I wrote this a while ago. I couldn’t publish it. It’s very raw. I sat on it for a long time and I finally decided I had to put this out there because the heart of this blog has been brutal honesty all along. It was the comment of another mummy of twins that sealed the deal. Your words give me hope she said, I don’t feel so alone. What follows is the voice from the very bottom of the pit. But listen. The truth of it is that I did feel like this and now I don’t. I may feel like this again. I hope not. But there are things to do to get out of the pit. I did them. It was hard to do them. But it was way better than staying where I was. I didn’t publish this for the sadness. I did it for the HOPE. I want to be very clear about the reason for posting something so exposing. This is not a pity party. It’s quite the opposite. It is an acknowledgement that this all hurts quite a bit but that the hurt is not the end of the story. There is much, much more. You can be this low and still have HOPE.
I feel today like I’ve cried so hard I lost weight. I want to leave my kids but at the same time I couldn’t bear not seeing them every single day and knowing what funny things they did or said. I want to give them a much better mother. I feel like it would be good to drive a sharp knife right into parts of me. I feel like it would be good to get run over by a car. I thought about being a live kidney donor just so I could go to hospital and have a general anaesthetic. I feel like it is surely an impossibility that my husband could actually love this. I feel like the world and others living in it are living in a parallel universe to me. The world spins around me and I am disconnected from it. I just observe it. I feel like a robot, here simply to serve the needs of others. I look at happy parents and I reckon they are faking it. I feel terrified all the time that I have wrecked my kids. That is a fear too grave to even face the full truth of. I am so, so scared of that. I feel like I cannot really make anybody in the world understand what this feels like. I feel like some don’t care. I wonder if this can ever truly be fixed. I wonder where I went, who I am, why this happened. I wonder what is the point. I feel like it hurts to wake up, it hurts to make coffee, it hurts to carry on.
I call the GP to see if I can get an appointment. It just so happens that someone has cancelled and I can get straight in if I come down right now. My stomach is in knots as I get in the car. I can feel the raw emotion push to the surface as I get closer and closer to the clinic. I am going to have to say it out loud. I feel like I want to throw up. I put my sunglasses on so nobody can see my eyes. The very minute I sit down in his office (him, and I think, how can I say this to a man?) I choke on the massive wave of tears that come. I can barely speak. Sorry, I say. Sorry. I’m doing that thing where my breaths come in short gasps as I can’t properly breathe through the emotion. Sorry, again.
It’s OK, he says. He passes me the tissues but I came prepared. I manage a few words. It’s OK, he says. His empathy is genuine and he listens. Listens. The tears don’t stop though. But finally the words come. He does the questions. I am high. I ask the question I have never asked. I am surprised at how easily he gives me drugs. Maybe that’s a good thing, maybe not. I don’t know anything. My face is Botox flat but my eyes are rat shit and red. I leave with my sunglasses on and it seems strange that people are just going about their business. The pharmacy lady is loud and inquisitive and I want to tell her to just shut up and put it in a bag. I monosyllable my way through it and almost choke when I hear her ask if I have any fun plans for the weekend. What? Then I realise she is talking to someone else.
Then I am finished. There is nowhere to go where someone will look after me so I go home.