Month: March 2019

a-byss. noun. A very deep hole that seems to have no bottom.

So, there I was, in a heap of a mess on my bathroom floor. I honestly have no idea how long I was there. Maybe it was 5 minutes. Maybe it was 30. I finally had to pull it together when I heard my husband pull into the garage. His name is Phil, by the way. My husband. I keep saying “my husband.” Anyway, now you know. I pulled it together the best I could. I avoided eye contact when he came in. He knows me well enough to know that something was wrong but he also knew not to ask. Not yet, anyway. So we went on like everything was fine. On the outside.

But inside, I was falling into the abyss. The abyss of anxiety. The abyss of guilt. The abyss of fear. The abyss of shame. I was spiraling downward with no end in sight. I couldn’t stop blaming myself. We don’t even have an actual diagnosis at this point. As a matter of fact, we were still almost 6 months away from that. It was my fault. It was the couple prenatal vitamins I forgot to take. I didn’t exercise enough. I ate too much. I gained too much weight. My blood pressure was a little too high. My anxiety was too high. Everything screamed that it was my fault. ALL. MY. FAULT. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every waking second, I felt an overwhelming guilt that spiraled me even deeper into the abyss. After all, I carried her. I birthed her. There was no else to blame. Nothing else to blame.

Remember when I was said I was in nursing school? So, yeah, I was still doing that. Just so happens that when all this started, I was doing my psych rotation. Could not have been worse timing. I would meet with patients who were depressed and anxious and suicidal. On top of all the guilt I felt, I also couldn’t figure out how I was walking around in the world when I was so much like them. I was never suicidal. The thought never crossed my mind. But the anxiety. The depression. The guilt. I very well could have ended up that way. I was going crazy. I felt it with every breath.

The anxiety was eating me away from the inside. My mom babysits for us (by the way, she is a SAINT) and I would text her like once an hour or sometimes once every half an hour to see how things were going. The second I hit send, I expected a reply. If I didn’t get one within 5 minutes, I was calling her. I suspect she never really knew why because I never shared with anyone how I was feeling. I bottled it up and put on my brave face.

Then there was Brenly. My sweet, beautiful girl. I’m so sorry I did this to you. I’m sorry your future is unknown. I’m sorry I didn’t take my vitamin every day. I’m sorry I was so worried all the time. I’m sorry I didn’t exercise enough. I’m sorry I ate too much. I’m sorry I gained too much weight. I am terrified for you. I am terrified for me, even though that is selfish. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I should have. I’m sorry for the times I was so frustrated that I damn near forced you to look in my eyes. At the time, I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know it was so uncomfortable for you. I didn’t know how hard it was for you. I didn’t know anything. I am so sorry. I don’t think the guilt will ever go away. I’m spiraling and spiraling into the abyss and I am so sorry that for awhile, I took you all with me. I am so very sorry.

To be continued…