Monday, January 18, 2016

Intrusive Thoughts -- Flash Backs of Postpartum Depression

I'm the passenger in this car. I don't care to have control of the radio but please, goddamn it, turn the fucking heat down. It's melting my black soul and I have motion sickness already. Stop jerking the car. I know you don't realize that you're jerking the car but stop anyway. Just stop. 

We're two hours late, but not really. I didn't make the dinner reservation you suggested I make because I knew we were going to be late. We're always late. So why would I make a reservation I'd have to reschedule? So technically, we're not late, except we are because I remember all of the stupid shit like...Let's leave at 4pm so we can be home at a decent hour and I won't go to bed filled with all the food I kept eating at the Japanese steakhouse because I just couldn't stop, and yes, I would like another whiskey please and thank you.

I'm angry but we finally make it to the highway, which means we'll just drive in a straight line. Maybe I won't feel like hurling as much now. We pick up speed and now we're cruising. You're trying to get there quick because you know I'm upset and don't feel well, but I know what you're thinking...You never fucking feel well anymore so what the fuck else is new...right?

I'm sitting here to your right wondering why you want to be seated to my left anymore because I don't talk to you the way I talk to other people and the main reason is because I know you're judging me even though you say you're not, but you are. Oh, you are. 

I sneak a look at the odometer, not because I care how fast you're going, but because the voice in my head is telling me to. Once we get up to 80 MPH it tells me...Now's your chance! Grab the handle and pull it. Yank it hard. Go ahead. Open that fucking door and jump you worthless piece of shit. 

And I'm scared and angry and feeling bullied all at the same time. That voice crept in on me seven years ago and told me to do the very same thing when my newborn was in the backseat, nestled between my other sons. Me, sitting to your right. That time, though, I told you to please lock the doors. If you didn't listen, I would have listened, and I wouldn't be in the very same fucking position today as I was back then. 

I didn't listen to the voice but I kept envisioning it happening over and over again. The door would open and fly off the car dramatically just like in those movies with the tornadoes. I'd leap out and hear the wind in my ears as if it were a steady, high pitched scream. When I land on the pavement it ends for me as the car behind yours runs me over and crashes into your car. 

That scene replays at least fifty times before you pull in front of the restaurant to let us all out. 


Over the weekend, I was brought back to a time in my life I wish was erased forever. I had a flashback from the days of postpartum depression. I was in the car with my family when it took place and I silently turned my head toward the window to breathe through it and never said a word. I only hoped none of you saw me crying.

Intrusive thoughts can control your every move. 

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