I had arrived on time for my appointment but without the paperwork I needed for my "pre-op" visit.
You see, Lumpy's day out in quickly approaching and they need to make sure I am alive and well before his removal.
"I..p-p-put the p-p-paperw-ork in my b-agggg yes-t-t-terdayyyy" I blubbered.
I continued in an incoherent hysteria....
....I feel as if I am loosing my mind. I am miserable, I cry all the time, I am insecure and paranoid. I feel hopeless and sad. (I stopped blogging) I forget everything...I actually left the garage door to my bay open the other night. All night. And the pass door to the house. OPEN. With Spouse's big-wig financial institution laptop in his Jeep...Someone could have taken it! Someone could have taken the BABY....
I continued between racking sobs....
It was like I woke up one morning and someone flipped a switch. I went from perfectly normal (for me) to a total basket case. What was wrong with me?
My doctor listened to my rant. She assured me that while the brainlessness of a Mommy is normal and gets exponentially worse with each child...she feared there was more going on. And then she said it.
"Post...Par..." I cut her off.
NO, that's not me. Maybe other people, but not me. I was happy, look at my girl! She is remarkable isn't she?
(Riley squeals at this as if to say, dang straight mommy! You tell her!)
"I can't have po-pa-pp...you know...that. Because it's been almost 8 months and well frankly that is just not ME."
She patiently listened to my denials. She waited for me to calm down.
She told me there was most likely a chemical imbalance in my brain. It was probably caused by 'The Juice' and in combination with my baby hormones threw everything out of whack. She said it wasn't my fault. She offered me medication.
I stood at this. NO. No meds! I have been depressed before. I battled my way through the death of a parent without the help of
I left with the name of a therapist in my area. I have had plenty of therapy in my life, it has served a great purpose. It has aided me in over coming the outside influences which I could not control and my reactions to them.
When I got home I discussed it with
Maybe. I was skeptical.
I traveled to New Jersey to spend a week with my father and BF. I thought it over.
Today I saw my doctor again and today I left with a prescription for 'The Prozac'.
I can't stand the idea that I would need something like this. But one night I went to bed happy, and the next morning I woke up miserable. Nothing remarkable happened, no tragic events, no traumatic experiences.
I just woke up a different person than I was the night before.
I'm frightened. I can't stand the idea of a
Does that make sense? I get woozy on Tylenol, what the heck is this stuff going to do to me?