When we took my son home, it didn’t take long for my insides to shed quickly to my outsides. I didn’t want to get out of bed, I didn’t want to shower, I didn’t want to clean, I just didn’t want to participate in life at all. I didn’t want to be a mom.
I would go to school with a water bottle filled with alcohol stolen from whatever home I was in. No one would notice, because I didn’t drink until I was belligerent — just enough to get outside of myself.
I am struggling with postpartum depression in recovery, coupled with anxiety. I did not come to this conclusion on my own. I fought it TOOTH AND NAIL. I was convinced that “okay” was just around the corner. If… Read More