease. You'd think a person would get used to being "crazy" after 23 years. Unfortunately, that cliche remains to be a question forever left unanswered to those with mental health disorders.
After 5 months of trying to figure out if I was going to be okay for good, I finally started to feel happy with my life- Then, I was forced to stop breastfeeding. I was devastated. My other boys weren't good at breastfeeding and I desperately wanted them to be. My youngest was a natural with it. However, he wasn't gaining much weight. He had only gained 2 pounds since birth. He had to be hospitalized for RSV and pneumonia and they were questioning why his weight was so low since he was such a good eater. My breastmilk just wasn't enough for him. As much as it killed me, I had to switch him to formula. I was looking forward to breastfeeding for as long as possible due to all of the positive outcomes it can bring for both, mine and my son's bodies. I especially loved the idea of breastfeeding being able to strengthen your stomach muscles and help you lose weight. I had only just started to feel like I was actually going to lose my baby weight. You see- I had gotten pregnant with my third child from failed birth control. My middle son was only 4 months old at that time. I didn't even have a chance to lose his baby weight before I began gaining more! Considering that I was in recovery from an eating disorder, feeling fat was a bad thing for me. The only reason I was even able to recover at all, was because I became pregnant at 17 with my first son. I thank god for that boy! Had I not become pregnant with him when I did, I might not be here today to tell my story.
But who was going to stop me from relapsing this time? Who was going to save me if I did relapse? That had been my biggest fear for the past 8 years of my recovery. Relapsing back into a dangerously powerful eating disorder that controls every single thought that you have left in your head, only to subconsciously make you hate yourself 100x more than you originally did to begin with. That fear was real and getting harder to keep in the back of my mind. Every time I would walk past any type of reflection of myself, for even a split second- it broke me a little more. So who was going to be there to save me from the voices in my head that were about to get too loud for my vocal chords to quiet themselves?
Who was going to stop me this time?
YOU ARE READING
Starving For Help
Non-Fiction"I smile everyday. I live my life like nothing is wrong with me. No one would ever guess that I'm screaming inside or that I've secretly been hiding this huge part of my life. No one would ever know that I cry myself to sleep at night or that deep d...
