Post Natal Depression Poetry - Post Natal Depression - Mental Health

Suddenly I could do nothing. I was trapped within a world of fear and confusion. I was unable to express, to concentrate on stringing a sentence together. I was afraid to stand. I was balancing in a world which moved, twisting and turning me. It was a world no one else could see. Their world remained the same except now they shared their world with a very sick mother, wife, daughter...

"If only I could wrap a bandage around it and know it will mend. And in the meantime my bandage would tell people I wasn't so good."

My first daughter was 4 years old when my second daughter was born. I had worked in an administrative role part time almost up until I delivered my second child. I had, during the pregnancy suffered with extremely painful legs at times. Often very tired with working and managing my 4 year old. I was on an extremely tight budget and money was always a worry. I was doing nothing more than so very many women do.

I was anxious about the birth and I was often preoccupied with fear of delivering my child. But at that time, I was so completely unaware of just how unwell I was becoming. I thought, all in all, that I felt fine.

When I came home from hospital proudly carrying my 8lb 12oz bundle, I was rearing to go. I was excited, I was relieved, I was happy. Or at least I thought I was. I had stopped going out to work, and could devote all of my time to my two daughters. I was busy...I didn't stop, everything was perfect.

Meals on time, house wonderfully clean, washing and ironing all up to date. A contented child and a contented new baby. I never sat still, and I never had a appetite, and rinsing a few more bits in the sink at 3am was all part and parcel of a busy life.

Forgetting to boil the kettle and not realising until I had made up all six bottles, was just a silly mistake. No it was just another silly mistake, like the mistake I made yesterday when slicing my finger badly preparing the vegetables. Like the one I had made the day before when my mum arrived asking why I was late visiting her...wondering if I was OK. And what was that, why did I suddenly go on a slant, when playing with my 4 year old. And why did the door look crooked when I went to the toilet. Why does my head feel so tight, must be my nose, perhaps it's a bit blocked, I will sniff some menthol. Where is the Vick...I'm sure it was in the cupboard, I need it, badly, I need it. Why was I thrashing around the house frantic because I couldn't find it. Why was I loosing my patience, why was I angry, why was I doing everything wrong. Well I wasn't. I was doing everything right. I was just a bit tired.

"She's rejecting that baby, won't do a thing for it. She should be thoroughly ashamed."

CRASH...I can't recall my name. My body is small, I am 1ft tall, my body is stretched, I am 10ft tall. The stairs are moving I can't walk down them
...LOOK AT THE STAIRS THEY ARE MOVING...not in anyone else's world, just in mine. I will drop my baby don't give her to me. I can't balance. SOMEONE HELP ME. I can't go to the doctor, I can't go outside. I'm trying, I've taken flight to protect myself. I have gone to my bedroom, laid on my bed, my bed is moving, I am rolled up in a ball of sheer horror.

"Why won't she come down? What is wrong with her? How can she be afraid of people? What nonsense. She should pull herself together."

At first recovery did not seem an option. Engulfed with total despair, the very concept of recovery was simply too much for my mind to begin to comprehend. I had been diagnosed as having Severe Post Natal Depression, and Permanent Anxiety. I was trapped inside of a panic attack, a panic attack with no end, or so it seemed. That explained my 'moving world'.

"I simply couldn't live like this. I was gone, I was lost, I was alive, but I was dead."

Initially my GP was called, who visited me at home. I was prescribed antidepressants. I was told they would take 10-14 days to begin working. I became more deranged at this information, I so needed a tablet that would make me better right that minute. My GP left my home telling my husband that he would make an appointment for me to visit a Psychiatrist at the local hospital. This news was just another dose of fear, I knew I could never keep that appointment. I could not get myself from my bed to the toilet, let alone take a journey.

"Just push her out the front door, she'll be OK once she is out there. Just make her confront the fear, and let her get on with it. Make her eat breakfast, she has to eat."

I was left distraught. My husband did not know where to turn for help. Days passed, long days, hard days, painful days, the things I experienced were continuous, never letting up. My husband would rock me like a baby to try and settle me. After more than two weeks of taking my antidepressants there was no change. I still was not sleeping, not at all, I would lay in bed just tormented. Cat naps now and then, bursting out of them in fear. I tried all the wrong things in sheer desperation. Getting drunk on a bottle of whisky the effects of which magnified my depression, as well as made me physically sick on a very empty stomach. I still had not eaten, I was becoming weak and my physical health was becoming a concern.

" I found a pathway through their cruel tongues. I recognised they were ignorant. I learned to forgive them for their ignorance."

I kept saying, I have to sleep, god let me sleep, I was so desperate to rest, but I couldn't. Frantic 'phone calls to my GP from my husband were not helping. Eventually a Community Psychiatric Nurse was sent to my home, by this time I had already, that very same day, had my first session of hypnosis for relief from stress and anxiety.

" I realised I could not recall my own name. I can't begin to describe my pain and fear at that moment."

My husband had contacted a local hypnotherapist and booked an initial session. I was carried by my husband and my sister to my sister's car and driven to this appointment. On arrival I was held up by my husband and my sister, I felt I couldn't stand, and was desperate to take flight. I was so very afraid. I was met by a kind face who immediately recognised that I was a person desperately ill. It was at this stage that I realised I could not recall my name. Up until this point no one had asked me my name, everyone knew it. I was presented with a form to complete, which I couldn't do, the first field required me to enter my name...I just looked at my husband and crumbled, I couldn't recall it. The sudden realisation that my name had gone from my mind caused pain which I can't begin to describe. My husband completed all the details for me. He stayed with me, and I underwent my first session of hypnosis. At the end of the session, I was helped to the car, where I fell asleep on the back seat. At last, I slept. This is where my recovery began, I had now embarked on a very slow, very long and very hard journey in the right direction.

"I laid on my bed, with pillows around me, and placed my baby daughter on my chest. We just laid together, she knew I was her Mum, she knew I loved her.

Isobelle, my hypnotist provided all my hypnosis sessions free of charge. She knew I was on a tight budget, and living on benefits as my husband had needed to give up work to care for me and our two daughters. She had recognised my urgent need for help and gave me that help, rather than deny me it on account of my inability to afford the sessions.

"God Bless You Isobelle for your kindness, your humanity, your generosity, your warmth and your belief in me.
THANK YOU."

Hypnosis was showing me the feeling of relaxation, something I am now sure I had never experienced prior to becoming ill with Post Natal Depression. I began realising that it was a completely new sensation. My hypnosis sessions took me to pleasant places in my mind, calm, relaxed places, and when I was feeling worse 'movement', I found I could recall, naturally, without hardship, pieces of sessions, and discover that I could begin to remain relatively calm. Sleep was providing for my mind the one thing it so desperately needed, rest.

"Trying to explain how I was feeling caused me greater anxiety. Confusion became a great enemy. The carelessness of many people was an utter hindrance."

The more I slept, the more my mind began to wake. It enabled me to begin to think. With the relaxation techniques being shown to me by way of hypnosis and with the sleep that treatment had provided for me, my mind was starting to work again. I was still trapped in a panic attack, I was still in a moving world, I was still incredibly sick, and terrified, but I could begin to make sense of it. I knew I had a choice, a choice to die, to take my own life and end it all or a choice to live, to fight, to get well. My eldest daughter, my 4 year old, handed me the thread which lead me to choose life over death. Her existence, her being that bit older, her needing me. Her bright blue eyes, her chatting, her innocence, her young compassion. My new baby was unaware of this trauma, my 4 year old wasn't. She handed me the thread of life and I took it. From that point onwards as hard as it was, there was no turning back for me, I would become well, I would make it. My hypnosis sessions also focussed on a Positive Mental Attitude. At that time I didn't feel as though I was winning the battle, but I was.

"My 4 year old had given me a cuddly Monkey, whilst I lay in bed. She said it would look after me, I kept it with me all the time, and took it with me wherever I went."

My Community Psychiatric Nurse (CPN) was also still visiting my home on a weekly basis. My antidepressants had been changed, and now with my new baby almost 5 months old, I had medication which was helping. The unconventional treatment of hypnotherapy and the conventional treatment I was receiving from the Medical Profession were, for me, working together, complimenting each other. My CPN had told me to keep a Diary detailing things I did each day. At first I felt this was a completely hideous thing to suggest to someone who couldn't recall their name let alone write. I couldn't write. However my husband would fill it in daily. Most days it was bare, nothing written in at all. Then it would have little bits and pieces added such as 'attempted to take a bath', or 'attempted to feed baby', or 'tried to go out the back door'...all of which had failed. For me it was a rude reminder of everything I could not do, but that soon changed. I recognised I was attempting things and that was POSITIVE, that was improvement, a small improvement, which didn't add up to a lot when before Post Natal Depression taking a bath was an every day thing which I did without even thinking. But that view was the NEGATIVE view, and it caused me pain.

"I was afraid something bad would happen to those I loved, or me, if I didn't, for example, place something straight. I learned to deal with and rid myself of fears (monsters), I recognised them all as NEGATIVE thoughts, and decided to deny them any dignity by REFUSING to acknowledge them. I trashed them."

Hypnosis was teaching me to focus on the POSITIVE, and the facts were positive, I couldn't do anything at all at first, for weeks and weeks, and now I was attempting to do things...it was progress. I began believing I really could get better. Simple tasks like making a cup of tea, washing up etc., had become impossible for me during the first few months of Post Natal Depression. The frustration caused by not being able to attempt such 'normal' daily tasks was immense. As I progressed I would find that one day I could actually succeed with making a cup of tea, then hours later, or even days later find I couldn't do it again. I would think I was sliding backwards, and become extremely fearful. I would think if I could do it yesterday I must be able to do it today. But I learned that isn't always the case. Accepting this, I would tell myself 'ok well you can't do it today, you will be able to tomorrow, or maybe in a few hours' what I did not do, was allow myself to believe I couldn't do it. So I would tuck the task away for the moment. And yes, in a day or two, or an hour or more, I could make another cup of tea. Succeeding with the odd simple chore, was proof I could do things, and I was learning all the time, ways in which I could master these chores without allowing myself to become distressed if I failed. I was learning how to take pressure off myself. The lesser the pressure the more able I became and the realisation that I was going to recover became greater, and I even began to smile a little from time to time.

"I learned to ignore those who thought I should be doing this NOW and that NOW, people wanting to rush me, stressing me more. I listened to myself, and took the time I knew I needed."

"The very small steps I was taking, were carrying me a long, long, long way forward."

I could feed my baby, I could change her nappy and when she reached the age to start on her first solids I was not only able to feed her with her first taste of solid food, I was able to prepare it. I could dress her, I could play little games with her. I was at last beginning to enjoy her, the way I had been so desperate too since the very second she was born.

"I chose to fight for my life. I didn't fight with anger, bitterness or resentment. I fought calmly, slowly, precisely, patiently...and I trusted in myself."

Things were gradually returning to 'normal', slowly, very slowly, but very surely.
I had started to eat after 3 sessions of hypnosis. Not a great deal, but small pieces of food here and there. Good food, lots of good fruit, and vegetables and if it looked that little bit more inviting I found I began to actually want to eat it. My appetite, once I had started to eat small pieces of food, began to come back. Eating was itself encouraging the return of my appetite. At times I was evening beginning to feel hungry.

"I began cooking. It was a slow process, I feared I'd burn the house down, injure my family or myself because of lack of concentration. I cooked simple things, and then roast dinner."

I began to approach large tasks. Each time before getting started, I was knocked back by the sheer enormousness of the task, for example cleaning the entire living room. My (CSN) helped with setting routines, which gradually incorporated these bigger tasks. I couldn't get to grips with them at all. I would back off, surges of anxiety would come, I would find I was constantly recalling my relaxation techniques to stay with it. It was all too much. The days, particularly at first were so long, with no concentration, passing time was impossible. When I was able, later on, to focus for short periods, I found the days began to travel a little faster. I also found, that when I could apply myself to something, if only for a short time, the 'moving' became less apparent. I learned you could divert from it. I spoke to my hypnotherapist about my difficulties with tackling such big tasks, and such long days, she gave me a tip. She suggested that I break the day down into 4 pieces, like 4 short days, and focus on each piece at a time. And to do the same with big tasks, break them down, into several smaller tasks. Rather than clean the whole living room, dust two sideboards, later dust some more, later put the hoover over part of the room, so on so forth. Approach it as one small task at a time, before I would know it, I would have completed the big task. It worked, I broke down whole days, into portions, like 4 short days and began living full days, I broke big tasks down into small tasks, and completed large tasks. I was becoming a busy new mum.

"What I couldn't do today, I believed I would do tomorrow. I tucked it away, waited another day, and slowly I would reach my goal. I approached large tasks, as lots of little tasks, and did each little task in order to complete the large task."

I had gone from being afraid to take a bath, to taking a bath with the door open, to now finding sanction in my bathroom, relaxing in it, lighting candles in the bathroom, pampering myself with inexpensive oils, foam baths etc. My bathroom a place which had become hostile to me, which frightened me, had now become my little haven of peace and tranquility.

"My bathroom became my sanction. The very place I had so feared had now become a candlelit haven full or beautiful aromas."

I began taking journeys outside. I started with company, and then began to take very short walks alone, just to the lamp post. I would return besotted with tears, but even tears were progress, initially I couldn't cry, I would howl in desperation, but being able to cry was an emotion like all other emotions. With the exception of fear, all emotions had been lost to the 'moving' world. Emotions were returning, tears and smiles. I would return from a short walk, just a few steps alone, frustrated and fearful and fretful. Again I would then settle myself, and realise that I had once again achieved, I had taken a walk alone, albeit very short. It was POSITIVE... it was progress.

"I walked to my Mums home, just across the way. She began to see her daughter coming back behind my eyes. I was healing her pain."

I had become afraid of the rain, terrified of it. I would sit at my bedroom window when it was raining and watch it, and tell myself over and over it was JUST RAIN, I would almost kind of dare myself to touch it, putting my hand out of the window and letting the raindrops land on me. In a relatively short time, I went from being petrified of rain, to again enjoying the sensation of rain falling on me, something I had always loved.

"My 4 year old held my hand at the edge of the front door, and said 'Come on mum I will look after you'. It had been so long since I had clasped her little hand and walked out with her. I did it."

Cooking was the last task I mastered. I was extremely anxious about cooking, I was so afraid that with such bad concentration I would do worse than not complete a task, I might burn the house down, or spill hot liquids, and food, injuring my children, my husband, myself. It took a long time to become more confident with cooking meals, but I would cook simple things, which required just focussing on one pan, or just the grill, toast, soup, etc., in time, I could cook a full roast dinner for my family.

"I discovered that when I could apply myself to the odd small task, my 'moving' wasn't so apparent. I recognised that I could divert from it."

I was afraid to stay alone with my children in the house. I needed someone with me all the time in the earlier stages. I overcome this by asking my husband to go out of the house for 2 minutes. He would just walk to the end of the front path, and I would sit there terrified to move. Then 2 minutes got easier, then 2 minutes grew to 5 minutes, then 5 minutes to 10 minutes, then he could pop to shop, do a little shopping, whilst I took care of my daughters and myself alone in the house. It wasn't easy, but it got easier and easier, and the sense of achievement became so satisfying. I was now living with Post Natal Depression and not suffering from Post Natal Depression.

"My journey in the right direction had now begun. I was beginning to travel along the high road, leaving the low road behind me."

I was now living again I could care for my children, cook meals for my husband, do the housework, take a walk out, bath, enjoy sitting in my garden, I could read, write, knit and I knew my name. I took my 4 year old, (who was now 5 years old) to her first day at school and shortly after my husband was able to return to work, initially just part time. My new baby was christened on her 2nd birthday, I attended the Christening, and I prepared all the food for a small reception. My fear of people, had become another part of Post Natal Depression I had overcome, I approached it in the same way as every other aspect, by seeing people, in my home, for very short spells, gradually extending it to the point, where once again I could relax in the company of others.

"I was staying at home with my children, alone and unsupervised. There was a time when I thought that was something I would never be able to do again. I was taking care of my children, on my own. I could now relax in the company of others. I no longer feared people."

It was three years before I could honestly say I had beaten Post Natal Depression, possibly even a little longer, but I had began to live again long before that. I learned as a result of Post Natal Depression to live life differently and that saying no is not a selfish thing. I learned I have a right to be happy, that I am a person, that I need freedom to thrive, that I am an extremely important person. I value myself, and what I once considered selfish, I now consider to be self preservation, and by preserving my own mental health I am able to be a mum, a good mum, and be there for my children. My well being is their well being. I didn't die, but everyone who loved me lost me. Preserving my own mental health prevents them from loosing me again.

"I didn't die, but everyone who loved me, lost me. Preserving my own mental health prevents them from loosing me again."

As referred to in My Recovery, at first I felt being expected to keep a diary of things I managed to do was nothing more than an ignorant and foolish suggestion. It's hardly the kind of recommendation you would expect when you are completely unable to concentrate, and struck with fear. However it turned out to be a valuable suggestion from my Community Psychiatric Nurse (CPN).

This lens is not about giving advice, or recommendations, it is about my own personal experience of Post Natal Depression. My Diary is about how keeping a diary helped me.

Initially I could not document anything. Unable to concentrate left me without the ability to read, write or focus on anything. However my husband began to make entries when I attempted a task, or did anything other than lay in bed. For a while there were no entries, then small entries were made. For example: 'went to toilet with me outside of the toilet and the door open, rather than me in the toilet with her', 'attempted to boil the kettle', 'sat downstairs on the couch for 10 minutes'. My husband was beginning to track my every move by diary entries.

As time went by the diary pages became fuller, and began to read like this: 'made a cup of tea', 'took a short bath alone in bathroom with door open', 'sat and watched tele for an hour', 'fed baby half a bottle'.

I truly benefitted by these diary entries. When I would become extremely distressed, fearing I wasn't getting any better, feeling like I was still doing just nothing, my husband would open the diary and read the entries to me. This would remind me of things I had done, that I couldn't even begin to do previously. That just attempting something was progress. As I began to gain better concentration, I would slowly go through the pages, take a look at the previous week, or previous two weeks, and compare them, it would indicate to me just how much progress I was making. It was encouraging, and proving to me that I was indeed making progress.

Later, as I improved, I began to make my own entries, and track my own progress. I would get great satisfaction when I had a small list of achievements to document. Simply going through the process of entering them I found rewarding and satisfying.

As more time went on there wasn't enough room in the diary pages to list all the entries. Yes My Diary had now done it's job.

It was 1988 when I gave birth to my second daughter, and suffered with Post Natal Depression. It is now 2008, and my new baby back then, is now 20!

I later went on to have a third child - a baby boy. My now young teenage son. HIS BIRTH WAS AN ABSOLUTE JOY and I DID NOT SUFFER WITH POST NATAL DEPRESSION AFTER HIS BIRTH.

When things get too much, which they always will at some point in life (and for the most of us too often), I still use everything I learned back in 1988.

RECOVERY STAYS WITH YOU.

In a turbulent world, no one else could see,
an unfamiliar place of plexus misery.
Confusion erased my name from my mind,
terror and hopelessness was all I could find.

Ignorant comments reaped frustration and pain,
would I ever be in their world, ever again?
Afraid to hold her, afraid I would fall,
off the moving carpet which was still to all.

Disturbance dictated, sweat smeared my palms,
I wanted to hold her steady in my arms.
Howling in anguish for I could not cry,
irrational grieving, no reasons why.

Phobic of everything and everyone near,
in a time of ruin, torment and fear.
Morbid anxiety took hold of me strong,
I delivered a child, I did nothing wrong.

Dejected and hollow, with progress slow,
a love for my baby that just wouldn't show.
Safely in my heart I cherished her with care,
I was a mother in a turmoil of total despair.

Recovery hindered by prejudice remarks,
The soul inside me took walks to the parks.
Despondent, dispirited by words unjust,
I learned to forgive and in myself to trust.

Courage gradually led me to a path of new,
where grass become green and the sky became blue.
Learning to live again now an obsession,
my baby I missed - in a world of depression.

A life was taken to a traumatic hell,
painful to recall, painful to tell.
As far as you can fall, is as far as I fell,
tears from a Mother - now living life well.