100 days left of pregnancy which means Nugget and I have survived 180 days inside the same roof without killing each other. We're off to a good start, but I wouldn't say the road hasn't been paved without difficulty.
The last 5-10 years of my unmedicated womanhood (I stopped taking the pill in my late twenties and it was the best thing I've ever done for my own mental health and body), I'd been blessed with a light period--barely there crampy-ness, little to no PMS, and the slightest bloating. If I was acting the twat around my menstrual cycle I would call myself out on it and not let it rain down and ruin me. The men I dated actually thanked me. It was something I learned to not brag about at an early age because the looks alone from women I would mention it to could kill. I knew pregnancy and it's hormonal effect on the body was gonna be tough... but nothing prepared me for the dark, crippling hole of depression, violent pendulum-esque mood swings, and multiple day panic attacks I would endure.
Panic attacks would induce an out of body and mind experience that I still couldn't describe accurately if I tried. They would start with an intrusive thought and snowball from there. FOB would go out for an evening of friends and I'd be home pacing, sobbing, screaming, counting, circling, panting, panicking.
I couldn't control my thoughts, my heart rate, my words, anything. Everything came barreling out of me angry and forceful.
I could not physically exhaust myself in any way to make the feelings stop.
I didn't play (and haven't played) guitar in months.
I couldn't focus to paint.
I wrote insane rants in my journal.
I cut off all my friends.
I didn't leave the house.
Nothing brought me joy.
Thoughts of doom and dread were all consuming.
I looked to my FOB, desperately clung to him, for any source of happiness because mine was completely... and utterly gone.
I reached out. Many times. I was often met with dead ends and misunderstanding. FOB froze... and eventually broke up with me (we'll get to this later) in my manic state, leaving me even more in the ground... except now I was shitting water from stress and sobbing uncontrollably most hours of the day from the simplest of triggers.
I kept reaching.
My insurance made it impossible to find a GOOD therapist (lord, that's another blog all together... ) I could afford in my new, unemployed, single, poor pregnant state so I joined three weekly pregnancy circles. One, hosted by a dear friend and donated out of charity... another hosted by a local motherhood business and group technically meant for mothers suffering from postpartum depression, and another freebie at the same business on Saturdays.
I moved back in with my mother.
And, through persistence, my doctor finally prescribed an anti-depressant which... as much as I've pill shamed myself, I am glad to be taking.
It's been about ten days on the meds and... I'm nauseous, dizzy, my jaw is tense, and still struggling to focus... but the intrusive thoughts have weakened and lessened and I actually have some hope for my life. It could be psychosomatic this early in the game, but I don't care. Hope is hope.
I've got 100 days left with this Kiddo inside me and I finally feel pregnant. I think I might even be happy about it? I jokingly refer to the Kiddo as Lemonade cuz... man oh man I'm trying to make it.
FOB and I are still broken up and, as much as that haunts me... and all my dreams... I'm healthier for it.
I didn't give up asking for help. I asked reddit, I asked facebook, I asked my insurance, I asked my friends, I asked family, I asked my Doc and finally, through cumulative effort, I'm on the road to somewhere better than where I was.
Here are a list of links that helped me:
The Nurturing Nest Reno--Circles and Support
Ashley Hanna Morgan--LCSW
Sacred Pregnancy--Sheila LeDrew
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Mallory Kate is a blogger, artist, single mom and funny girl outta Nevada.
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