PPD = pissy petulant and demented

That's me. I love the pregnancy, I love the birth, I love the baby, but this bit just plain sucks. I see that Brooke Shields has written a book about her battles with post-partum depression. Good for her, I know writing can help me air out some things and get my mind around what ails me better. And, if you're going to go through something as traumatic as PPD, you might as well feel like it was worthwhile in that maybe you can help other people get through it. But right now, having to work for a living and see my kids for only a few hours a day, I have little sympathy and lots of whinging for her. At least she gets to see her kid most of the day. Blah blah blah.

You see, PPD is insidious in that it brings out the worst in me. Which makes me even more depressed - "aren't I BETTER than this?" Which makes me even more nasty, which makes me even more self-loathing, etc. etc. etc. The familiar "viscious cycle" we can attribute to all sorts of things from sexual dysfunction to car repair.

In many ways, PPD reminds me of my pregnancy losses. So many emotions that all really boil down to, "why me?" But, I didn't lose a baby. I'm just losing myself. I wonder which is worse? How can I dare ask that question?