The Darkness

As I struggle to put into words what these PPD feelings are like, I stumbled onto this blog post by Catherine Connors. She expresses her struggle in terms of a darkness or a monster in the closet. That is very much what it feels like. When it washes over me, I know they are awful thoughts in the moment. They are sick little dreams, fantasies if you will. The strongest one I experienced a few weeks ago. Callie was a screaming mess so I took her for a walk. She loves trees like nothing else, so I thought it would calm both of us down. Wrongo Dongo. She got even more upset. I tried stopping to feed her on the grass. I tried entertaining her. Nothing. And suddenly I had an image: pushing the stroller into the street. And then I would be free. I immediately felt like a terrible person, that I could even think a thing.
It usually hits me at night, lying in bed. It has gotten worse since the incident at Rancho. I lay awake thinking of more horrible things that could've happened. How I would tell Bill. Would he ever forgive such a horrible mistake? Could I ever forgive myself?
Sometimes, I think, I could wake up in the morning and this all would have been a dream, and I would have my life back. But I always feel immediately guilty. Some nights I just lay in bed and cry. The other night that happened and Bill just held me and stroked my arm. I was waiting for the question. What is wrong? I had an answer ready just in case. But thankfully it never was asked. My answer was going to be "I am horribly unhappy." Bill and I spoke very honestly this morning about it. I told him that I feel like I've lost everything because of her. I've lost my self, my job, my spark. I am a slave to her. When she has a bad day, so do I. This morning he said one of the nicest things he could've possibly said "I wish I could stay home a couple days a week to help you with her." He gets just as frustrated with her, he just isn't with her the kind of hours that I am. And besides, Bill is the calm and collected one. Its all very schizophrenic. There are minutes and hours where she is the most amazing thing in the world and I feel so blessed to have her in my life. And then she screams and I can't help her.
With the job situation, I (we) made the choice for me to stay home. I thought it was the right one. But now I don't know. I've always known that teaching is a part of me. I may not be the best teacher in the world, I'm sure there are students out there that would wholeheartedly agree, but it is my core. I didn't really realize how much it was my center until I am faced with not doing it. I let people convince me this was the right thing to do, for me and my family. "If you can afford it, you should take a year off." "I wish I was pregnant so I could stop working." "Why would you want some stranger raising your daughter?" But I guess in the end, it is a stranger raising her, I just didn't know that stranger was me. I'm sure this is something I will continue to struggle with as my friends, family and co-workers return to lesson plans, essays, annoying emails from parents, non stop questions from kids and lunches in brown bags. And I will miss all of it. But I will continue to be honest about it.