Ok...this is the first blog I've ever done, so bare with me if you think this is just a bit of a rant for now (oh I do apologise, I should have written 'bear' with me! I've lost the ability to spell somewhere along the journey that is motherhood!
A health visitor rang me a few of weeks ago to ask me whether I was feeling alright after the birth of my daughter in March this year, coupled with the care of my rather feisty three and a half year old little girl. A visit ensued at which point I was asked to complete a questionnaire about my current mental state. (Today I am feeing rather upbeat because I am starting my blog and I have found something for 'Me' to do. Yesterday I felt incredibly down all day for some reason). Apparently I have borderline postnatal depression which didn't really suprise me, but made me question just when my depression really began as I don't believe it has reared it's ugly head since my baby was born.
For me, it started when my mum was diagnosed with bowel cancer 11 years ago. I had just left a job in Southampton at which I had been bullied profusely by my female boss which crushed every inch of self worth out of me and made me feel about two inches tall. My plan was to move to London but before I had a chance to get a job I was told that my mother had two years to live! I eventually found a couple of jobs in London, but again I worked with complete bitches that didn't really understand what I was going through.
In the meantime, I began drinking quite heavily every night and would travel 100 miles to see my family frequently at weekends (which went on until quite recently). My house became a complete pigsty and I just spent the whole time sobbing. My parents protected us from the details of the progression of my mum's cancer, so when they did tell us it had eventually spead to her brain I absolutely freaked out, pulling my hair out and shreaking like a banshee!
She died 22 months after being diagnosed, at 55 years of age and for our family it was the end of everything. Nine years later, and my father is a complete alcoholic with memory loss. He doesn't phone me, he barely even realises that my baby exists, he just doesn't care about anything in life anymore and (apparently!) he wants to join my mum.
I had a lovely job working as a Fundraiser for a charity before my kids were born, which I was forced into leaving by another enigmatic female bully boss (why do I attract them?), because she wouldn't let me work part time.
All of these things keep rearing their ugly heads in my unemployed and eratic mind. My house has continued to be full of crap since the day she was diagnosed and I think this is how my mind has become as a consequence. My desk in my last job was the same too. Sometimes I feel like I am attached to the kids by an elastic band and I would just like to run away to get free of them so that I can do something for me, to try and tidy my house and my mind up. It's as though I can't seem to move past my cluttered self, so that I can appreciate my kids more and begin to make something of myself again. I bought a bunch of gladioli the other day and I didn't even get them out of the packet. They stood on the side and went mouldy and I just watched them go bad. I have ideas, plenty of ideas, but they're stuck behind something and I wish I knew what this 'something' was?
