#i’m winning the idgaf war sorry this isn’t about him it’s about ME. and MY needs

[starscelly]

miro has a [giggles in finnish] mode and i think we need to force him into more english interviews to see if it exists when he’s not speaking his first language

[sabsayspeacelovebullshit]

You Down With PPD - Ya You Know Me

Who's down with PPD? Every last mommayyyyy! PPD or PPA, also known as postpartum depression and postpartum anxiety with a side of IDGAF, and a bunch of other acronyms used in the mom world. Apparently our exhaustion has taken away our ability to actually spell things out, amongst other things. Idk.

The moral of this sob story is just that, fucking sobbing. All the time. For no reason. Or wait. There is a reason. Postpartum depression is the reason. I don't have to be Hayden Panettiere and do a People interview for you to believe that it's real. I'm here, in all of my non-celeb, maybe a little self proclaimed celeb glory, to tell you that this shit is real. As real as contractions before drugs. And it's fucking awful.

This isn't my first yee-haw at the rodeo for the anxious and depressed. I, like hundreds of others, have struggled with anxiety and depression my entire life. No, not I'm nervous and sad. More like I can't breathe can someone pass me a razor blade. With that, sometime around month three and change of knockin out this kid, I noticed the signs I hoped would never come.

To be honest, I thought PPD was something that, if it was going to happen, happened within the first few weeks, max six. Aside from being able to have sex isn't that what the six week postpartum check is for? Check for loose screws? Apparently not.

Today my little girl turned four months. She is beautiful. She is healthy. On good days, MY good days, she makes my heart full beyond measure. But not every day can be a good day. That's life, right? It's so easy to type out and even to say out loud, but in my head, in my soul, and in the core of so many other moms those bad days are dark holes that instead of even attempting to crawl out of, we'd rather just be buried.

I have everything. I have what some will spend their whole lives wishing for. I have a child. Something that some women, who so deserve the honor of being called mommy, will never have. Yet here I sit on those bad days and I hold my daughter, trying to be happy, because I SHOULD be, but all I can do is cry. I wake up countless times unable to breathe because something terrible is bound to happen to my baby. There are nights I lay next to my husband and wish I was just alone. I love him endlessly, but those bad days take that away from me.

Depression takes everything away from you. Anxiety makes you fucking batty over it all. It's a balancing act setting you up for failure the moment you wake up. But, contrary to what some (ignorant AF) people may think, we are not crazy. We're not unappreciative. We're not miserable. We're not bad moms or wives, children, or siblings. We're sick.

I've been blessed to drive the crazy train my whole life so when that moment, those thoughts, hit me like a ton of bricks, I knew what to do, who to call, and more importantly the pills to take. Sometimes all you need is Zoloft, a benzo, and a puppy. The point is, don't wait. As moms we're going a million miles a minute and instead of investing the slightest bit of time in ourselves we just think hey, maybe feeling this way is normal. Well it's not. So if you're reading this, and you think you might feel a little more than just sad, make the call.

To those reading that are stuck between I love you but I don't know what to do, please be patient. The battle is exhausting and we're sorry you're caught in the crossfire, but don't be mistaken, we will win this war. Mommies are warriors. Some have the stripes to prove it #PalmersCocoButterLies

On that note, I'm going to take my pills and google quotes about darkness. Here's to hoping we get some sleep tonight.

Xox. PLB.