Mariposa's broken wings...
Mariposa's broken wings...
How come when I wrote that title, that old corny song from the 80's popped into my head?
Know what's scarier? If it were the 80's, I would probably relate to that song and play it over and over again, crying.
Funny thought, huh? Me, big poufy hair, covered in White Rain hairspray, with drips of mascara running down my face. " ... learn to fly again, learn to live soooo freeeeeeeeee!"
What is not funny is what I experienced about two weeks ago. I had the meltdown of all meltdowns. The PPD (Post Partum Depression) had come back with a vengence, and it took me at a weakened point.
It scared me so much, I sought help. In fact, it scared everyone around me so much, they wanted me to get help. Making a call to my doctor and the nurse at the hospital was kind of hard for me. I felt weak. But, I knew if I didn't do something, that I would never feel well.
That's how scary it was. I felt like if I didn't do something, I would never feel well.
I called, and soon was put back onto meds. I felt kind of defeated at first. Thinking "you are weak, you were supposed to fight the monster, you let the monster consume you..." I soon realized, that I was not defeated, but was actually beating that monster the best way I could ever beat that monster. And that is by getting help.
I come from a long line of denial queens. My grandmother, as we all know, is cracked in her own special way. My mother had dealt with depression herself, but never sought help. Women before the women of today, were taught to act like their souls were made of iron, and were not welcome to sob and show their true emotions.
So, from that alone, I wasn't batting a thousand in the upstairs department. Mama and Abuelita sometimes would sit in their dark rooms and suffer silently.
I didn't learn about this until after I had children.
Still, though, I can't stop joking about it. I try to find humor to help myself accept it. That's what I do. I put on my jester hat.
I couldn't find joy in anything. Not even in my writing. And that is why I put Mr. Napoleon Dynamite on the front page and took a little hiatus.
I feel better. Not 100%, but on the road back to wellness.
Soon, this Mariposa's wings will learn to fly again, and learn to live so free. Without poufy bangs and White Rain hairspray, and without mascara running down her cheeks.
How come when I wrote that title, that old corny song from the 80's popped into my head?
Know what's scarier? If it were the 80's, I would probably relate to that song and play it over and over again, crying.
Funny thought, huh? Me, big poufy hair, covered in White Rain hairspray, with drips of mascara running down my face. " ... learn to fly again, learn to live soooo freeeeeeeeee!"
What is not funny is what I experienced about two weeks ago. I had the meltdown of all meltdowns. The PPD (Post Partum Depression) had come back with a vengence, and it took me at a weakened point.
It scared me so much, I sought help. In fact, it scared everyone around me so much, they wanted me to get help. Making a call to my doctor and the nurse at the hospital was kind of hard for me. I felt weak. But, I knew if I didn't do something, that I would never feel well.
That's how scary it was. I felt like if I didn't do something, I would never feel well.
I called, and soon was put back onto meds. I felt kind of defeated at first. Thinking "you are weak, you were supposed to fight the monster, you let the monster consume you..." I soon realized, that I was not defeated, but was actually beating that monster the best way I could ever beat that monster. And that is by getting help.
I come from a long line of denial queens. My grandmother, as we all know, is cracked in her own special way. My mother had dealt with depression herself, but never sought help. Women before the women of today, were taught to act like their souls were made of iron, and were not welcome to sob and show their true emotions.
So, from that alone, I wasn't batting a thousand in the upstairs department. Mama and Abuelita sometimes would sit in their dark rooms and suffer silently.
I didn't learn about this until after I had children.
Still, though, I can't stop joking about it. I try to find humor to help myself accept it. That's what I do. I put on my jester hat.
I couldn't find joy in anything. Not even in my writing. And that is why I put Mr. Napoleon Dynamite on the front page and took a little hiatus.
I feel better. Not 100%, but on the road back to wellness.
Soon, this Mariposa's wings will learn to fly again, and learn to live so free. Without poufy bangs and White Rain hairspray, and without mascara running down her cheeks.
posted by Mari at
10:33 PM
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