Depression

,Hey everyone,
Today I wanted to talk to you about depression, depression is a serious thing but nothing to be ashamed of. Everybody at some point in there life is going to have depression its what you do about it when it happens that matters.

I'm going to be really honest here and talk openly and honestly about my depression without shame because how can I say to you its nothing to be ashamed of if I am?

I have suffered with depression since my early teens, I can't tell you honestly what started it but there are a few things that I think contributed to it. I never really fitted in and was constantly fighting so that I wasn't bullied and frankly I was fed up of it. Throw in hormones and "boy troubles" and you got a mixing pot of disaster! By the time I was fifteen I was self harming.

Self harming isn't to be taken likely and I take great offense to those who do it for attention. I hid the fact I was self harming from everyone, no one knew. I did it not for attention but because I felt like that was the only way I could release the pain inside and I truly hated myself, I wanted to be anyone but me. I hid my depression a lot of people didn't know.

Then I met my husband and everything changed, he stopped me self harming and gave me the confidence in myself, I was happy. I became pregnant and was really happy about it and enjoyed my pregnancy up to thirty weeks when I went into early labour. I went to five centimeters dilated and my labour stop, I was made to stay in hospital for a month as I could have gone into labour at anytime. Being in hospital and spending a lot of time by myself as life goes on and family couldn't visit me all the time so I ended up becoming depressed. The day I was released the doctors came and visited me in the morning and I asked if I could go home, they told me I couldn't and I burst into tears spilling drivel that my buggy was being delivered and I wanted to put it up because of that they decided to let me go home later that day.

At the time I was living in a mother and baby unit which is young women either pregnant or have a child under two, who live in a shared house with a key worker coming in during the day to help them deal with life with a baby and provide help if needed. As I wasn't living with my husband and on my own the depression got worse and within a week I was back in hospital having my son. My son was born at thirty-six weeks and was given oxygen as soon as he was born, I was terrified something was wrong with him and VERY protective.

My labour was difficult and I lost a lot of blood during it, I was torn from the inside out and lost 650ml of blood and was near to a blood transfusion. I was hemorrhaging so bad that the doctor gave me three local anesthetic but couldn't wait for them to kick in so I felt every stitch. Even though I had been through that the midwifes neglected me, I was taken passed out in a wheelchair to the shower room and dumped. I passed out several times one being face down in the shower with the water running, I manged to wash and get dressed during this time and opened the door to the shower room just as I passed out. The last thing I saw was a midwife rushing towards me. I was taken back to my room but the sheets hadn't been changed since I'd given birth so refused to go back in the bed and was stuck in a chair in the room, my sister walked in to visit with me passed out in the chair and my son left in the crib next to me.

This didn't help me at all and with having to look after my son by myself with no help, I was still passing out. They wouldn't even let me sit on the bed to change my son's nappy but to stand and change him in the crib, I also had a midwife come and shout at me about giving my son a dummy as he used to comfort suck and I couldn't have him on my breast the whole time. I had a guy come to take blood to check if my blood was working up it self or if I still needed the blood transfusion, he stuck the needle in my arm then realized he had left his trolley with the things he needed at the end of the bed. He was trying to reach his trolley while still having the needle in my arm, in the end he messed up the vein so much that he had to use the other arm, this time he answered his phone while having the needle in my arm! Thankfully I didn't need the transfusion but the whole ordeal brought my mental health right down.

 The next day a midwife came to me and was trying delicately to tell me my son might have jaundice, she said to me "don't you think his a funny colour?" I bit her head off and shouted "no! there's nothing wrong with my baby his colour is fine!" In the end she had to just come out with the fact he might be jaundice, from that I looked at him and saw that he was yellow. I had to face up to the fact my son only a day old might have jaundice.

I had to take him to the children's ward where he had to have a urine and blood test, getting the urine was easy but the blood wasn't on the other hand. They eventually toke blood from both hands and feet, my son was screaming his heart out and I was taken right out of the hospital as I was distraught and wanting to (honestly) beat the crap out of them and protect my son. He didn't end up having jaundice but it made me really over protective.

I had pre and postnatal depression, I was really over protective of my son and wouldn't let anybody else have him and when he did go to someone else I just wanted to cry and have him back. I used to carry the changing bag, buggy and my son in the car seat by myself as I didn't want anybody's help. I was over protective and was over bearing, I never wanted anyone near my son not even his dad.

While I was in hospital a girl moved into the mother and baby unit and made my life hell from the very beginning, when asked she couldn't say why she hated me she just did. She tormented me on a daily basis and made me sink further and further into a deep dark hole, I had men asking me for sex, men walking into my room and her friends threatening me and even once trying to kick down my door, (thankfully it was a fire door) at three o'clock in the morning.

I was terrified to leave my room and would only go out to get things for my son, I prepared things in advance so that I would only have to leave a couple of times. Things got so bad I stopped eating, I would only eat when my husband was there, five days out of a week I wouldn't eat I lost a hell of a lot of weight. I had no support as I lived away from family and none of them drove so the only peace I had was to either go out myself or stay at my mother-in-laws.

I became friends with a girl who lived in a mother and baby unit next door and she supported and defended me against this girl but I had gone to far down this dark hole, the key worker who was supposed to support us was lazy and just wanted to have no hassle so the girl was free to abuse me.

I was even racially bullied, one of the key workers became pregnant and gave birth early, to be politically correct there needed to be one white key worker and one black. The new key worker found out the town where I came from and because she was racially abuse there in her past she labeled me a racist, because of this every time I complained about the two other girls in my house she would turn it around on me and say it was because I was racist! Sh racially bullied me saying that everything was my fault and eventually I complained and she was sacked.

Light came from a health visitor who was hired to come to unit once a week and me and my friend (the girl next door) where the only ones to see her out of six girls. At one point the key worker also came and shouted as us that we should see her as the two girls in my house (the one bullying me and the other who was cowardly and watched it and when necessary would jump in to give her an alibi) where always seeing the health visitor and me and my friend wasn't! We told the health visitor and she even said they never once visited her.

Me and my friend would sit for hours with the health visitor while our kids played who were best of friends and talk about the situation in the house, I ended up telling the health visitor that the only reason I was still alive was because of my son. She began (without me knowing) a campaign to get me out of there! She went to her boss's and told them what was going on, they arranged a meeting with the heads of the mother and baby unit and told them if they didn't give me my notice (a notice is an eviction notice and within that time the council need to find you a new home) they were taking them to court under the mental health act! They wasn't happy! I never got to thank the health visitor properly but I hope she know I'm eternally grateful. Even down to the day I was moving out the girl tried to intimated me but I was to happy and relived I was out of there, it was over or so you would think.

I was there eighteen months and eighteen months of hell doesn't just go away. Once I was in my home I stayed just in the bedroom for months until I realized it was safe and my own home to roam in. I was still not eating and I would panic every time I heard keys in the front door, I was still absolutely terrified she was still going to get me. I began to feel better when I was hit back down by the knowledge that she moved into the same town as me, I became terrified to leave my house and would have nightmares about just going into the town centre.

One day I woke up went to go to the toilet and fell out of bed, from not eating my body didn't have the strength to support me anymore I needed to change. The breakthrough came when my son started saying "mummy's sleeping she's sick" for my son's sake I needed to get a hold of myself and pull myself out the dirt. (This is why I hate it when he says it now with my condition) I roped my mum into helping me get out of the house as she's not the sort of person you can say no to! She came round and with the safety of being with my mum and my husband I left the house, I began eating (even though it did the opposite and I put on a hell of a lot of weight) and with a lot of hard work and support I have been "mentally healthy" for three years now, my son is six.

I'm telling you this because I'm not ashamed and I think it takes a hell of a lot of inner strength to pull your self out of a deep dark hole where the world seems so bleak its not worth living in. I see the girl from time to time and she still tries to intimidate me but I just laugh at her not saying that a strong sense of panic doesn't rises up in me and I just want to roll in a ball but another part of me knows I'm stronger then that and that's were the laugh comes from, I fought my fear and won!

People have tired to push me back down since but I have fought back and refuse to go back there!

If your in this black hole or find yourself in one then remember to not be ashamed reach out to someone and know that most people have been through depression or know someone who has and you are a strong person it just means you can't carry all the worlds burdens on our shoulders, you need help.

And to the neurologist who has used my postnatal depression against me, I say I'm not ashamed and I'm such a strong person that I pulled myself out of that hole with just myself and the support of my husband so I won't be pushed around by you or belittled for it!

Thank you for reading xxxx