I am experiencing my first bout of depression while pregnant. Strangely enough, it was brought on by realizing that I have sorta dealt with an issue to then realize that having the issue dealt with wouldn’t give me my expected definition of release from the issue. Does that make sense? You might have to read it a few times because if I proof this post too much, I’ll frazzle myself, and I won’t allow it to see the light of day.
But that isn’t what’s important to me right now…the being depressed thing. What is bothering me is that I want to ask for help but do not know how to do so. Do I say, “I’m depressed. Please bring me soup.” Do I send notes by mail, informing people of my mental state and need for companionship? And if I don’t know what to do or say, how will you?
And what if no one responds?!
I don’t want to live in my pain. I’m past feeling a sense of ownership of my pain, going to bed with my pain, waking with my pain, and feeling entitled to my pain. Bitter, hateful, black hearted people start off that way, and I’ve worked too hard to slip down towards that destination or be that sort of example to my unborn child.
I could use a lift, a lift I cannot define. I could use a pot of soup? I could use a greeting card? I could use a hug? I could use support that doesn’t wax and wane.
I’m very sad. I’m very embarrassed.
(Please forgive the more present rush and discombobulation of this post as I am typing on my phone, which I hate.)