Some mornings I walk Gorby in the local woods. He loves it there, and he deserves it. A number of people (including Cheryl, Kenju, and CTG) have asked how he's doing with the babies, and the truth is, he's very insecure. He sits by them when they're downstairs, he follows them when we carry them, but he needs an awful lot of attention. We try to give it to him but it's not always easy when you have two infants to deal with. Maggie, on the other hand, is the true loser in this scenario. She hates the babies as much as she hates all other people, and she spends most of her time outside, inconsolably angry and unwilling to sit on my lap. I am not forgiven for bringing them into the house, no matter how much I try to make peace with her.

I will keep trying.

That's what I do.

These walks we take in the morning are something I have started looking forward to. Sometimes I take a Lemonhead along with me in a sling and the three of us walk through the woods, quiet in our activities. Sometimes I take Gorby alone.

We walk until I get tired and light-headed, then we go back.

Autumn has hit the woods hard and on any given morning you can stand beneath a tree and let the shower of falling leaves hit your head and shoulders. I wear gloves and a scarf because the nip in the air takes me by surprise. Gorby runs on the path, his breath sometimes visible in the early morning air.

I take these moments of peace as they come, not because of the hecticness that comes with babies because, believe it or not, I love every goddamn minute of it. I love the baths and the feedings and the diapers and the burpings. The babies are even sleeping through the night most nights, it's not as though I'm as endlessly tired as I was. I take the moments of peace because I need them and cling desperately to them.

The health visitor came and went, and I didn't mention the darkness that sometimes creeps up on me.

I think I need to, because it's getting harder and harder.

I will keep trying.

It's what I do.

The truth is I swing up and down, often wildly. I can go from depression so dark I just want to go to bed and not come back out again. I can get tired just thinking about even showering, it's as though the effort of getting wet will sap me of whatever spare thoughts I have left. Then I rebound and go nearly manic, cleaning and feeding and baking (baking, I can't believe I've been baking) and doing things. I can't sit still. I can't think straight. I don't suffer from manic depression but borderline personality disorder, which I do have, has many of the same symptoms.

I have been taking the herbal tranquilizers.

Most of the time, they work.

I don't think it's postpartum depression.

I think it's just regular, good old-fashioned depression.

I'm not a danger to myself or to the babies or, in fact, to anyone around me. But I am pulling back inside my head. Angus is struggling even more than I am, he swings from enjoying the babies immensely and laughing with them to feeling trapped and though his life is over. I love him madly. I worry - is his life over? Is mine? Are we trapped, or are we really more free than ever? Will I fuck up these babies' lives and ruin them, like I was ruined?

I wish we could help each other, but we just don't seem to be able to-working things out is one of our strengths, I don't want to lose it.

I will keep trying.

It's what I do.

And I will take walks and I will love my life and I will talk to the Health Visitor next week when she comes because I owe it to everyone in my life to do so.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 01:02 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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