It’s a funny thing, you know, how once you’ve dealt with depression, grabbed hold of it, taken control, and kicked it out, it’s funny how it lingers. How when you least suspect it, WHAM, it hits you on the back of the head and there it is again. Always lurking in the shadows.

It makes you unsure of your feelings.  Even when the clouds are not hovering.  Makes you wonder if what you’re feeling is true, if you’re overreacting… if it’s okay to feel the way you do.

Even when you know the Lord has brought you through that time once, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, you didn’t learn what you were supposed to and that time is coming again.

And then there’s fear.  The fear that you aren’t strong enough to do it again, the fear that you really are doing it alone.  The fear that this time, this time will be the time that there isn’t an end, that there isn’t another side.  That the clouds will not clear.  That you will stay, mired in the murk, forever.

Because that’s what it’s like for me, that place.  Things are drained of colour, and oh how I thrive on colour.  It’s like the peripheral of your vision is cloudy, and you’re just waiting for those clouds to cover your vision in its entirety.

But now, now I have people who remind me, who tell me when I can’t tell myself, who let me know that I am NOT doing this alone, that while this may be lurking on the edges for the rest of my life?  I am never alone.

When there is fire, and there will be fire, I will not have to do it alone.

When there are rivers that want to drown, I will be held with my head above water.

There is no guarantee in this life that there will not be struggles.  There’s no magic formula to make life perfect all the time.  There’s no chant, no prayer, nothing, that will guarantee that we will not struggle. There WILL be struggles, of that we can be sure.  Different for everyone, yes, but struggles nonetheless.

But in the end?  In the end, there is always an end.  And the journey to get there does not have to be traveled alone.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;

And through the rivers, they shall not overflow you.

When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned,

Nor shall the flame scorch you.

For I am the LORD your God,

The Holy One of Israel, your Savior

Isaiah 43:2-3

I've been taking 'crazy pills' now for…  oh, almost two years.  I was put on them back when I was just three months pregnant with Talya.

It was a good decision at the time.  I honestly could hardly cope for a long time WHILE being pumped full of their feel good medicinal qualities.  I have a history of post partum depression, with the last two kids, and once the warning signs hit, my doctor lost no time in getting the drugs into my system before it got really bad.

And you know what?  It was worse this time…  and yet it was better too.  Ja understood more.  We knew what to expect.  Our support level before the baby was born was through the roof.  Some days I simply cried… and he simply held me.

We are so incredibly blessed that Ja, also known as Wonderhusband, was able to take about ten months off of work for parental leave.  Ah, how I love living in Ontario!  Having him home was wonderful at first.  He really got a taste for how it is to be home all the time.  He looked at me one day after he had been home for about a week and said, “How do you do this ALL. THE.  TIME.”  It was a good moment for me!

In the past month or so I've felt that the drugs that I'm on, Wellbutrin, weren't doing their job anymore.  It seemed to me that I had a worse time coping, a worse time with being high up and then low down when I took them than when I didn't.  I was only on the crazy pills for about a year after Ephraim was born, and this time I was in absolutely no hurry to get off them.  I was afraid to go off them.

Now I know it's time.  I started weaning off by taking one pill every other day, then just expanding the time between taking the pills.  I thought I was doing so great, this weekend was the one week marker of no drugs, and I was feeling pretty good.  Ja and I talked about it, and even he said I seemed steadier.  We were both pretty happy with the decision, ready to move on, although always keeping an eye out for the clouds that could smother the family at any moment.

And then Saturday happened. 

It started out okay.  We were going seed planting.  We went, bought some seeds, and I was going to get some gardening gloves.  No troubles, right?  Ja suggested we wait til we stopped at his store for the gloves, because he can get them at slightly above cost.  That's all good.  I knew I was starting to feel a bit panicky…  I'm not sure why.  Well, three kids in a small and cramped seed store is never a good thing, I suppose. 

We got to Ja's store, and he made me go in, even though I just wanted to wait in the van with the kids.  Then they didn't have any gardening gloves.  And I quietly said I was going to take the baby back to the van and wait.  I got back to the van and lost it.  I don't know why I was so hurt that he thought I wanted the expensive gloves in the first place, or why it bothered me so much that they didn't have any gardening gloves at his store, but it seemed to strike me to the core.

The rest of the day simply didn't go well.  I lost it when we were trying to plant the vegetable garden because it was so not ready.  I lost it when the baby would not leave me alone.  I lost it when…  well, there were a lot of times.  And the stupidest thing?  Didn't even realize it was probably withdrawal going on until late that afternoon.  Like after dinner.

Poor Ja.  He didn't think of it either.  Just thought that his wife was some kind of crazy loon, I think. 

We did turn the day around a little.  Went for a walk to the creek, had a little splash.  Snuggled with the kids.  As soon as I realized that it was the withdrawal going on, it was like I could keep a handle on it.

Yesterday was better.

Today will be better still.

I will beat this.  WE will beat this.

I haven't much talked about this this time around.  Kind of preferring to post, albeit not very often, about my very cute (yet incredibly annoying) kids.

When I have babies, I have a wicked bout of post partum depression.  This time around, I've been on medication since I was about three months pregnant with Talya.

I could feel it coming in, edging over my consciousness… of course, the feeling sick and having to take care of two small children certainly didn't help any.

So there it was, the clouds creeping on the edge of my consciousness.  And with it comes the self doubt… the wondering why we're having another baby, the thought that maybe I'm not good enough for this life we have, the idea that maybe my faith isn't strong enough, that maybe I'm being punished for something.

It's all downhill from that point.  I can never pull myself out of it.  Hours are spent crying for no reason on poor Ja's shoulder.  I can't get myself up off the couch.  Knitting seems impossible to me.  My creativity, that which at times is my escape, is gone.  It's like there's nothing left of me, of who I am, of who I was.  I've forgotten who I am, who I want to be.

So then we go to the doctor's, where I'm already being carefully watched, and we're put on some medication.  More feeling like a failure there.  I know that there is nothing to be ashamed of, and yet it is a failure… it's a failure of my body to produce those 'happy' chemicals.  A failure of mine to keep going without help.

This time the medication was increased fairly rapidly so that I could keep the clouds at bay.  And yet they still hovered on the horizon…

Talya is nine months now.  You would think that those clouds would be gone, that it would be all sunshine and roses, and yet they're still there… ready to swoop over me at a moment's notice.  Waiting for that night when the baby won't let me sleep.  Waiting for a bad day with cranky overtired kids.  Waiting for that self doubt to hit, that thought that I'm not good enough to be responsible for these three little blessings that I have generously been given.

It makes me not trust my emotions.  I've always been an overly emotional kind of girl, things just hit me a little harder than some people.  I take comments and jokes very seriously, as a personal affront.  Only to dwell on them until they seem real…  One comment from someone can throw me into a spiral for days.

I think I will be on medication for a while longer yet.  I'm not ready to start going off of it.  I'm afraid of those clouds and what they can do to me and my precious family.  I need to be me so that I can teach them who they are.  I need to be me so that I can be a wife to my husband.  I need to keep those clouds off in the distance, at least so I can keep an eye on when they want to swoop in… be prepared to put up my umbrella so that the rain doesn't drown me when it comes.

I know that it will get better.  I know that suffering from this has been something that has brought Jason and I closer together as a couple.  I know that I have learned so much about myself, about asking for help, about being open with other people. 

I know that I can take this, this depression that so many of us suffer from, and I can make it into something good.  God has given me the strength for that, and I am going to take it.

There's something about this thing called “pride”.  Pride makes us think that we can do everything all by ourselves.  Pride makes us think that we SHOULD do everything all by ourselves, and that anything less is failure.

I guess right now that makes me a failure.

Back when Ephraim was born, I was hit by a pretty wicked case of PPD. We knew that the chances of getting hit again with the peanut were pretty high, but we also knew that we could get out of it eventually.  That it was a short termed thing.

Well, I think I went back on the drugs when I was about three months along.  I have an excellent doctor who could see the signs, and she prescribed them for us nicely.

We've had to up the drugs once, and now with four weeks to go, we are doing everything in our power not to up them again.

My support circle this time around is massive.  God has drawn this group of people around us that want to help, are willing to help, and won't take no for an answer.

Why should we say no?  Because of that pride issue.  I think that we are learning humility by having to say, “you know what, we're drowning here, we need some help.”

My head knows that it's okay to accept this help at this time.  God created the body of the church for just a time as this.  And, who knows, in a little while, it will be my turn to gleefully give back to the church all that I feel like I am taking right now.

This time around I have really good friends who are taking over for me.  Who want to help and who insist on helping.  I've been told repeatedly that I don't need to do it myself, that this is a short term thing, that we'll make it through.

My head understands this too… it's getting my heart to accept that I can still be a good wife and mother while accepting help that is the hard part.

I am so thankful to be part of the body of Christ.  I am so thankful that He has provided these wonderful and loving people, people that have become as much a part of my family as my own parents (who are amazing as well!).

And yes, I will let you help me.

I really use the … a lot, don't I??  Hmmm…  I wonder how Freud would analyze that??

Anyways, yesterday was a pretty good day.  I took the kids over to the Family Resource Centre for playgroup, crashed at a girlfriend's house for some knitting and some lunch while the kids were napping…  it was nice.  The kids played nicely, they were crafty (Ephraim's crafty side is developing quite nicely!)

And then it all fell apart when we got home.  And I had a meltdown when Ja walked in the door.  One of those crying get me the heck out of here, comfort me but don't touch me meltdowns.  It wasn't pretty, I will say that.

It's moments like those, moments where I feel completely unhinged with trying to do fourty zillion things at once that I can feel the depression creeping around the edges of my consciousness.  It's like a fogginess, a cloud, threatening to take over what had been the mostly sunny part of my countenance.

The difference seems to be, or at least the difference yesterday was that we sprang into action.  Ja got it.  He could see that I was unhinging in a major way, and he took over.  After dinner I disappeared upstairs, and he kept the kids entertained downstairs.  I vanished into the bedroom, and I told him I would not be offended if he just didn't talk to me all night. 

I read my book until the kids went to bed, put the kids to bed, finished my book in silence, and then I felt better.  I found the “worth it” moment again.  That quiet time with my husband before sleep.  The telling him about the funny things that the horribles had done that day at playgroup.  How Ephraim is starting to do all the motions for the songs during circle time.  Keyzia's obsessiveness with scissors.  And in the telling, it made me remember why I get out of bed every morning.  How God gives me the strength, moment by moment to do what needs to be done, and how He throws those little blessings in there to make it all worth while.

Last night was a thunderstorm.  Brief and passing.  I hunkered down, and this morning the sun is shining once again.