101 Psychos

#35 - Baby Blues

Psycho #35 - Baby Blues -

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A Tale of Postpartum Depression:

Refers to parents (most commonly mothers) who become depressed after childbirth. In severe cases disturbing thought processes and even hallucinations can occur.

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WARNING! This ones a bit more disturbing than my previous ones. Viewer discretion is advised.

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Damn that brat, I thought fiercely.

It was three in the morning and the fourth time I'd woken to the child's screams. I desperately needed sleep. The last few weeks blurred together due to the lack of rest; only a few hours a night were allotted me.

My darling husband was immune to the cries. He claimed it was my job to get up with the baby, his to pay for everything it needed. He was oblivious to my mood changes. He never acknowledged my random crying episodes or my sudden lack of interest in anything, including meals. I'd lost nearly thirty pounds within the last month simply because the idea of food made me nauseous.

I knew something was wrong with me. I couldn't deny it to myself. My husband had gone on and on about how horrible women who experienced depression after childbirth were. He'd said more than once that they were worthless mothers who didn't deserve children.

He was right of course. I was a worthless mother and his rants on the subject only drove my depression deeper. I couldn't tell him I was one of those women he despised so much. I feared his reaction to the confession.

I couldn't seek out help either, although I knew deep down I needed it. Even more, I wanted the therapy. I craved an end to the baby blues, but alas I knew such options were not available to me.

What would he think of me? I'd wonder.

At first I thought it was only a faze, that it would work itself out and that I could eventually be among the happy mothers around town. The longer it went on though, the worse it became. I went from irritable to something else; something darker. My thoughts weren't my own anymore, I couldn't control them.

I stood over the crib and stared at my distraught child, not even a full month old yet. His tiny arms flailed all around and his dainty little feet kicked the air angrily. I felt exhausted, my emotions resembled a roller coaster. The infants mouth was open wide, his face wrinkled and contorted as the ear piercing scream echoed throughout the room.

"Shut up." I demanded of the child.

He didn't listen but instead wailed louder. I felt my own frustration and anger rise to unmanageable levels. I picked my fragile baby up roughly and held him by his armpits at face level. He was still crying, his tiny eyes squinted shut as his little lungs strained to make the horrid noise.

I began shaking him. I couldn't help it. That noise was driving me insane, I just wanted one night of sleep.

"Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP!" I yelled in rhythm with my jerky arm movements.

The infants undeveloped neck failed to support his heavy head, and so it flopped forward and backwards with a violence no child should be made to endure. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but it just... happened.

I wasn't myself.

My actions didn't help. The baby grew louder and louder with each viscous thrust. I was at my breaking point, I could feel the tears pressing on the corners of my eyes. Then it happened; I felt nothing.

It was relieving in a way, to feel no emotion. The sound of the insistent crying drifted into the background even though I knew it was louder than ever. Then something else happened, a thought.

Drown it.

It, not him. Not my child and not a life form. An object; it.

Slowly I carried the still screaming infant into the kitchen and turned the water faucet on full blast. I watched the clear liquid burst from it's metal entrapment and momentarily found peace in the sight. Once again I looked at the baby, the thing that caused all my pain and torment.

I'll admit I wanted to feel something, anything to bring me back to sanity, but there was still nothingness. I was a hollow shell of what should have been a loving mother; an empty void.

I shoved the child's head under the running water. He choked and sputtered, but the wails stopped. I smiled, relieved that I'd finally found a solution to the noise. The small head twisted in opposite directions, instinctively trying to get away from the waters assault.

For a brief moment, I realized what I was doing and yanked the small infant out of the sink. The screaming started immediately though, and I found a new sense of resolve. I had to do it to save my mind from sure madness.

I had to.

I plunged the baby under the facet once more, this time holding the back of it's head firmly so the water would completely cover its mouth and nose. The child kicked and hit at nothing in particular; helpless to save itself.

"What the fuck do you think your doing?" my husband's voice boomed throughout the kitchen, waking me from my trance.

He shoved me to the side and ripped our infant from my clutches, cradling the frantic babe close to his chest. He glared at me with such fury, I was sure he'd kill me for what I tried to do.

What did I try to do? Did I really try to kill my own child?

I looked at my husband with terror. I was afraid of both him and myself. We stood in silence for only seconds, but it felt like eternity. The sounds of the falling water against metal and tiny whimpering bounced around in my mind, mingling together.

Suddenly the tears broke free, and I wept openly. My mind was my own once again.

But for how much longer?

"I need help." I managed to say through my sobs.

"Yes, you do." he replied with venom before turning away and carrying our child back to it's room.

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