Is that a light?

I do believe that the zol.oft has finally kicked in. Woke up this morning and felt in my head again. i didn't feel the need to keep poking at my obsessive thoughts even when I wasn't obsessing about them. I actually started to feel excited about the future for once instead of feeling like I am going to die tomorrow. It was refreshing and gave me a glimpse of what I used to feel like before I was struck by PPD and PPOCD.
Last Thursday was a low point. I doubled my zol.oft dosage from 25mg to 50 and woke up feeling terrible. My one thread tying me to sanity throughout this whole thing was the fact that I didn't want to die. Suicidal thoughts have not been a manifestation of my PPD and for that I have been so thankful. Thursday rolled around, however, and I started feeling so low. Really, really low. And then those feelings of hopelessness that I would be this way forever started to come again. What scared me this time was that I told myself that I would not live my life like this. For the first time since this all started that included (for a moment) leaving this life if I couldn't resolve these feelings of terror and helplessness. For a brief second I thought that my children would probably be less damaged living a life without a mother than living a life with a crazy one.
Whew. That was tough to say. But true to what I was thinking then. Gradually over the weekend I just started feeling better and better. The intrusive thoughts continued to come but were easier for me to stop. The feelings of anxiety and despair were replaced by feelings of, well, nothing. Not emptiness. But not panic and fear either. There was something there but it wasn't happiness or sadness. It was just me being.
Me breathing.
Me living.
And for right now, that is progress.
I was so afraid that the zol.oft would make me feel like an automaton. I am sure that living my life with no emotions is probably easier than living my life with ALL of them surfacing ALL the time. But I don't think I want to live my life either way. There has got to be a happy medium somewhere in all of this.
My next therapy appt is Wednesday which is also the day I increase my dosage to my holding level of 100mg. After a week of that my doctor will reevaluate my progress. I am nervous to increase the dosage without really experiencing 50 mg for more than a week. We will see what this Thursday holds.

My first therapy appt

And I arrive 15 minutes late. Not sure if its the Zoloft but I felt like I had a handle on the directions and then talked myself out of going the right way about 1/4 of a mile before I got to the right office building. Sometimes I feel a little spacey lately. Could be the lack of sleep too.
The appt was interesting and nothing we discussed was unexpected. Based on listening to my symptoms the Dr. confirmed that I was describing symptoms of Postpartum OCD and Anxiety. The OCD diagnosis did throw me for a loop a little...I guess I just didn't think what I was doing was obsessive but after talking about it out loud with the Dr. I realized how abnormal it sounded. Revisiting thoughts in my head and hoping for some resolution seemed like something normal to do and I guess it is. Until you revisit a topic so much that has no resolution and keep revisiting it until you cannot think of anything else.
My main fixation has been death, specifically my death and the acknowledgment that someday I will die and so will my family members. I don't remember what I thought about that particular subject until the day I started suddenly thinking about it constantly. The anxiety stems from worrying about when and how I am going to die. Once I start thinking about it panic starts to well up within me until I feel like I am going to lose my mind with fear. My heart starts racing and I break out into a cold sweat.
I feel so disconnected with the world right now. I even find it hard to have normal conversations with people. I feel like I can't relate to them because of all the static that is inside my head right now. I worry about saying anything because nothing I say seems appropriate to the topic of conversation. For the past couple of weeks I have had people ask me if I was okay because they thought I seemed "out of it." If only they really knew exactly how much truth there was to that.
Tonight I increase my dosage of Zol.oft to 50mg, and in a week to 100mg. I hope that this medicine and therapy will help me. The Dr. asked me today what I expected to get out of therapy. I can honestly say that I want to make peace with my fears and be able to live in the moment and enjoy my children and my life. I don't want to feel like every moment is ruled by fear.

Why me?

Why not, I guess is a better question.
I keep thinking that if I just think about certain topics long enough that I will come to some conclusion that will allow me to stop obsessing. But, as my Mom pointed out, these thoughts are not rational and most of them have no logical conclusion. So, I think about them more and more and get more and more obsessed with them. The cycle is never ending.
I am trying to stop myself before going down that path. I just try to change the subject of my thoughts when I start feeling anxious about something. But this is difficult for me because I am used to being able to solve problems in a logical manner. However, my fear and anxiety is so sensitive that it seems that anything will set me off. It is so bad that I can't bear to listen to sad songs I previously enjoyed or watch anything sad on tv. I feel like these things will just push me over the edge that I am so precariously teetering on. I feel like I want to just retreat inside my house and never come out because I don't want to do or see anything to make myself feel scared.
I have my first appointment for therapy next week. The zol.oft hasn't really seemed to kick in yet, although the side effects definitely have. I have been having excruciating headaches but they are manageable with Motrin. So right now I am in a holding pattern.
I want to share my symptoms and thoughts but honestly I am afraid of writing them down because then this all becomes real. I keep telling myself that this really can't be happening to me. That I am imagining these things. But I know that what I am feeling isn't right and in order for me to get better I need to acknowledge this.

Into the Abyss

Well, I always thought it couldn't happen to me but it did. I am smack dab in the middle of the rollercoaster ride of Post Partum Depression and Anxiety and it is a ride that I really would like to get off of now. Got my prescription for Zol.oft yesterday and after hemming and hawing about it and then having a panic attack at Bunco I finally took my first pill last night.
I am scared.
Scared that breastfeeding while taking Zol.oft will somehow hurt W.
Scared that this really isn't PPD and I will have to live this way for the rest of my life.
Scared the Zo.loft won't work.
Scared of the side effects of the medicine and how hard it will be to wean myself off of them once I am done.
I am trying to get an appointment for some therapy because I know the medication isn't enough.
Meanwhile, W was up 4 times last night. The sleep deprivation is making me want to ram my head through a brick wall.
I am a sad sorry soul right now.

When a fart...

Isn't really a fart.
My poor little son learned this terrible lesson this week as he caught some sort of stomach bug. This is his first bout of diarrhea while using the toilet instead of a diaper. What ensued was my son essentially pooping all over the house Monday and Tuesday as he tried to fart and found out that there was something more behind it. Its a lesson we have all learned the hard way.
He was on the mend on Wednesday and feeling fine. Our washing machine broke over the weekend while I was washing the bedsheets he threw up on. So, I was doing laundry at a neighbor's house because we had all run out of clothes. I started feeling strange and decided to try to nap while the kids did. I woke up feeling like a sledgehammer hit me and called S to come home early. He tells me that he can't because he is teaching training. I limp along until he gets home at his regular time and then go to bed.
Luckily, W obliges me and only wakes up twice. When S's alarm goes off at 5:30 am I tell him he needs to stay home because I am dying. He does, but again he has important business to attend to so I am obliged to rise out of my death bed to nurse the baby and also watch both kids while he dials in to meetings. Yes, I am still a little bitter about that but whatever.
Enter me this morning, feeling better than yesterday but still not 100%. I am standing by the fridge getting A some breakfast when I feel like I have to fart. Except 31 years of experience has taught me that sometimes a fart isn't just a fart, especially when you have a stomach bug. Thankfully I made it to the bathroom in time. And now you officially know more about me than you ever wanted to know.
Stay tuned for a blog about the terrible anxiety attack I had last weekend and how I think I have some mild Post Partum Depression.