A letter to my post-natal depression

I will not loose against this.

I am ashamed to see you again.

I thought we went our separate ways a long time ago.

I paid my dues, letting you taint the first 18 months of my first son’s life.

Now, here you are once again as I embark as a new mother of two.

I feared you, and what you would do to me again.

You overwhelmed me.

You consumed me.

You changed me, I didn’t recognise myself anymore.

You scared me, and from the look in his eyes of how I was acting, and what I was saying you scared my partner too.

There was so much darkness in me.

You made me resent my own children.

You made me believe I couldn’t cope, that I was a failure.

You had convinced me I was a rubbish mother.

You manipulated me, and controlled me.

I didn’t sleep because of you.

I wasn’t eating because of how you made me feel.

You made me feel like I couldn’t face anyone.

You got your way and isolated me, you had me to yourself.

You trapped me.

You made me feel like I wasn’t worthy of anyone’s love not even my own children’s.

You constructed fantasies of me leaving my family.

You put a voice in my head that they would be better off without me.

You re engaged my anxiety, I felt like I was swimming against the tide every day when I woke up.

I felt like it my fault you were here again, why couldn’t I just be a ‘normal’ mother?

You made me question everything.

There was one thing you were not counting on, and that is the fact I knew who you are, what you could do.

I knew how to beat you and I knew I could do it.

It may take a while but I will not let you win again.

There will be dark days to come, but there will be so many good days too.

You are not part of me, you are just something that has a temporary residence inside me.

You will not be there forever, you will not control me for long.

I know I am normal, and I am not alone.

I am a good mother, with or without you.

So, this letter is to say, I accept you but, you are not who I really am.

And frankly PND you are a complete b***h.

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