Intro

Hello out there, if anyone is even reading this. I'm Q. I am officially crazy. I have actually known this for awhile. I was informally diagnosed with borderline personality disorder at 16, and then formally at 18, after years and years of being out of control, but not knowing why. I had considered myself to be in some sort of self-induced remission. Until now, that is. 

I have a three week old daughter. And a one week old diagnosis. Post-partum depression and Post-partum psychosis. I suspected these things, sometime between my intense fits of rage, directed at my fiance, and the night I began hearing a box talk to me. And then there's the intermittent static. Like a radio between stations, playing in my head. 

My suspicion wasn't quite enough though. There's something so taboo about admitting that what should be the happiest, most fulfilling time in your adult life, is actually terrifying agony. I saw a psychiatrist, I talked to my midwife. They offer me medication, therapy, support groups, hospitalization. I have experienced all of these 'solutions,' just for a different dilemma. But there's something so different about it when you throw a baby into the mix. 

Medication? I take it, hesitantly. There's always something a little scary about starting on a psychotropic drug, that could either help fix the complete deafening insanity...or it could be just the thing to push you over the edge.

Therapy? I'll try it...in thirty days, when the soonest appointment opens up.

Support groups? Honestly, I do not even want to hear the worries of the other PPD/PPP moms. I don't need anymore crazy ideas than I've given myself.

Hospitalization? Well yeah, that sounds great. Kind of like vacation...until the thought sets in that maybe I am so crazy, they will just keep me in there. And what if I miss something? What if my baby misses me? I know I'd miss her. What if she smiles or laughs. I have to be there. I can't miss one thing. Because every little gas-induced pseudo-smile that she slips me as she drifts into her peaceful, worry-free baby sleep makes this worthwhile. If I don't get to see her smiles, is there even a point?

So really, every option is shit. I can't even be alone with my baby. My parents, my fiance, my friends safeguard her like I'm the enemy. I curse them in my mind, "Who are they, to act like I can't care for my own daughter? Why should they treat me like I'm the bad guy?"  

and that's when I remember, I can't. And I am.