Obviously it's been awhile since I blogged. It's even been awhile since I read my blogger friends posts. But that's the internet so it's common to just disappear for awhile right?
What's more troubling is that I've somehow managed to just disappear from actual life too. I've spent most of my time locked in the house. I might be cleaning. Most of the time I'm crying about the fact that I am not cleaning. And then I don't clean some more. Whole hours pass by and I can't tell you what I've been up too. Emily has been plenty busy, you can tell by the damage she's left behind, but I've been not. Not busy. Not doing. Plenty damaged.
Part of this is because I had a really bad case of pharyngitis that came around Christmas and didn't start getting better till a week or so ago. Being really, really sick and in the first trimester of pregnancy allowed me just enough energy to make it downstairs, feed the kid, and then lie on the couch (and cry about how I wasn't cleaning). I was keeping first Emily, then myself, in quarantine so we didn't give these germs to anyone else. Staying home wasn't that bad. But after months of self-containment I feel like I've gone past the "awww, I'm lonely" phase to the "awww, I don't want to see anyone." In other words the depression is back.
I expected a little of this. I was only just pulling out of the major awful that was PPD when I got pregnant. Things were looking up of course and I was seeing an end. Then pregnancy happened and that slow and steady progression went into hyperdrive. All those new hormones that I wasn't making as a nursing mother suddenly hit me and I was no longer depressed at all. A change this quick can't last. I know it. I just didn't know how long it would stick around.
Apparently just until the placenta has been made.
It sucks. It sucks hard. Any other person who hadn't been recovering from PPD when they got pregnant would probably feel the drop in hormones and mood at around the 13th week. They might suddenly go "Hey, I have energy now! But I sorta don't feel that happy." I instead feel an overwhelming guilt that now I do, in fact, have energy to get up, but I hate it. I have the energy now to get out to knitting, or call my friends. But I can't step out the door. I have the energy to go to the swimming pool and splash with Emily. But I can't bring myself to put on a swimsuit. I have the energy to cook now. But I can't eat the food I cooked. I have the energy to finally find some awesome books to read or art to do. But I can't make my mind concentrate on it.
My mind isn't just sorta depressed or sorta tired, my mind is junk. It's confused and depressed and happy and currently hiding in some brain cave in order to stay far away from the depression that's ready to eat it.
It's also keeping me from writing coherent blog posts or...simple emails. Because I can't make up my mind if I'm depressed, about to be depressed, pregnant, or actually happy and I just don't know what happy looks like anymore.