This time last year I was in the depths of my descent into crazy. (Quick note: I call it crazy because it's my crazy. I wouldn't use that word to describe the struggle of anyone but my own. It was recently brought to my attention that using the word crazy can be perceived as insensitive and uncaring. Which, uhh, fuck that. It's my crazy and I'll call it crazy if I damn well please. End rant.)
Last year I was spending a lot of time crying. I spent days refusing to leave my bedroom. I imagined horrifying situations involving Grady hundreds of times a day. I spoke shrilly and quickly, and my mind was even more shrill and quick. I snapped at Shawn every day. I frothed at the mouth at the slightest (mainly imagined) provocation. I felt despair - heart-wrenching, spine-chilling, breath-stopping despair. Every day. I thought it would never end.
And then I got help. Things got better. Slowly. Painfully. But progressively better.
It was a gradual thing for me, my ascent out of crazy. I didn't decide to get help and instantly feel better. My happy crept up on me.
I don't know if it's the seasons changing or Grady turning one (or the blue moon or or etc) but I've been thinking a lot about my experience with ppbs ("postpartum bullshit" encompasses the postpartum depression, anxiety, and ocd that I experienced and is much faster to type out and can be perceived as insensitive and uncaring.)
A couple of months ago when Grady got sick, I held it together. I spoke to doctors and specialists and I held my screaming child down multiple times while blood was taken. I was functional and present and efficient. Until we were transferred from one hospital to another because the hospital closest to us wasn't equipped to deal with Grady's illness. I spent the entire ride between hospitals chanting "no" with every breath, my thoughts racing, my breath increasing until it wasn't "no" anymore but "nonononono."
Later, when Grady was better, when I could think in more than monosyllables, I realized how my new normal didn't involve being constantly distraught. It's a bit silly that it took me so long to realize that I wasn't crazy anymore but it did. I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to say this again but I'm happy.
Tired as shit but happy.