THE BLOG
03/02/2016 07:31 GMT | Updated 02/02/2017 05:12 GMT

An Open Letter From the Bathroom Floor: My Prenatal Depression Experience

I don't really think I can explain to you why I'm here...how I ended up slouched down here tonight, why I'm so upset that I keep almost throwing up from all of the gut-wrenching sobs...I'm not really sure I understand why myself.

Its 1am on a Thursday night.

I'm sitting on the cold, hard tile floor of the bathroom. My back against the door. Sobbing.

I'm 36 weeks pregnant.

My 2 year old is asleep in the room next door and my 10 month old is sleeping across the hall. I make a conscious effort to keep my sobs quiet so as not to wake them.

Today I posted on my blog a countdown of my favourite photos from last year... they showed a year full of beautiful memories, newborn cuddles, a house full of laughter and love.

This evening on Instagram I posted a photo of my babies newborn toes taken 10 months ago, and gushed a little about our impending new arrival and how excited we all are to find out if it's a boy or a girl.

To look at my digital footprint, you might think I'm one of those mums who has it all together. Who loves her life. Who always know what she's doing.

Sometimes I'm that mum.

But usually I'm not.

Tonight I'm a million miles away from that smiling mum in those photographs... tonight I'm sat here in stained pyjamas, with unwashed hair, slouched against the bathroom door... half focused on all the reasons I'm crying and half-distracted by how dirty the toilet looks and adding it to my mental never-ending checklist of things I must remember to do...

I don't really think I can explain to you why I'm here... how I ended up slouched down here tonight, why I'm so upset that I keep almost throwing up from all of the gut-wrenching sobs... I'm not really sure I understand why myself.

But I felt like it was something I should remember... something I should document... because this moment is more real than all of those pretty ones captured forever on film... this moment feels like it's going to impact me...

I know that I feel stressed out. That it all feels too much. That the realities of dealing with the end weeks of a painful pregnancy, managing two very young and active children, and working full time with no prospect of maternity leave because I'm self-employed and I just can't afford it are all becoming just too much to handle.

I know that a recent run of bad luck has got on top of me and left me feeling as though the whole world is out to get me.

I know that I'm back in that dark place again in my mind... where I feel like I'm everybodys victim, and there's nobody there to help...where the voices in my mind tell me I'm not doing enough, I'm not trying enough, nobody cares, nobody likes you... I've been to that dark place before and I know it's hard to get back out once it pulls you in.

I know that all it took tonight was a few too many tasks to complete and a few crossed words spat out in anger between my other half and I...and now here I am.

Feeling like it's falling apart around me.

Feeling like the tears will never stop coming.

Suddenly every problem seems insurmountable, and every bad thing that's happened over the last few weeks has come bubbling to the surface all at once.

I wish I could talk to somebody about it all... I wish I could ask someone for advice, for a shoulder to cry on, to lend a friendly ear... But I can't find the words.

I don't know where to turn to, who to ask... or how to say it.

Tonight I pinned as many articles about pre-natal depression and anxiety as I could find...maybe I'll read them sometime, maybe I won't... but that's not why I pinned them.

I pinned them because it's public. Because I wanted somebody to notice. Because I wanted to let somebody, anybody know that I need a little help... without having to ask.

I want somebody to ask if I'm ok.

I want somebody to notice.

I want somebody to care.

But nobody did.

People have their own lives, their own problems, their own worries... if you want help you have to ask for it....you have to talk to somebody... that's what they all say.. "Just talk to somebody"

But what when there's nobody to talk to?

What when there just isn't a "somebody" to listen?

What when the professionals who are supposed to help you don't?

When you keep being referred to mental health teams who never return your calls, when you're given a number to ring but nobody cares that your social anxieties make the simple task of calling that number too much for you to do...

What when you keep trying to tell people that you're finding it hard but nobody seems to understand how hard?

So I guess I'll just keep sitting here.

And hoping.

And waiting.

Hoping it gets better...

Hoping tomorrow feels brighter...

Hoping I can muddle through...

And waiting for the brighter days...

Waiting until it passes...

Waiting until the answers come...

Until then, I guess I'd better go and clean that toilet....

The Post "An Open Letter From The Bathroom Floor" First Appeared On SparklesandStretchmarks.com