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Friday
Oct102008
Maybe you know this feeling
October 10, 2008
Thinking about depression, I started wondering about what I have forgotten. It's always there in my brain: I have struggled with postpartum depression with each of my babies, but then I forget what it was really like, because I have a habit of remembering the good things.
(The smell of the trees, the light through the leaves, the river talking to us night and day, not the unreliable water, the falling down buildings, the septic tanks that didn't work.)
Anyways, I dug through some of my old poems and found one that I wrote after YaYa was born. It's true as true about PPD... the love mingled with darkness. I thought I'd share it.
***
dreams
my infant daughter wakes in the still night
[it is quiet for once on the streets
outside our window.
everyone gone home
or sitting in silent stupor,
having finally run out of things to scream about.]
my infant daughter wakes and I
can tell from her thin sad cry that fear brings her out of
sleep; afraid of what shapes I can't imagine
what nightmares jostle her into wakefulness
[do you dream of being wrapped in
blankets that cannot warm you,
or maybe of being wide eyed but blind?
or do you dream of being alone
under huge pale colourless skies?]
I won't tell you what it is like to be alone,
and what nightmares are like once you have names
for them. I won't tell you of cracked houses falling
and deep sorrows revealed. dreams of betrayal and
adultery, even death. all the nameless unsayable fears that are
haunting in the night, that wake you up crying,
with a taste like vinegar in your mouth.
[when you have bad dreams I pick you up and
sing the fear into yesterday. I look down into your eyes
and wait for sleep to carry you back smiling.]
where is the calm for my dreams, both waking and asleep?
who will send the tornadoes into oblivion,
calm the monstrous tigers with gaping mouths?
windows with no glass, roaring wind enters.
wounds and holes and old friends' hurt.
torn clothes, no clothes.
[I will keep you, my worst dreams are of not
having you... my haunting is what might have been
if you never had been born.]
[sometimes, though, dreams bring safety not grief
often there are warm hands for me to hold
I am not alone
and I will shrink into my blankets until sleep comes
to carry me back smiling.]
(The smell of the trees, the light through the leaves, the river talking to us night and day, not the unreliable water, the falling down buildings, the septic tanks that didn't work.)
Anyways, I dug through some of my old poems and found one that I wrote after YaYa was born. It's true as true about PPD... the love mingled with darkness. I thought I'd share it.
***
dreams
my infant daughter wakes in the still night
[it is quiet for once on the streets
outside our window.
everyone gone home
or sitting in silent stupor,
having finally run out of things to scream about.]
my infant daughter wakes and I
can tell from her thin sad cry that fear brings her out of
sleep; afraid of what shapes I can't imagine
what nightmares jostle her into wakefulness
[do you dream of being wrapped in
blankets that cannot warm you,
or maybe of being wide eyed but blind?
or do you dream of being alone
under huge pale colourless skies?]
I won't tell you what it is like to be alone,
and what nightmares are like once you have names
for them. I won't tell you of cracked houses falling
and deep sorrows revealed. dreams of betrayal and
adultery, even death. all the nameless unsayable fears that are
haunting in the night, that wake you up crying,
with a taste like vinegar in your mouth.
[when you have bad dreams I pick you up and
sing the fear into yesterday. I look down into your eyes
and wait for sleep to carry you back smiling.]
where is the calm for my dreams, both waking and asleep?
who will send the tornadoes into oblivion,
calm the monstrous tigers with gaping mouths?
windows with no glass, roaring wind enters.
wounds and holes and old friends' hurt.
torn clothes, no clothes.
[I will keep you, my worst dreams are of not
having you... my haunting is what might have been
if you never had been born.]
[sometimes, though, dreams bring safety not grief
often there are warm hands for me to hold
I am not alone
and I will shrink into my blankets until sleep comes
to carry me back smiling.]
in Poems
Poems 
Reader Comments (9)
Painful, beautiful and true.
I struggled with PPD after my daughter was born. I feel like I missed her whole first year, and it breaks my heart.
Soothing vibes to you, Rae.
Wow! I don't remember my thoughts during PPD but I do remember having it!
you are so gifted, mama!
Hey - I do hope you are feeling more like yourself soon...
Life is a thick mixture of love and darkness isn't it? We all swim around in it, sometimes lifted up by the love, sometimes we get sucked down by the darkness. The darkness has only a short number of days though and eventually we will be swept away forever on the current of love.
Yes, I know that feeling well. Had it for 18 months after my first was born. I haven't had it with my second (he's 6 months), and I can't believe the difference. Even though I have more to do, it seems infinitely easier. I can push through tiredness, but I couldn't push through depression. Take care of yourself, and even more than that, let others take care of you. There is no shame in that. You deserve it.
What blackbird said.
I had PPD with both of my kids although worse with #1, so I can relate with your well spoken words. It truly is love mixed with fear and anxiety, and thankfully the fear and anxiety don't last too long. Try to get some time to yourself, (easier said than done with a little one!) My dr. recommended fish oil which helped and is good for babie's brain development. Prayers are coming your way!
Thank you for sharing your PPD experience through your poetry. Beautiful.