I will admit – I had a brief moment of hesitation before I hit the ‘publish’ button on my post last week.
You know, the one where I told you all about how, ever since Hadley was born, I’ll occasionally black out for a few minutes and when I come to I’m on the ground licking my bloody paws, surrounded by dead bodies.
I mean, it’s one thing to silently toil in post partum anger hell alone, mentally assembling a sketchy plan to Thelma and Louise your car off a ravine, but it’s another to actually admit that you need, and accepted, chemical help.
But admitting that may have been one of the best things I’ve ever done. Within minutes I received several encouraging emails and comments from people who have stood right here in my shoes.
Turns out you all are a bunch of crazy bitches too! Even my Mom called and said, “I read your post last week. Remember there are lots of different kinds of happy pills out there. Some of them make you feel like you have sticks in your stomach and some make you have tremors. Make sure you keep on moving if you don’t like yours.”
And while I’m not happy so many other people know what it’s like to almost actually be able to feel your fingers crushing someone’s wind pipe as you’re holding a normal conversation with them, it is reassuring to know that the next time I turn into the honey badger in public all I have to do is give the secret battle cry and every woman who has ever bore child within ear shot will come running and help me finish off my prey.
You won’t even have to ask why I’m stomping on someones face in the middle of the grocery store. You’ll just run over and start kicking him in the ribs. And we’ll look up and knowingly smile at each other as his lung collapses and he coughs up blood. Then we’ll become Facebook friends and share pictures of our future victims. But also our kids’ birthday parties because those are important too.
I have to say, though, my urge to kill has become a lot less burdensome since I started the happy pills. Which is nice. Sure, they have their side effects, like I keep forgetting what day it is. Probably because I don’t give a shit what day it is.
The best way I can describe it is that I feel “leveled off”. Nothing feels like a big deal. What used to completely overwhelm me, like getting three little girls ready to leave the house, now is a, “It’s warm out. They don’t need shirts. In fact, I’m going to take mine off too.” sort of thing.
Yesterday I took the girls to the zoo solo for the third time in two weeks, and we even rode the carousel.
You’re probably wondering how that works logistically. And it’s probably better I don’t tell you because it may or may not have involved several forms of child endangerment and I don’t want to incriminate myself now that I’m all happy and junk.
So you can rest easy knowing the streets are a little safer now that I’m medicated. But it’s good to know that if I have a relapse you’ve all got my back.