It Wasn't Me

For the past two months, I have been suffering what I self-diagnosed as partum depression.  Of course, when I mentioned my concern to my doctor, she asked me if I had any suicidal thoughts and when I replied, "No," she said, "Well, it's not really a great surprise that you feel down.  You're throwing up and tired and have all sorts of hormones running through you."  Lucky for her, my feelings of contempt towards others has been somewhat universal and there isn't enough spare spite to hold a very strong grudge towards her professional blow-off.

While it's true that I never wanted to "do myself in," I have felt like an alien was controlling my thoughts and feelings.  It wasn't me at all.  The world at large and people in particular overwhelmed and annoyed me.  The simplest stresses became major irritants.  I could fake normality for a few hours if I had to but those close to me usually paid the price later in the evening with some major moodiness and emotional withdrawal.

I tried perspective.  In truth, I have been an anti-Job.  Job, who intellectually must have known his right to complain and curse his fate, spiritually couldn't leave the God he loved.  Me?  Intellectually, I know every single reason to be grateful, happy, at peace with what is happening to my body but spiritually, I have had some rather murmurous moments and hope Heavenly Father will forgive my rather biting thoughts towards Him and how I'd have arranged to bring about the human race in an altogether less obnoxious way.

I use the past tense because for the past few days, I feel more and more confident that I am shedding this alien skin and replacing it with my own.  I feel more like....me.  And I like me!!!

I have been blessed and exhausted with both a trip and company for the last three weeks and I'm sure all of that forced socialization and out-of-my-cave excursions have helped my mental state.  I'll report on all of that soon, I promise (mom).  

There have been many, many times when I have wished to be the type of person who can be gracious in the midst of trials.  These past months have only been the latest in my own history that prove that I have a lot yet to learn about the "Be still and know that I am God," counsel.  Is it wrong of me to blame the hormones?  Is that part of me still me?  I can't help but wonder if my meltdown is just a preview of things to come.  Will I be maniacal in menopause.  Or, when I'm old and perhaps ill or stiff or lonely or forgetful, will not feeling like "me" turn me into a crotchety crank?   Am I really responsible for all of my bad behavior?

For what it's worth, I appreciate the notes, texts, emails and calls to check in on me.  I felt the baby move for the first time last night and had what I think is the first non-forced positive thought towards this pregnancy since it began.  I'm not sure why feeling what is akin to a bag of microwave popcorn going off in my stomach should bring peace and joy to my troubled mind, but it did.  And at sixteen weeks, I am more than ready for a change of heart.