Post Partum Depression 1
Today is International Suicide Prevention Day.
Two years ago, a postpartum depression slowly and silently took over me and my life.
A very deep black darkness was filling me with terror, an inexplicable fear, absolute loneliness, a bottomless emptiness and an exhaustion so devastating that only those who have been there can understand it.
Today I look back and I do not understand how I did not see it coming, although I had already gone through a postpartum depression with my first son León that luckily I overcame thanks to the help of siquiatrist Iris Luna, but this time everything was different. When I realized I was in absolute silence analyzing all the possible ways to end my life. The only thing stopping me was thinking about my parents and the pain I was going to cause them.
For Pancho and the children I was calm because I thought I was not a good mother or a good wife, that the children had Pancho, the best dad in the world, and that Pancho, being the wonder of a man that he is, would have no problem finding someone better that I was.
Bad mother, bad person, ungrateful woman, anything before admitting she was sick.
Shame to have everything to be happy and no explanation for not being so. Permanent exhaustion, and the feeling of not being able to raise my children that destroyed me.
I had to cancel all my projects, I asked Pancho to talk to my family and handle my pending emails. I couldn’t open the computer or answer the phone. I could do nothing because fear and physical terror paralyzed me.
I couldn’t think about the future, nor reconnect with who I was in the past. Not even reading, music hurt me, movies terrified me.
My parents told me to come see me but I begged them not to because I refused to let them see me like that.
I felt a burden to my family and wanted to rid them of me. But above all I wanted to be rid of my terror and that inexplicable anguish that devoured everything. This was my only truth. There was no other way out.
Depression is like that, it deceives us, it leads us down very dark and treacherous paths. Also the stigma, we shuould do anything before going to a psychiatrist. Anything before considering the possibility of undergoing treatment.
And yes, I have been doing yoga for more than 18 years, meditated for many years, I eat well and all this helps. But the truth is that if I am here to tell this story, it is thanks to a successful psychiatric treatment.
Depression is an illness like any other, but full of stigmas that makes us ashamed, isolates us, locks us up and prevents us from seeking help. Like any other disease it requires proper medical treatment that can only be decided and guided by a professional.
Taking medications is not easy, finding the right one is not either, but I had no other option and over time I gradually managed to trust the two doctors who treated me. Once confidence was established, I armed myself with patience and be attentive to all the changes that were happening in my mind and my body.
Every day when I wake up the first thing I do is give thanks for being alive. For being able to love my children again, Pancho, my family, and people. To be able to see and vibrate again with the colors and beauty of life. For being able to love myself again. For this reconnection with everything, but especially with myself.
Above all I thank medicine, my brothers-in-law Gus and Begoña for directing me to Dr. Eugeni Bruguera in Vall d’Hebron who referred me to a guardian angel on earth Dr. Miguel Sandonis specialist in Postpartum Depression who listened to me for hours and months, and treated me with a unique sweetness and affection, despite my mistrust of him for being a man. I thought that a man will never be able to understand the burden that a depressed mother feels in front of her children and her inability to take care of them, my desperation to run away and flee from my own life.
Thanks to Pancho, for his love and his infinite patience, who has accompanied and endured me on this roller coaster.
Marta, who took care of Bruno and León like her own children and as if that were not enough, she also took care of me, she recognized the fear in my eyes before anyone else, she took the children whole days so that I could recover. She gave me clear instructions where to call or where to go in an emergency.
To my parents for their patience and love. To my brother for accompanying me and understanding me.
To Charo, Judy and Shadya for being my travel companions.
And I also thank depression because no matter how dark the road has been, after going through it, no one can be the same person. After surviving it, there is only gratitude, empathy and the desire to help.
But we do need help in order to get out of it. As a survivor, the least thing I can do is to share my story, so that those who are going through something like this do not feel so alone and do not lose hope. But above all, do not feel ashamed to speak it and ask for help.