Tumbling down.


I’m crashing again; All impending doom and all that nonsense.

Depression is growing and settling down inside me again, and there seems to be nothing I can do to stop it.

I feel alone, there’s no room for me or my issues right now. Not that there ever were.

Someone always has a bigger issue going on, or they simply just can’t be arsed to lend an ear, to give up a little time, to give back to someone who’s already given up so much for them. It’s just too much to ask for.  Taking is easy, but giving seems to be damn near impossible.

I have a lot I want and need to say, but I can’t get it out. The words seem to simply escape me, they disappear at the tip of my tongue. Or I simply don’t have someone willing or able to lend an ear.

I cry a lot; And I almost cry a lot.

Everything seems to be too much for me to handle for the time being, I feel to fragile. I don’t know how to proceed from here. How do I get out of it?

I want to be happy, to put all of this behind me, but I still haven’t figured out how.

A flash of a memory appeared, but I’m at loss as to how to interpret it. Is it real? Did it really happen?

It’s quite traumatic to say the least. It’s left me feeling lost and raw.

And the worst part? I’ll most likely never know if there’s any truth behind the ‘memory’.

I can’t confront the person about it, not without any proper indications that it actually did happen.  It’s scary.

I try my best not to dwell on it too much, but I can tell from the effects on my body, that its running amok in my subconscious, ripping and tearing things up, causing pure havoc and uproar inside me. I don’t know how to handle all this.

 

Full force.


I don’t know what to do.

My anxiety’s back, and it won’t let go.

And the worst part ? I have no one.

I feel so goddamn alone.

I’m not allowed to break, but I can’t stop it.

My family crumbles when I just as much as trip. And it’s hard because I can’t always be fine; I can’t always be strong.

I need you to be strong for me. 

Because right now I can’t.

I need your strong shoulders to hold everything up. 

Not for long, just long enough for me to breathe and pick myself up.

You’ve made it clear that you won’t do it.

You can’t do it.

Because when I break, you break.

I want so badly to get what I give you, in return. But no one is ever willing to give. All they do is take.

And it’s so. Fucking. Exhausting 

(Almost) December blues


It’s been quite a while since anything has been posted here, and right now, today, I felt the need to change that. I need to put my thoughts into words, sort things out, once more.

It’s almost eight months since we moved out; me and my little family. My fiancé, me and my son, who’s almost 1 1/2 years old.

It’s been hard, moving out I mean, a shit load of ups and downs. But we made it through.

I really don’t like this time of year, it reminds me of what I don’t have (Or should I say who?), what I never really had, and most likely will never have.  A proper loving family.

Christmas time is supposed to be about just that, family & loved ones.
And I hate that, so much. It’s as painful as it’s depressing. It really pulls me down.

And here I thought I was doing so well.

My anxiety diagnosis has been removed, my depression has been put in remission, and I’m almost psychosis symptom free.  And that’s a good thing, right?

But what I’m left with is this, what’s normal? Is what I’m feeling “normal”? Is this something someone else in this situation would feel?
I’ve never been in this place mentally before, don’t know what to expect.
Sure it’s a lot easier being alive, not so painful. But that doesn’t mean that it’s not tough.

I can’t really gather my thoughts lately, everything’s a mess up there. But I guess that’s understandable, considering the predicament this season has brought me yet again(?)

So I’m just going to leave it like this, for now.

 

Ny plass. Ny hverdag.


Før første gang noen sinne, bor jeg og familien i en egen leilighet. Bare oss tre.

Det er godt, men merkelig(?) Plutselig har du så mye mer ansvar, noe jeg liker godt, men ikke det jeg er vandt til.

B har vært syk stakkars, og det tar på; både for han og for meg. Mye søvnløshet og “nye” bekymringer kommer opp. Den gode gamle skyldfølelsen melder seg. Er jeg en dårlig mamma fordi at jeg lar han ligge i sin egen seng, på eget rom på natta når han er syk?

(Han ligger nå inne i sin egen seng på vårt rom.)

Alt er ganske så kaotisk, inni hodet mitt, og leiligheten. Vet ikke helt hvor jeg skal plassere alt, på begge plasser.

Mye unødvendige bekymringer over alt, om alt. Blir liksom aldri kvitt noe av det.

thumb_COLOURBOX4014038

Kjennes som om jeg blir kvalt noen ganger. Spesielt nå for tiden, ingenting gir mening. Vet ikke hva jeg skal gjøre stort sett. Med noe som helst.

Ingenting blir bra nok.

Depresjonen som snakker, det ser jeg nå. Når alt står svart på hvitt. Men det er vanskelig og se når du står midt oppi alt sammen. Legger stort sett ikke merke til det heller.

Skulle ønske jeg visste hvordan det var og ikke være psyk (Les: Psykisk syk), hvordan hadde hverdagen min vært da mon tro?

Ville jeg sett annerledes ut? Ville jeg ha bodd her da? Hatt en nydelig sønn, og vært forlovet?

Kanskje det, men kanskje ikke.

Når du har kjent på alt dette så lenge du kan huske, så vet du liksom ikke hvordan det er eller var og ikke føle det sånn.

Føler meg litt som en blindvei noen ganger, behandlere, psykologer, ingen klarer helt og finne ut av hva som egentlig foregår i hodet mitt. De går bare den samme runddansen om om om igjen; og igjen og igjen brytes tilliten som sakte men sikkert hadde bygget seg opp imellom oss.

Tillit. Det er vanskelig det. Hvordan vet du sånn egentlig at du kan stole på noen? Hva er tillit?

Jeg har vel aldri stolt fullt og helt på noen, noen gang. Jeg trenger noen til og gi meg definisjonen på dette, og hvordan det fungerer. Kun da kan jeg på en måte forstå hva det vil si og stole på noen. I teorien i vertfall.

I praksis blir det noe helt annet.

Alt er så rotete, og jeg har ikke energien til og få system på det. Jeg orker bare ikke.

Jeg tror jeg er midt i, eller på vei inn i en dårlig periode. Eller kanskje ikke. Jeg vet jo aldri. Kanskje er det bare tankesettet jeg sitter fast i akkurat nå. Det kan være alt mulig.

Kanskje er det bare en unnskyldning jeg gir meg selv for å slippe og innse realiteten av alt?

Jeg er aggressiv og defensiv i ett øyeblikk, og rolig og avbalansert i det neste. Et vandrende følelseskaos. Det har jeg alltid vært, men kommer det alltid til og være sånn?

Jeg både håper at det vil endre seg, men samtidig ikke. Dette er noe jeg kjenner, dette er meg(?), hvem vil jeg da være uten alt dette kaoset?

Selv utseendet mitt føler jeg er kaotisk.  Men det blir vel gjerne sånn når deler av kroppen din er dekket av selvforskyldte arr?

Når arrene mine blir ett samtale evne, blir det ofte få og fåmælte ord. Jeg vet aldri helt hva jeg skal si. Føler meg kanskje litt truffet?

Jeg skulle ønske jeg var modig nok til å bare gå med korte ermer, og bare gi F i hva andre synes og mener. Men uheldigvis for meg, så er det ikke sånn.  Jeg føler meg utsatt, som at alt og alle stirrer på meg.  Som om arrene mine lyser.

Jeg vet godt at det egentlig ikke er tilfelle, men klarer det likevel ikke.

Frem og tilbake

Frem og tilbake

 

 

 

 

Never good enough


No matter what I say, how much I share, how much I try to help.

Its just never enough. Doesnt even get recognized as an attempt even.

I dont know how much longer he can expect me to do this.

I’m close to having had enough. I just want to get out of here. To be just me for a while.

Somewhere I dont have to worry about wether I’m good enough or not. If I talk, It’ll be ok, and if I don’t, thats perfectly fine too.

The saying ´treat other people the way you want to be treated´ is shit, because no one will ever put in the slightest of effort unless they gain something from it. Selflessness is rare nowadays.  So is genuinly caring as well.

Post partrum depression. There, I said it.

I’ve been like this for 11 months.

Depressed. Angry. Sad. Numb. All at once, every day.

How much longer am I supposed to deal with this alone?

I tried asking for help. Again and again. All I get in return is anger and frustration. And guilt.

So what’s the point??

I’m not good enough when I’m me. I’m not good enough when I’m talking, crying, screaming. What do they want??

I can’t take this for much longer..

Ett liv uten skyldfølelse?


Jeg husker ikke sist jeg ikke følte skyld for noe, eller ikke noe i det hele tatt. Skyldfølelsen er konstant, henger som en sky over meg; prøver og svelge meg hel.

Om det faktisk er slik, vet jeg ikke. Det føles i vert fall sånn.

Skyld. Sinne. Deprimert. Desperasjon. Tårer

Det er sånn livet mitt er nå. Med unntak av små glimt av glede i blandt.

Jeg føler bare at ingen vil forstå, ikke kan de forstå heller.

Jeg klarer ikke snakke om det heller. Ingen har virkelig tid til og lytte. Alt annet er liksom så mye viktigere.

Men jeg forstår det, og det er jo helt greit? Bare veldig ensomt til tider. Så ufattelig ensomt.

Medisiner snakkes det om. Behandling. Diagnoser. Men hvor havner jeg inni alt dette?

Svangerskaps og fødselsdepresjon.

Det er skummelt det.

Men det som er enda skumlere? Ingen har merket noe enda, ikke etter 11 måneder.

For hver dag som går, blir det vanskeligere og snakke om. Jeg prøver, tro meg jeg prøver. Men ingen har jo tid til og faktisk høre etter! Hva gjør man da?

Jeg er så sinnsykt uttav meg.

Jeg har dager hvor ting går greit, eller ganske OK. Andre dager (Les: Fleste) vil jeg bare bort. Bare være meg en stund.

For jeg er jo den eneste som vet hva jeg trenger? Jeg er den eneste som “ser” meg?

Livet er så utrolig vanskelig, men hva kan jeg egentlig gjøre med det?

Ingen spør, og jeg kan ikke si noe om det. Ordene setter seg fast i halsen.

Jeg skulle ønske ordene satt like løst som tårene. Kanskje alt hadde vært over da?

Prøver jeg og be om hjelp, møter jeg bare sinne og frustrasjon. Hva er vitsen med hjelp da? Hvis det kun gjør vondt verre mener jeg?

Det gjør så innmari vondt inni meg.

Jeg er deprimert, sint, trist, og likegyldig på en gang.

Vil det noen gang ta slutt?

Usynelig, det er sånn jeg føler meg.

 

Mental block, and a beautiful baby boy.


Every time I try to tell him how I feel, my mind goes blank. Every time I try to write, the sentence disappears. I even struggled writing these two.

On January 19th this year, I found out that I was pregnant. I was speechless to say the least.

As time went by, I didn’t fully relalize that I was in fact carrying a child. It never actually hit me. And then he arrived, almost two months early. Seven and a half weeks to be exact.

32 + 5,  2,410grams and 43 cm long. My own beautiful baby boy. Benjamin Illias.

Here’s how it went down;

I had had pretty painful aches around my lower back, hips, and in the front. Kind of like a belt; every night for three days.  The pains always went away, so I never thought anything of them.

On the fourth night I heard a pop from inside me, and something splashing. I went to lie down, very confused. Then my water fully broke, a wave splashed out, again and again. I panicked and called the hospital. They sent an ambulance to come pick me up, and I was strictly ordered to lay still until they got there. My little boy was sitting in my pelvis instead of being head down, like they’re supposed to be. I had to lie still so that the umbilical cord wouldn’t get cut off, and stop my baby’s oxygen supply.

I arrived at the hospital, quite clearly soaking. They brought me in and started an IV drip, antibiotics, and then something to try to stop my contractions.  My mum, my mother in law and my boyfriend were all there. They took some tests, and then brought me into another room, they had to check how much water my baby had left, and if he was still with his butt downwards. Needless to say, he was.  He was still doing great, so they put me back into the room and told me to get some rest. They hooked me up to a machine that measures contractions, and baby’s heartbeat, and gave me some more IV fluids.

My boyfriend also got a bed brought it, so I wouldn’t be alone. Our mothers went home, being told it wasn’t likely that anything would happen that night. Or so they thought.

My contractions kept getting stronger, so I pulled the cord to call the midwife into my room. She then proceeded to measure how dilated I was. 5cm. Halfway there.

That’s when people started running around. I was told I was going to have a cesarean section within the hour. Needless to say I panicked. I was told that it had to go that way because my baby boy’s head was broader than his butt at this point. Nothing abnormal, but would put too much strain on him if I were to deliver him vaginally.

They prepped what they could and rolled me in, leaving my boyfriend to put on the clothes needed, and me to get my spine sedated. When they were done, I was numb from the top of my chest, down to my toes.  Still slightly panicky.  But It would’ve been so much worse if I hadn’t had my midwife there. She was such great support, but sadly she couldn’t stay. She had to leave the room to prepare for my baby boy.

According to my boyfriend, it took 10 minutes for them to open me up, 7 layers or tissue, and take him out. But he didn’t cry, he only grunted ,like he was annoyed, and then looked at me. I shed a few tears, and then they took him out of the room. He was born 1st of August, 05:52 am

I was struggling not to fall asleep. It took another 45 minutes to close me up.  And I managed to blurt out; Are you done yet?!  Needless to say I got a few chuckles out of that one.

I was exhausted, and needed sleep after being awake for 24 hours.

After everything was closed up, they rolled me up into another ward. I was told that I would have to stay there until I had regained feeling in my feet.  I wanted to see my baby. My beautiful Benjamin Illias.  My boyfriend was there, and helped me put my piercings in, gave me something to drink and salty crackers. I was starving. After that I drifted in and out of sleep.

I barely remember them rolling me up to my room.

I asked the nurses to roll me down to the ward he was in, so that I could meet him, and hold him.  I don’t remember holding him for the first time, all I have is pictures of me being exhausted, and him full of tubes over his little tiny face.

11796221_10153105468284779_8004783069548709607_n

We spent the next month in the hospital. Giving him baths, feeding him though his feeding tube, cuddling with him, bottle feeding him, attempting to breastfeed, changing nappys and just bonding with him. It was a long month.

And then we got to go home!

The first night was terrifying, but me somehow made it through. We were suddenly on our own, no nurses just around the corner. Just us.

The time at the hospital wasn’t just a dance on roses, I was depressed, confused, angry, and oh so guilty, for every single thing. There were breakdowns, a tonne of them. And a few thousand tears. I barely ate. I was unable to bond with him, and it tore me to pieces.

That state lasted for about another month, still not completely out of it, but I’m managing. Now I love that little boy more than anything, he’s my little ball of joy. He’ll be fourteen weeks old on Saturday. Three months and one week.

I love being a mum. I finally have a purpose.

11223569_10203318256917655_2245744450705408054_o

Here he is, just a few days old. ❤