Oh postpartum depression, you saucy minx. You slick temptress.
You tricked me! You told me 21 months ago (that's almost two years in case you didn't know) that I couldn't wait for my sweet baby to go away. But at the same time, you caused me to hold onto him so tight that I refused to let anyone hold him or see him or take care of him. And again, at the same time, you caused me to quietly, even secretly, rejoice in the "alone time" my husband so graciously gave me WAY too often. You told me that I didn't want that helpless little baby to need me, to nurse, to cry, to simply be a baby.
You caused the most conflicting, gut-wrenching feelings to arise in my very soul so that I couldn't move. Paralyzed by fear, I laid in wait for you to consume me. But then, I tricked YOU.
I crawled, clawed, and screamed my way out of you. Much like that girl from "Silence of the Lambs" in that pit ("It puts the lotion on the skin or it gets the hose again"--that was me), I was breaking off fingernails trying to get to the top. Trapped in a completely foreign body, leaking fluid I didn't even know existed, I came into my own and got strong. Physically, mentally, emotionally, and medically. You try to throw me back down there when you tell me that it's not me, it's the medicine. Fear is your spear, and you hurl it at me when I notice the looming deadline of "two years" that I set for my time on medication. Anxiety is your shield and you raise it when I run at you (even with your spear piercing my body); yelling that it's too hard for me to stop taking my wonder drug. You lie. You hate truth. And I know I've outsmarted you.
Tears streamed down my face as I watched my baby walk away from me with his grandma, onto a plane, without a glance back. I was broken. I was worried. I missed him already. Still, you tried to lie and tell me that it was you coming back and the emotions were irrational shadows of the fear I had when he was first born; the fear of letting him out of my sight. But then.... I let go. Josh and I prayed and released our sweet baby to God's hands. "You are not any less in control of that plane and its fate than you would be if you were sitting with Zeke," he said, and I believed. And that is TRUE. Zeke is in God's hands. I am in God's hands. YOU are not. So I went to dinner with my husband. We had a great time. I miss Zeke; I am sad that he is not with me, but I am fine. I will enjoy my time away from him and welcome him back with open arms. But someday again, I will let him go. And I will be okay. And I will NOT be on medication. I got away from you on my own. I will keep running because now I'm strong enough to.