Oh God, what if I don’t have anything to talk about? I’m so boring.
(Boring? We’re not boring, we’re sad. Well, sometimes.)
Oh God! What if I’m not sad enough?
(We are plenty sad. It was only yesterday morning that we only just resisted the urge to hide under the duvet. And a few days before that we were thinking about not being worthy enough to live.)
What have I really got to complain about though? I’ve had so much help, not many people get that.
(True but we’ve also had to suffer through many traumatic moments. Most recent being the birth of our daughter.)
That wasn’t that bad. Others have it worse.
(Everyone’s pain is different though.)
(It’ll be fine. We have plenty to talk about. And we deserve this.)
I guess I can talk about how worthless I feel most of the time. And those times were I just hate myself so much.
(Exactly! There’s the therapy spirit!)
But if I tell them that, what if they think I’m not good enough to be a mother? What if they flag me on their system as a bad parent? What if they think I’m not suitable to parent?
(They won’t! We wouldn’t really kill ourselves – the guilt is too much, remember?)
I suppose so. It’s just when you mention suicide it seems like a big panic button is pressed.
(This is a mental health service – there won’t be a big panic button. Our daughter won’t be taken away from us. We love her and we are good to her.)
I am doing a pretty decent job I think.
But is it okay to use a post-natal depression service when I’ve had depression since I was 12?
(Yes! Now get our ass to our appointment!)