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Coming Out of the Postpartum Depression Cloud

Surviving Postpartum Depression

A few days after Christmas, my husband’s friend came to visit.

I couldn’t pull myself out of the bedroom to say hello. I couldn’t stop crying.

I didn’t know what was wrong. I was just having a rough day.

The next day, I felt so claustrophobic I couldn’t sit in the house for another second. The walls closed in on me, I couldn’t breathe right, all I knew was that I had to leave.

I didn’t know where. I didn’t know why. I just had to go and no one was going to stop me.

And so I packed.

I couldn’t leave my baby who I was nursing, so I packed up his things, too—his bassinet, his clothes, his blankets and diapers—and I loaded up the car while my husband protested in sort of this state of disbelief and I left. I just drove off.

I sat in a parking lot a few blocks away and I cried.

Where on earth was I going? What was I doing?

I had no idea.

I was sitting near a really nice hotel where I had gotten a massage once and some manis and pedis, too, and so I called to see if they had any rooms available. Their rooms usually go for $200 or more a night. On this night, it was $99.

I’ll take it.

I made up a name to the bellboy and lied and told him I was from Georgia and was here visiting friends.

He was helping me carry my bags and my bassinet. I wondered what he would have thought if I told him the truth.

I left my house with my baby because I had to leave.

I got to the room, called my husband and told him I was nearby and I was safe, that I was just going to stay there for the night and I’d call in the morning. He still can’t believe he let me go that day, but I think I shocked the hell out of him and he didn’t know what on earth to do.

The thing is, he couldn’t have stopped me from leaving. No one could have.

As my partner in life, he had almost no control over the situation. I was gone with the baby and that was all he knew. I didn’t want to tell him where because I didn’t want him to come get me.

As much as I loved him and we were doing fine as a couple, I just needed to not be near anyone. Except my baby.

I ordered a steak and fries. I ordered Dream Girls. I loved Jennifer Hudson in it. I fell asleep.

The baby woke up every two hours and I nursed and fell back to sleep in between in my huge bed with very comfortable pillows and white sheets and the tray with my leftover steak on it near the foot of the bed.

I woke up in the morning feeling as tired and as claustrophobic as I did at home and decided if I was going to feel claustrophobic, it would be better to feel that way in my own home surrounded by people who love me rather than somewhere strange. I decided that fleeing didn’t work.

I made it back. My husband still didn’t know what to think. I try to put myself in his shoes even now—that must have been torture for him.

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