My apologies for the time it took me to write this part of my blog. Writing my story has been incredibly healing…except I truly struggled with today’s topic. Almost as if naked and vulnerable, I’m telling you of my madness. Yet, without my complete honesty, where is that one in a thousand woman going to get help.? How many more babies and mothers will die before the sound of stigma and silence is shattered?
Let me tell you a story:
By October of 2009 we had been living in our small apartment for about a year and had some interesting neighbors. We were delighted when two college students moved in right below us that were very kind and we became friends right away. “Marcy”, (real names not used for privacy.) was very pregnant and excited about her coming delivery. Shortly after, she had a healthy baby girl. Things went so splendidly that Marcy decided to have another one.
Chelsea looked up in surprise as the phone rang for the third time. It was late. Who would be calling her now?
“Hello?” she answered with curiosity.
“Please come down.” Marcy’s voice on the other end of the line sounded tense, panicked and lifeless all at the same time.
Chelsea didn’t ask why.
“Marcy, where are you?” The door to the downstairs apartment had been left unlocked so Chelsea let herself in. “Marcy?”
“Here.” Marcy’s usually bubbly voice spoke with an eerie flatness from the dark baby’s room.
“I’m just going to turn on this little lamp ok, love?” Chelsea could see Marcy’s silhouette swaying back and forth slowly in the rocking chair, her friend silent and staring blindly at the empty, white wall. In her arms she was holding her daughter so tightly to her chest, the baby was crying loudly in discomfort.
Now that her friend was there, the secret compulsion fell from Marcy’s lips. “I-I’ve been sitting here for hours…I-I’m going to throw her against t-the wall.” She gripped the baby tighter still. “I’ve seen mysef doing it all day.”
Chelsea approached her friend casually, and spoke softly. “Hey, why don’t I hold-“
Marcy’s arms unfolded immediately and Chelsea took the baby.
“I feel like…I need to throw her against the wall; just SMASH her.” Marcy shuddered through tears of panic.
Chelsea walked the baby around the room soothing and calming her, then looked intently at her friend. “…It’s not real, Marcy.”
The exhausted mother turned her tear-filled, bloodshot eyes away from the wall. “Please help me…”
Boy am I glad I talk a lot!
The Very. First. Night we met I told my new friend the whoooooole story of my postpartum experience, my intrusive thoughts and even the psychosis. Why? Was I out of my mind?! NO! I just talk waaaaay too much.
Some keep telling me “Maybe you shouldn’t talk about mental health so much; especially yours. It makes people uncomfortable.” But I feel it is my PURPOSE to break the silence, and I get very passionate about it and drive most people crazy- BUT!!!
Unempathetic irritation is irrelevant.
When Marcy’s horrifying, homicidal, thoughts came…she knew I would understand and she knew that I could help her because I told my story.
So what exactly is an intrusive thought?
I’m not a big fan of the horror movie genre. I’ve found that once I see something that bothers me I can’t really un-see it. The images will flash before my eyes unexpectedly and I’m forced to see like I’ve been tied to a chair, my eyes glued open, watching the same short reel of film over and over on repeat.
That’s an intrusive thought.
What’s the most petrifying thing you’ve ever heard? Is it heart stopping to imagine hearing some thing or someone, only to realize that you didn’t really actually hear anything at all; or worse yet…maybe you don’t know that it was an illusion?
Not to spoil the surprise, but as I fought my battle, deep scars were left behind. I was diagnosed with Schizoaffective disorder, Bipolar type, and a few other troublesome things. What that means is I experienced psychosis whether I was having a Bipolar episode or not….And because I didnt tell the truth about my status, I still experience psychosis years later. I’ve heard talking, screaming, crying, mumbling, my son calling my name over and over again. I’ve seen my daughter standing in my bedroom doorway drenched head to foot in blood, and I’ve heard relentless whispers tell me they’d all be better off without me.
I have had intrusive thoughts as long as I remember. I always wondered what it would be like to crack the car door and throw myself out on the interstate going 70. Or to crank the wheel to the right while I was driving past the river. I told my closest friend that I didn’t want to go anywhere high for fear I would just feel the unstoppable compulsion to jump, even if I was filled with overflowing joy. I struggled to trust my brain not to spontaneously malfunction and melt down.
Im not afraid now. I’m educated, I’m experienced and I can co-exist with my current thoughts.
But in the fall of 2006, after I started “believing” there were demons in the shadows at night watching while I would nurse Isaac, I was terrified I was becoming HER.
At that point my relationship with God felt like a bad marraige where we were both present but we werent talking to each other. However, despite the madness, paranoia and delusion I somehow still knew that the perceived demonic presence in my house wasn’t real. We were redeemed and covered by the blood of Christ. They couldn’t touch us. Why even come? The Holy Spirit was in me…and there was nothing wrong with It.
Still, I felt a sense of evil so strongly that I made my husband get up at every feeding and stand by….and I wouldn’t tell him why for over a decade. He wouldn’t have believed me if I tried.
Often, intrusive religious thoughts and beliefs become obsessions and the mother is compelled to “protect” her child from evil.
One such woman was Andrea Yates; the only other woman that I had heard of in regards to Postpartum Psychosis. All I knew of her was she was a murderer.
If only I had known more.
Some people believe that radical, charismatic evangelical, Michael Woroniecki’s influence over Andrea Yates is in part responsible for the death of her five children. Woroniecki insinuated that her “bad mothering” had made her children “un-righteous,” and that they would “burn in the fires of hell.” As a loving, protective, Christian mother, this was a terrifying prospect and delusional, intrusive psychosis told her over and over that if she killed her babies while they were still innocent, God would show mercy on their young souls and accept them into His loving arms.
So the unthinkable happened. In trying to save her precious children’s souls for eternity, she took the lives of all five of her children and immediately turned herself into the police.
It’s understandable if you struggle to wrap your head around any of this. This is a twisted house of mirrors that can truly only be understood by someone who’s experienced psychotic, paranoid delusions, obsessions and irrepressible compulsions.
It’s ironic that Andrea was found not guilty by reason of insanity in 2006. It was the very year I had Isaac and I was terrified I was going to turn into her. I didnt understand then why she did what she did…but I knew I too was going insane.
We will adapt. 