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Well here I sit, and for once I am at a loss for words. Not typical of me, wouldn't you agree? I have watched this board for a few days looking for more folks to post. Not wanting to really share my pain, because thats what this forum is about, sharing your pain of PPD, or maybe its PPD and a previous depression. Don't you hate that? Having one wrong thing and another issue pounding down on it? As you sit and think well screw g-d, its said he won't give me more than I can handle? Well sorry to say it folks that needs to be redone and state, g-d will not give me anything I can't handle with a good shrink, a glass of wine and some drugs. And some support from friends, but thats not always mandatory the latter is true in a lot of cases though.
My story did not begin with the birth of my daughter, it started with the end of my relationship with my mother. I was 14 happy, came from a family that was really well off. I mean really well off. Clothes from anywhere I wanted. New clothes for school every three months for the different seasons. Not including the mandatory allowance I demanded on Fridays.
We had an indoor pool, jacuzzi, steam room, weight room, sauna, whirlpool baths in all bathrooms, we had 5. I had everything I wanted or so you would think. I had clothes, friends, shiny new things. I can't really explain how fortunate I was in that sense. Did you notice that one thing missing in all of that? My parents, I didn't have them. I mean my mom was a WAHM. I had her in the literal sense. She birthed me and then proceeded to hire nannies to take care of Jeff Rachel Steven and myself. Rachel and Jeff are not hers by birth but by marriage. My father was 12 years older than her. Rachel was 10 or so when they married Jeff was around 8.
My dad was never around much, he was a WAHD, but he was always out at the properties he owned making small chat with folks. Mom was always doing whatever, but never enough time for well me. Something about me she didn't like. By all means I was a difficult chlid things got really bad when I was 13 so lets go there.
8th grade year. I was 13. Just got braces, my hair was orange (bad dye job), and most of all my first real boyfriend. How cool was this year? I could have the rubber bands in my mouth all types of colors and my hair was orange. Did I mention my boyfriend? Mom and me were quiet distant at this point. Barely speaking and this is where my downward spiral began. Drugs what wonderful things those were back then. They masked my feelings towards my mom, I mean how could I hate someone who was melting everytime I walked in the door from a hit of acid? That was just too cool, then.
But a few hours later it would just be me in my room, alone. I had this science teacher Mr Brian Jones, man was he hot. I wanted to bang him, let me tell you. He was yummy! But alas, I couldn't. So I decided why not let him be my mentor, he wanted to be my mentor. Hot yummy teacher as my mentor? I am game. I expressed the pain I had been in for the last few years. I told him how I got high and how good it felt for the pain not to exist, this is when my first thoughts of suicide began.
So the summer going into 9th grade I went to Camp. It was fun. I hated this lady there so I got into a fist fight and went home. I was away from my mom. I was 14 it was my first taste of independence and a quick count down to me leaving my home. High School begins.
Well by this point I had lost my virginity on the last day of 8th grade, outside the public library. THAT was interesting. Anyone near Cincinnati and heard of May Fest and the Taste Of Blue Ash, yea that library right by the old Thriftway the just closed. Kroger, those corporate ######s bought out the store. I am loosing site of this post lets get back on track....
My depression has set in full force. I want the pain to go away. The thought of suicide was going through my brain on an hourly basis. I want this pain to go away. I don't want to die though. I just don't want to be in pain. My mom she never understood me. Never. I wanted her to understand me so bad. I wanted for her to love me. I wanted her to tell me I was worth something. I wanted to know I was loved. I wanted someone to cry to. I wanted to stop the drugs. I wanted her to hug me. I wanted her to tell me it was Ok. I wanted her to be my mom.
I was arrested in Nov of 98. Not 15 yet. Domestic Violence. I couldn't take my mom anymore. I wanted her to feel my pain. I wanted her to know what I felt like. What I was going through. I wanted her to know. They figured out I was an addict in jail. So I was sent to a local rehab at a hospital. It was next to the psychiatric ward. It was wierd. I shook a lot, heroin is a nasty drug. My mom came to visit and I told her what I thought of her. It felt good.
That next morning I was informed my mother signed me over to the State of Ohio. Great. Now what? I was sent to a group home. YDC, Youth Development Center, or something like that. I was 15 and still no one knew about my depression. It was consuming me. One night during a session a counselor pissed me right the hell off so I went after her. I had rage, I wanted her to know what it was like also. Why the hell are we talking about selfesteem b**ch, thats the least of my worries.
Off to jail again. Got out early in 99, and I was put into a foster home. The foster home mother didn't care about what I did, just be home by midnight! Fine by me! The state caught on shut down the foster home, sent me to jail to hold me until another place was found. I was sent to Childrens Home. What a joke this was. At this point I demanded to have homeschooling.
I was one day away from going home with my mom and I blew it. I went off, Childrens Home shut down and I had to go to St Aloyiciuos (sp??).
I decided my second week there I was going to take my pain away. That was it. I smashed a window and shoved a peice of broken glass all the way up my arm 12 inches. Blood spewed everywhere. It scared the hell out of me. A counselor came in and wrapped his shirt around it. I was pissed. My pain was slowly leaving me. I could feel it.
My mom brought me back home that next week after numerous surgeries. She had only signed over temporary custody she could have taken me back anytime. b**ch. I was almost 16. She kicked me out three months later.
I moved in with a friend to finish school. I then decided to move in with my sister. Thats when I met Dickwad. We are now in the year 2000, I get pregnant. I had Abigail and all those feelings came back. Feeling worthless, that I can't do anything right. No matter how hard I try. I hated her and I hated myself. The pain was coming back. I met Brian Dickwad and I were done.
Now we have Ian and all those feelings came back. I can't do anything right. I am ugly I am worthless I can't do anything without help. I am stupid, did I mention worthless. Why am I here? I would be better dead. Then the paranoia kicked in. I am so ugly he is probably cheating. To he is cheating. Look at me and these g-d ###### stretch marks. I hate myself. Why didn't my mom love me. Why didn't my dad stop her. Why did my dad die? Why did he leave me when I needed him most? Why have I been the one to do everything for me? Why did she leave me in the states hands? Why couldnt she love me, thats all I needed. I wanted to commit suicide while pregnant with Ian.
Two weeks ago Brian did an intervention and demand I see a Shrink. He read my online journal that I thought he didnt know about. So now I am in therapy and thats my story.
Things are doing better now. I am starting to feel better.
I didn't want to post this. I was asked to. I had originally Pmed someone and asked for it to be a private forum. I am sharing this in hopes that more people share their story. Depression and PPD are serious disorders and I hope I can share my journey to becoming healthy with someone else. And to let them know they are not alone. I am not alone, you are not alone.
If you made it this far I thank you. If not I dont blame you. And I thought at the beginning of this post I was at a loss of words.
Wow Jamie that was heart breaking ! I commend you for making it this far and getting yourself some help. I was wondering just yesterday how you got the scar on your arm, but I didnt want to seem nosey and ask. Thank you for sharing your story with us! It made me cry !!
Wow. I cannot tell you how much your story has touched me. First of all, it took a heck of a lot of courage to post it. I am proud of you for not being afraid of sharing it with us. I'm sure it was difficult and you've done a very selfless thing by wanting to inspire someone else to also come out of the closet, so to speak. So, I thank you for that.
Depression runs in my family. My mother was sexually abused as a child. Her mother sent her away, yes her, when she found out. She has dealt with depression all of her life as a result. My brother Joel also deals with depression. I worry about him every single day. He will not get treatment. His way of dealing with things is by getting drunk and high. My brother Joshua has been diagnosed as being manic depressive. He has been hospitalized in the past to help deal with his problem. At this moment they are still trying to find the right combination of meds for him. He is the father of a beautiful 3 year old little girl. My father has what I would call, an addictive personality. When he was a kid, it was drugs. As an adult it is food. He has made some life changes in the recent future, and things are getting better for him. So, with a depressed mother and a father with an addictive personality, you can imagine where that leaves me.
I also have dealt with different forms of depression through out my life. Nothing to the extent of what my brothers have gone through. I am the type of person who always seems to be teetering on the edge of a full breakdown, kwim? I am usually ok until something bad happens. I knew I would be a prime candidate for post-partum depression once I gave birth to my son Brock. I was correct. It's not easy.
So...you and I can go down this road together. Hopefully there are some more women out there that can hop on the bus and join us.
Thanks again for sharing your story. As you already know, you can IM me at any time if you need to cry, vent, bi**h, or whatever.
WOW what a story!
Thanks for sharing it. You should be very proud of yourself for being able to post that story with the amont of honesty you did.
I wish you the very best on the road to recovery. IT might be a long road ahead, but I believe you can do it. Take baby steps.
#3-DS-10/09/00~m/c a twin with him
wow, jamie! i am truely touched by your story. i am so moved by it i think i am lost for words. i never knew you went through so much in your life. you are one strong woman. your story brought tears to my eyes. thank you for sharing that story with us all. i hope things start to get better soon for you, as you said they already have. but i hope you get to that point in your life that you KNOW you are a wonderful woman and you are pretty and loved.
my olive tree branch is out there for you also!
if you ever need to talk i am always a ear away. believe me, i always felt my mother didnt care about us girls either. i went through hell with her and i still am.
I really admire you for being able to open up like that. Your story brought back so many of my own memories. I am not sure I am ready to fully share it though. To this day I don't think I have told anyone the whole story of my youth, not even my counselor. I know that there are things I refuse to explore or even try to remember, whole black periods of my childhood. You have given me a reason to think about sharing it all.
Jamie that was soooo brave of you to post your story. I admire you sooooo much. *hugs* I have gone through a lot of junk also and your story inspired me to tell people of my life also. Just keep on keeping on hun, we're all here for ya
Hugs hun. It is hard to deal with something like PPD when it seems to comsume you all over and make you feel the way it does, especially with a past of depression too. I want to share my story with you too.
I am 27 and just NOW realizing that my mother doesn't like me. I never understood why I did the things that I did until now. My mother was there for us, but to tell us what to do different, why we did that wrong and why we should be doing that..... She started sending my to phyciatrists when I was around 10 or so. All I remember is that I started to not want to change in front of her anymore because I was getting older and she thought something was wrong with me. SO, this has been a revelation for me just in this past week that she has made me feel worthless. Because of this, I got a boyfrined in 10th grade that physically and emotionally abused me. He was terrible. I was with him until I graduated. I moved out of my parents house during this time, was sleeping on the floor of a friends trailor and almost didn't graduate. Somehow I graduated with a regents diploma. I still thought at that time that my mom was a good mom and I was a terrible child for running away. After I broke up with that boyfriend I found a great friend, Vodka. I drank so much. I tried to find comfort in that and other things too. Men. I ended up sleeping with about 12 guys in 9 months. When I would get drunk, and sleep with a guy, it would make me feel worse and I would cut myself. Sereated knives were also my friend. I liked the pain and I liked to see the blood dripping from my arm. I have scars up and down both arms.
Then I met my ex, moved back home. I was 20. He won't admit it but we tried for 7 months to get pregnant. I wanted a baby. Something else I thought would give me what I was yearning for. We got married and one week later I had the baby. During being pregnant he cheated on me a lot, and I still married him. We split up, got back together many times, had another baby thinking it would bring us closer. We finally split up eventually and I went back to alcohol and knives. I was a terrible mother during those times. I even fell asleep on the bathroom floor while giving my kids a bath because I had a terrible hangover. I think was the day I decided to never get like that again. My children could have drowned. I cut down on the alcohol, but then started to sleep with men again. Still cut myself too. I met Brian and just fell in love. I havent cut myself in awhile, but I still drink. Never have I drinken while pregnant though. I always stopped during those times, but made it hard to deal with the emotions of horomones. Brielle's pregnancy was the worst. I really wanted to just end it all, take my life. Everyone would be better off without me. I got through it. I still suffer with it. I still get the urge to cut, I still feel like a worthless peice of crap that no one likes and no one will notice if gone. I honestly don't know how to deal with it. I just get through it. I try not to think about it.
I wanted to share my story with you, I don't know why. I feel for you and I hope you and I and everyone else that deals with these things can find comfort in eachother. My story has many more things to it, but I wanted to make it short. If you ever want to talk, you can PM me. We dont have a similar past, you turned to drugs, I turned to alcohol, but we do share those feelings. Hugs hun and I'm glad you are finding help and turning to other women.
Like Jamie before you, I am so impressed with your courage to post your story. As I have told you before, I am here for you if you need to talk. Starting next Monday (the 25th) I am going to start a "How are you doing" weekly thread (Thanks to Jamie for the idea!). Please check in with us so we know how you are doing.
I'm so sorry to hear both of your painful stories. You know I posted that how many of you have been abused poll once and it still sickens me that stories like this are so rampant. I have no doubt that we will read a lot more of these. It takes real ba!!s to post this. You risk the chance of someone jumping your for decisions or actions you might have taken and just know that you ladies have a safehaven. Anyone who can tear someone down further for being truthful and honest can't see beyond themselves and that a real world exists outside of their quite unrealistic one. Grant you, if this is you reading this last sentence, count your lucky stars. I too can join the dismal ranks!
My dad is a doctor who wanted to be married...lots of times. He has been married 7 times. My mom never got remarried until we were out of high school. My mom came from an abusive family too. Her father sexually abused her. When her mother caught on, she was disgusted with my mother and would chastise and beat her. Although her own mother never stopped it either....
My mother was 14 years old and her father told her he was taking her for the all together too familar "car rides." Only this time he had a gun in the car and instead of raping her, he held the gun to her head and told her how they were both going to die for what he had been doing. They were both bawling and she was begging for her life when he turned the gun on himself and shot himself in front of her in their car. My mother walked over 5 miles to find help, covered in her own fathers blood and no doubt shame, guilt and anyother misguided feelings a confused 14 year old would feel when knowing there was no one else she could trust. Her mother was so distraught that her disgusting piece of work as a husband was dead, that she covered herself in the flag from his burial on the couch daily for her and her two younger sisters to see. She stopped working and there was no food. Mom said eating condiments for meals was even diminishing, so she got on her mothers suits and makeup and got her self a job at a local department store and lied saying she was of age. She supported her family until she met her first husband and had my oldest sister. She left him for my father and had my brother and I. She went through many a beating and strange acts. That is too painful to discuss....
My mom has been diagnosed as bi-polar and has been a loving mother but shows her bi-polar side quite frequently in strange acts or saying things that literally cut like a knife. (Very, long story)
Dad's wives 2-4 were short term, one annulment and basically we were pawned off on qutie a few nanny's. My dad's 5th wife was there the longest and beat my brother and I as a past time. With 2x4's, whatever she could grab, literally chasing us around the house, us fearful for any wrong word that might part our lips or look that would send her into a tail spin. I would wake up at night with her hot breath in my face and try so hard not to move, change my breathing patters or cry. I just knew she was going to kill me one day. One time she hit my brother so hard in the face (while she was driving) that she made him get out of her mercedes to drip dry the blood before he was allowed back in the car. She typically preferred us to all ride in the front seat as to have easy access for smacking you. Allowances were given $50 a week, however we never saw them. She would post a piece of paper with "deductions" on them. Deductions = For not saying manners, chipped finger nail polish, B's, not wearing a belt, shirts not properly tucked in, ironed, folded, whatever. So essentially, it made her an easy $100 bucks a week. According to my dad who claims cluelessness during this 7 year period, he paid her weekly. My brother and I had a little side business and had a savings account...after their divorce, my brother and I went through hundreds of checks written out of our minor account, by her, for pedicures, manicures, hair, etc. I watched her niece get worse abuse than me, weekly pulled down the staircase by her hair and beaten as we were for anything. Monthly our step witch would take us to the day old bakery and spend $100 on sweets (you know this was the motherload when crap costs 25 cents), make us put them in an outdoor freezer and she would lock it with a pad lock. I guess the mind game of it all as we were not allowed sweets. Same with sodas, they'd go under their bed by the case load. I wasn't allowed friends. I was followed if I was allowed to go anywhere outside of school and threatened or beat daily for what? I'm still trying to figure that out. I basically wish for her death. I hate her with every fiber of my being and I feel she is a black vile virus that I can never rid myself of. This story, like others, is way too long to write, (look for my book on shelves...LOL) but she would play mind games telling me I'd be useless and worthless and explain in detail how my demise would play out....just a few weeks ago I'm driving down the road and caught a glimpse of my right eye in the rearview mirror.....I had I guess a flashback of how she told me my blue eyes were beautiful, but when I would get older the fleshy top part of my eye would sag and I would need cosmetic surgery to correct it to avoid loss of vision....not even thinking about the b*itch, she still invaded me and I had to pull off the ###### road because my vision was so blurred with hot tears. I mean, the hag even took me to a plastic surgeon to have a consult on getting a nose job...she told me I could be pretty if it was fixed correctly. Needless to say...I've had counseling, but never til fruition...whatever that even means....LOL. Everytime I really broach my past, I still can't confront it. My brother has completely blocked out ALL of our childhood. He'll even call us liars when we talk about a trip or an instance....he always looks scared and confused.
In counseling, they've always told me that I have to totally concentrate on raising my children (that was before I even had them or thought of it) because 40% of me could let them run wild, 40% of me could turn into my step witch or 20% chance that I'd play my cards right and think before everything I do. So far I'm definately 20%, but I'm not gonna lie. It is the hardest and longest part of my life I've led thus far...having children. It was one thing all of this affecting me, but now I've brought two kids who didn't ask to be brought here to me to raise, love, teach and so much more. I had bad PPD with Cole and just refused to have it with Alli. (LOL, yeah right...I still have tendancies)
PROPS TO YOU LADIES! I don't know what else to say other than for me, it is a constant faith. Trusting in that is the only thing that has given me hope.
Seeing this thread and having Jaime lead the way in showing us that a foot in the door has to come somewhere in learning there are others out there and we need each other to get through. Thank you ladies, thank you for sharing and giving me a little hope that this board might be the payoff I was looking for!
(HUGS) I have to say thanks for sharing your story. It took a lot of courage to be the first one to do so. I am sorry for what you had to go through. But I am glad that you are seeking help. I hope that you feel better soon, and that you can learn that you aren't worthless. I hope others can be helped by your story. HUGS to you.
WOW ladies! I don't feel so alone now!!!
I don't have the time to share my long story today, but maybe soon. I just wouldn't know were to start (and it is so very long).
Anyway kuddos ladies!!! It just shows what a group of strong women we have on the boards! This is such an awesome community, and you ladies have just made it even better. And big applause to you Jaime for having the courage for being the first to share your story.
I think we need to all collectively embrace those little girls inside of us, and give them a great big HUG!! Maybe it sounds cheesy, but that's what those of us with storries feel like. Like that little girl is still a big part of who we are and, she is hurting. But at the same time we are strong women that have gotten past these things and are providing wonderful homes for our children. You know, trying to break the vicious cycle! So far I have been the first in my family to accomplish this, but my ds is far from grown, I still have a lot of work to do. And I'm sure it will be a daily battle.