My husband and I were trying to get pregnant. I assumed it would take at least six months to a year based on some of my friends’ experiences. However, when the very first pregnancy test came back positive I thought we were pretty awesome.
In fact, I thought I was pretty awesome.
I remember that day perfectly. We went to lunch and we even contemplated going to Disneyland. I was working for ABC Studios at the time and had free passes to the park. However, we decided that we could go anytime over the next nine months so what was the rush?
Then, three days later I started getting sick.
I quickly texted my mom SOS I’m SO SICK! My mom called me and gave me lots of different strategies to try and combat the sickness. Plus, most people were only sick for the first trimester so I’d be feeling better soon she assured me.
Except I didn’t feel better.
I felt incredibly worse.
This was the beginning of my suicidal pregnancy.
I can only describe my sickness as being on the verge of throwing up every single second of every single day.
Try to remember the absolute worst hangover you’ve ever had in your entire life. Multiply it by ten. Then jump in the back of an overheated vehicle on an extremely hot day that’s driving faster than it should around the curviest road on earth. While you’re back there you have acid slowly creeping up your throat.
Now, try not to throw up for the next nine months. Oh yeah, and also go to work, make dinner, and enjoy the new life growing inside you.
I was supposed to be happy. I wanted a baby. I wanted to be pregnant. And now all I could do every day was try NOT to kill myself. I couldn’t keep anything down so overdosing on pills wouldn’t work. I was too afraid to use a knife on my wrists. I wasn’t sure how to make a noose. I am so thankful I didn’t have a gun in my home. I don’t know what I would have done.
I cried to my doctor about how ill I was. She told me to talk to a therapist. I was eight months pregnant and had lost six pounds.
Fully clothed I weighed less than I had in my entire adult life.
My face had sunken in so that I looked like a shell of my former self.
On top of this sickness ruining my body it was ruining my relationship with my husband. He was afraid to bring up the baby because he knew how much I resented the fact that “it” had done this to me. He wanted to be excited about his new son, I wanted to throw myself out of a moving vehicle and into oncoming traffic. I laid on the couch every chance I got. My husband ate cereal for dinner. He tried making things better, which only made my hormonal self retreat inward.
For a while, my family was so scared that my mom flew out to check on me. Even people at work whispered about my well being. I had never been in a depression so deep.
Each and every day of my suicidal pregnancy hurt.
To make matters worse I had massive anxiety that pressed against my chest making it difficult to breathe.
And then I had my son.
The exact millisecond I pushed him out I felt better. My husband said the light came back into my eyes and I actually smiled. I am so thankful that my sickness ended with birth. But I will never ever forget the darkness I felt during my suicidal pregnancy. And while some may find pregnancy to be the best feeling in the world, it’s okay if it’s not.
You are not alone.
Don’t let anyone minimize how you feel.
There is absolutely no shame in feeling the way you do if you’re having a suicidal pregnancy. However, if the darkness is too much – please find someone to talk to.
I can’t promise that it won’t happen with the next pregnancy (because I went through the same thing again), but I can promise that you won’t feel that way forever.