I used to have a brain. Well, to be perfectly honest, I still DO have one, it's just not functioning the same way it used to.
I told a friend recently about this analogy I've come with about my mind. It goes like this:
And yet at the same time, I'm trekking through a mist of darkness. It's like my mind is drudging through a murky bog just to get up, move, do the things that need doing, and have the stamina to do it.
You know the part in The Two Towers when Frodo says to Sam: You and I, Sam, are still stuck in the worst places of the story, and it is all too likely that some will say at this point: "Shut the book now, dad; we don't want to read any more."
I'm in that part of my story. And like Frodo and Sam, I'm going to keep walking. I sometimes want to stop reading the book, too. But I can't. I have to keep walking.
And deep down, I believe the white shores are calling. That's where I'm headed in the end.
I told a friend recently about this analogy I've come with about my mind. It goes like this:
Let's say I was an athlete, a soccer player perhaps, and really in shape and working out all the time at soccer practice. Then one day I injure myself. Maybe blow out my knee during a game. Now I can't even do many of the things people just normally do because my knee just hurts too bad, let alone do many of the things I did as a great athlete. My knee needs rest, physical therapy, maybe some pain meds, all in a long slow effort at recovery.
PPD is like this for me. Except instead of my knee, it's like my mind is damaged. Things I used to be able to do, mental/emotional stamina I used to have is gone. I try to do the things I used to do, and so quickly, I'm in pain. But not physical pain, emotional pain that manifests itself as frustration, irritability, discouragement, anxiety, sadness, overwhelming-ness, etc.There's so much beauty in the world around me. Smiling, chubby-cheeked baby, giggling toddlers, snuggling children, laughing with my best friend. And sometimes it bowls me over with how wonderful life is.
And yet at the same time, I'm trekking through a mist of darkness. It's like my mind is drudging through a murky bog just to get up, move, do the things that need doing, and have the stamina to do it.
You know the part in The Two Towers when Frodo says to Sam: You and I, Sam, are still stuck in the worst places of the story, and it is all too likely that some will say at this point: "Shut the book now, dad; we don't want to read any more."
I'm in that part of my story. And like Frodo and Sam, I'm going to keep walking. I sometimes want to stop reading the book, too. But I can't. I have to keep walking.
And deep down, I believe the white shores are calling. That's where I'm headed in the end.