As I mentioned yesterday, I am fearful of blog entires overtaking my usual writing sessions. It is for this reason that I have chosen to post a piece I’m working on. This is just the introduction of a story about a mother living with post natal depression. This is just a rough so I would be grateful for any comments anyone has or any extra information on post natal depression itself:
The baby wouldn’t stop crying. Mary didn’t care. She had led it in the cot, shut the door and turned off the monitor. Even so, the walls were thin and the crying was still audible. It sliced through her like knives. She led back against the wall and shut her eyes, trying to stop the anger that bubbled in her stomach. The baby was a month old. An alien invasion on Mary’s otherwise beautiful life. During her pregnancy, she had been as excited as any other mother would be, preparing the home and stocking up on the miniature clothes. This was her first child, so of course she had been nervous but no doubts had plagued her mind. That was before. Labour had been a gruelling race to an elusive finish. After hours of strain, the midwives introduced her to her daughter. She looked at the red faced, angry beast and felt nothing but repulsion. There had been no motherly gush. There had been no instinctive warmth. There had only been repulsion. Something wasn’t right. Her partner, Chris, had gushed hopelessly when he first held the little snuffling bundle. His eyes had welled with joy from looking into the small face and Mary had been greatly confused. She was sure there had been some mistake. Satan had fiddled about with her child to make it a demon in the womb. Yet her partner was saying that their daughter was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She took the child in her own arms to ensure that they were looking at the same thing, that nothing had changed. She studied the small face as hard as she could but still saw the same ugliness as before. The red skin of the baby was scrunched, as if it was angry at Mary. What right did this unknown invader have to look at her in such a way? Mary tried her best to play caring mother when others were around. Even if she had given birth to Satan incarnate, she would be judged if she didn’t display the correct amounts of love. As soon as her hospital room was deserted, she would put the baby in it’s crib and turn her back. They had agreed to call the girl Abbi but, in private, she refused to call her anything at all. An inhuman being did not deserve a human name.
Things had gotten worse once Mary and Abbi had returned home. In the hospital, the midwives had been bustling about and doing the things that Mary didn’t want to do. At home however, with Chris at work, Mary and Abbi were left alone.