These last few days I've been bobbing in the waves of stupid depression. I hate saying the word. But I can't really avoid it when I know it. The interwebs are at my fingertips. I have a brain. I know I have depression. I have tried to seek help, honestly. I have seen a few different doctors, spoke to my partner, my mother. The very first time I brought it up to my GP was at Axel's 10 day check up. She told me it would pass. Even before that, when I was pregnant, the midwife doing a checkup at the hospital picked up that there was potential for problems, but all she needed to hear was me saying I felt fine. Anyway, back to the bobbing. Sort of out of nowhere this week I had a jolting realization that as bad as I feel, as much as I loathe myself, I really, really love my kid. It's not like I didn't love him already, or didn't know it, but just this week it struck me that those feelings are there. The ones of complete amazement and adoration, as opposed to the ones of necessity and biological expectation. The ones whose absence haunted me when he was a tiny baby. So why do I still feel so shitty? Does this mean my brain is just generally fucked, instead of post-partum fucked?
I was laying on the lounge this morning at the crack of a sparrow's fart watching Angela Anaconda with Axel (lately sleep ins aren't the in thing in his world, it's cartoons as early as he can get me to open his door). He got up off his Lightning McQueen couch and asked me if my ear still hurt. I said "no baby, not hurt, just annoying" on account of my stupid ear is still blocked up. He looked at me with this expression far beyond his years, then climbed up on the lounge chair, kissed my ear and said "this is not an ear".
What do I do now?