Welcome Tamara

Welcome, Tamara
A guest post by the sweet  #ppdchat mama we know and love as @twilighttamara
(Please join us and the rest of the #ppdchat friends for the best twitterchat ever!
Every Monday at 1:00pm and 8:30pm EST.)
Now I’ll give Tamara the mike:

In the deep, dark, dismal blankness that is her mind, She searched for something that made sense. Like a poet trying to find a rhyme, or a hunter searching frantically for his life-sustaining prey. To make sense of the rubble, to make sense of the barraging piles of information. Sources untold, sources known. Never ending, constantly raining down with the fury of the author’s passion in regards to whatever the subject may be. She did not blame them for seeking to share their stories. She did not hate them for confusing her so. She merely searched frantically for a way to envision her life, and her babies life, without their idea’s and their opinions weighing so heavily on her mind.

Truly, they did not know the chaos they invoked on her when they passed on years of experience, or years of read knowledge. They did not know, the little comments which dug at her already self-conceived notions of her own downfalls, hammered like steel nails into her thoughts. Never being removed; and with each nail, room for her own ideas, forced out of her head and lost in the mess. The mess that no longer seemed to make any sense. A never ending chasm of once treasured logic, and common-sense, which had befallen in the giant earthquake that had rocked her mind.

Wading through a pool of self-doubt and hormone induced rage; fighting to hold on to the things she believed in. Fighting to hold on to the morals she knew, and to instill the beliefs that she felt necessary. Constantly fighting to be heard, to be understood, to be respected. Not because she deserved the respect, but because she needed it. Needed to feel the confidence, needed to feel the strength, needed to feel the right to make those decisions on her own. Needed to feel like this was hers. Not yours, not theirs, not his…but hers. A never ending battle to gain back the control that should never have left her power in the first place.

He does not know how to fight for her. He does not know how to understand what she’s saying, when she do not understand it herself. One would not blame him, only pity him, as he tries to sort through the tears, the pain, and the never ending need to carry her, when she should have been carrying herself. Is this what he deserved for pledging his life to her before God? Can she ever repay him?

The only idea that stands against the rest, the only thought that screams inside her head, so loud it bounces off the sides of her skull: “Don’t let them know. Don’t let them know you’ve fallen apart, and dear lord, don’t let them know you can’t tell up from down.”
To show weakness in the past, has only presented opportunity to be looked down upon, for one cannot expect help from someone who does not understand the irrationality of her breakdown in the first place. One truly cannot understand what it is like to doubt your own mind, or to truly see the pieces fall, when your mind unwillingly breaks your own soul.

And yet out of the darkness, and out of the confusion, stands a tiny statue with a permanent smile. Like a guardian, never a gargoyle; hands outstretched, and heart pure as gold. His success screams at her insecurities, and his beauty hammers to be heard. To allow her the peace to understand, that in her darkest hour, she still carried through and brought love to the place it was deserved most. She did not fail as she had feared she would, but excelled in spite of herself. Allowed love to win, and peace to exude from the depths of a tortured mind. She tentatively considers allowing this one triumph to override all the failures of her past. To allow the joy of this one moment, to heal her heart and lift her up where she belongs. To leave herself with the possible thought, that yes, she deserves the good things in her life…and no one can tell her any different.

– – –

“I don’t know if this will help anyone, but for me just writing this all down seemed to mark the end of my suffering. Sometimes I would feel annoyed that my PPD felt so DRAMATIC… so when I wrote it like this, it felt like the end of a story.  The end of something I couldn’t handle.

Haha… that being said, some days I struggle… but I think that is normal.”
One Response to Welcome Tamara
  1. MamaRobinJ
    June 23, 2011 | 10:26 pm

    Totally normal :)

    And yes, allow it. That’s the one truth in all the dark mess. You’ve seen it and you’ve allowed it to shine through. And that’s the trick, so keep letting it in!
    MamaRobinJ recently posted..Code- Meltdown

Welcome Tamara

Welcome, Tamara
A guest post by the sweet  #ppdchat mama we know and love as @twilighttamara
(Please join us and the rest of the #ppdchat friends for the best twitterchat ever!
Every Monday at 1:00pm and 8:30pm EST.)
Now I’ll give Tamara the mike:

In the deep, dark, dismal blankness that is her mind, She searched for something that made sense. Like a poet trying to find a rhyme, or a hunter searching frantically for his life-sustaining prey. To make sense of the rubble, to make sense of the barraging piles of information. Sources untold, sources known. Never ending, constantly raining down with the fury of the author’s passion in regards to whatever the subject may be. She did not blame them for seeking to share their stories. She did not hate them for confusing her so. She merely searched frantically for a way to envision her life, and her babies life, without their idea’s and their opinions weighing so heavily on her mind.

Truly, they did not know the chaos they invoked on her when they passed on years of experience, or years of read knowledge. They did not know, the little comments which dug at her already self-conceived notions of her own downfalls, hammered like steel nails into her thoughts. Never being removed; and with each nail, room for her own ideas, forced out of her head and lost in the mess. The mess that no longer seemed to make any sense. A never ending chasm of once treasured logic, and common-sense, which had befallen in the giant earthquake that had rocked her mind.

Wading through a pool of self-doubt and hormone induced rage; fighting to hold on to the things she believed in. Fighting to hold on to the morals she knew, and to instill the beliefs that she felt necessary. Constantly fighting to be heard, to be understood, to be respected. Not because she deserved the respect, but because she needed it. Needed to feel the confidence, needed to feel the strength, needed to feel the right to make those decisions on her own. Needed to feel like this was hers. Not yours, not theirs, not his…but hers. A never ending battle to gain back the control that should never have left her power in the first place.

He does not know how to fight for her. He does not know how to understand what she’s saying, when she do not understand it herself. One would not blame him, only pity him, as he tries to sort through the tears, the pain, and the never ending need to carry her, when she should have been carrying herself. Is this what he deserved for pledging his life to her before God? Can she ever repay him?

The only idea that stands against the rest, the only thought that screams inside her head, so loud it bounces off the sides of her skull: “Don’t let them know. Don’t let them know you’ve fallen apart, and dear lord, don’t let them know you can’t tell up from down.”
To show weakness in the past, has only presented opportunity to be looked down upon, for one cannot expect help from someone who does not understand the irrationality of her breakdown in the first place. One truly cannot understand what it is like to doubt your own mind, or to truly see the pieces fall, when your mind unwillingly breaks your own soul.

And yet out of the darkness, and out of the confusion, stands a tiny statue with a permanent smile. Like a guardian, never a gargoyle; hands outstretched, and heart pure as gold. His success screams at her insecurities, and his beauty hammers to be heard. To allow her the peace to understand, that in her darkest hour, she still carried through and brought love to the place it was deserved most. She did not fail as she had feared she would, but excelled in spite of herself. Allowed love to win, and peace to exude from the depths of a tortured mind. She tentatively considers allowing this one triumph to override all the failures of her past. To allow the joy of this one moment, to heal her heart and lift her up where she belongs. To leave herself with the possible thought, that yes, she deserves the good things in her life…and no one can tell her any different.

– – –

“I don’t know if this will help anyone, but for me just writing this all down seemed to mark the end of my suffering. Sometimes I would feel annoyed that my PPD felt so DRAMATIC… so when I wrote it like this, it felt like the end of a story.  The end of something I couldn’t handle.

Haha… that being said, some days I struggle… but I think that is normal.”
One Response to Welcome Tamara
  1. MamaRobinJ
    June 23, 2011 | 10:26 pm

    Totally normal :)

    And yes, allow it. That’s the one truth in all the dark mess. You’ve seen it and you’ve allowed it to shine through. And that’s the trick, so keep letting it in!
    MamaRobinJ recently posted..Code- Meltdown