My doctor noted, though, that given my family history my previous experiences with baby blues following the births of our other three children may have actually been mild cases of postpartum depression that went undiagnosed due to my ability to function relatively normally. Regardless, I went into my depression treatment with a number of assumptions that may have set me up for the frustration, anger, anxiety, and despair I find myself wrestling now.
This Has to End Relatively Soon, Right?
During that discussion about an increase in my dosage, my doctor never offered definitive dates for when the treatment would end. Yet somehow my mind, in its desperation for healing and a return to normalcy, took her “at least until March, perhaps after your son weans” answer as a firm deadline to mark on my calendar and aim for. Despite her limited expertise on treating mental health issues, I trusted her so implicitly I not once sought out additional information or data on my condition.
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