After that one beautiful day, I retreated into my same old frame of mind, Joanne's words and promises no longer seeming to hold any weight. As time went on, I continued to feel less and less adequate, and became continually weaker and less able to function on my own, thinking more and more about ending my life. I was unable to eat anything, unable to take care of Marcie, and completely petrified that I would do something wrong or hurt her if left alone her. Joanne had returned to her regular, crazy work schedule, and Mark was always out filming. Desperate, I would often try calling Roger or Mimi to come over and help me, but both of them had busy work schedules as well, or otherwise were just spending time with one another, or in other words having sex. I felt so alone and helpless, scared to death that something would happen to me…that I would collapse and nobody would be there to find me and the stove would be on or something and the apartment would catch on fire and Marcie would die. Usually these nightmares involved me dying, although that really didn't seem to matter—the terrifying thing was the death of my child. But those were nowhere near as terrifying as the fantasies in which I would purposefully hurt the child, or allow something bad to happen to her. Hypothetical me would feel grief immediately afterwards, and even in these fantasies I would end up killing myself from guilt and grief.
My mind became once again the scariest place that I could be forced to stay in, but I was ashamed to tell anyone about my thoughts. They already thought that I was crazy enough, and I feared that they wouldn't love me anymore, and they wouldn't let me anywhere near my child. I was unable to sleep either during the night or the day. I tried to nap when Marcie did, but I would scare myself so much with hypothetical situations that I would be unable to relax enough to sleep. After I while, I found that I wasn't ever really tired, and always had to be moving. I couldn't lie in bed beside Joanne at night, and pretty soon all physical intimacy became a chore. I didn't enjoy it. We hadn't had sex in well over three months. I could tell that Joanne was hurt by this, and I continued to tell her that it wasn't her fault, but I didn't know why I was feeling this way, and thus couldn't explain it to her. I was afraid even to tell her what was going through my mind, because I knew that these depressive episodes scared her, and that was the last thing I wanted. I didn't want her to have to sacrifice anything else for me, and she really couldn't afford to take any more time off from work. Her parents, who ran the firm, refused to allow her to take maternity leave, which made sense because she hadn't been pregnant, and the paternity leave obviously didn't apply since she was missing the key genitalia to make a convincing father. I was afraid to tell her that I felt alone, that I needed her or support or anything, because I didn't want to be a burden, and more importantly, I didn't want her to feel guilty because there was nothing that she could do about her work schedule.
I felt often times as though the world were closing in on me, and longed for nothing more than someone to talk to, someone to help me. But I didn't want pity. And I didn't want them to feel that I would break. I was still trying to prove to Mimi that I deserved the child, and that meant being perfect. It got to a point, after I had nearly dropped Marcie after being overtaken by a coughing fit, that I didn't want to go near her or touch her. I felt so physically exhausted that I couldn't move, nor did I have any desire to, just collapsing on the couch having paroxysms of emotion, unable to contain my sobbing, frequently scaring the poor, innocent baby. I didn't speak to any of my friends after a couple of weeks, realizing that they were all too busy having lives to care about me or have enough time to help me out. Granted, my life had been boring and depressing before, so frequently being turned down from jobs and having difficulties getting permits for my protests, but I had had individuality, no matter how much I had hated who I was becoming. I felt like my entire life was now going to be defined by my ability to take care of Marcie, and that my failure would be unavoidable by all who had previously cared about me when they saw how horribly she was bound to turn out.
At the point when Marcie first began to crawl, the day, actually, that she crawled for the first time, Mark was over, filming her. I was overtaken by uncontrollable sobbing solely because I couldn't even remember how old she was, I hadn't noticed any of her developments, and when she started crawling, she went straight to Mark. I had completely lost track of the passage of time, not even having a calendar in the apartment, all of the days seemed to meld into one, especially since I never seemed to sleep anymore. I locked myself in my bedroom and wouldn't come out, although he didn't even seem to notice that I wasn't there. He was too enamored with Marcie, the daddy's girl. I couldn't help but be jealous that she favored him, especially since I had to tend to her all day, every day. He took her back to the loft with him, because when I finally pulled myself together enough to come out of my room, he was gone. I was hurt that he hadn't even thought to leave a note or tell me that he was leaving. He only usually managed to come over for about an hour once a week, as he had taken up a job in an art gallery that was short-handed and frequently had to work most of the time when he wasn't filming things for his movie projects, which he stopped telling me about. Whenever he was over, there wasn't even any friendly interaction between the two of us. He barely said "hello". I was feeling ridiculously under-stimulated from the amount of adult contact I got throughout the week. Joanne would usually come home at an ungodly hour and fall asleep about fifteen minutes after walking in the door.
I actually slept the day that Mark took her, falling asleep sobbing, waking up about fourteen hours later to Joanne's concerned gaze. She reached a hand out to touch my shoulder, but I flinched, launching myself out of bed, locking myself in the bathroom. I vomited several times before completely blacking out. I awoke in Joanne's arms some unknown amount of time later, seeing that she had broken the door down. She was rocking me in her arms and crying, holding me tightly.
"Jo, what's wrong?" She stared at me as though I had about nine heads.
"Maureen, honey, I am so sorry that I have let you down, that I let this go on for so long…baby, you need help. I'm so sorry that I haven't been here supporting you…" I weakly raised a hand to her lips, silencing her.
"It's not your fault. You're job is important. To you, the baby and me."
"Baby, you needed me. I should have been there for you. Look at yourself, Maureen. You cannot tell me that you are okay. What's going on?" I averted my eyes from her intent and intensely concerned gaze.
"I'm fine, Jo." I knew that she wouldn't believe me, heck, I didn't even believe myself, but I hoped that she would just let it drop.
"Honeybear, I've been meaning to talk to you about this for a while, but I wasn't sure how I should approach the matter, since it is a delicate one." Oh God…is she going to leave me? She's found somebody else. I know it. She deserves better. She doesn't deserve to be stuck with me…I didn't really expect her to stay… "Maureen, baby, I think that you have post partum depression."
"What? English, please." She sighed and stroked my hair.
"A lot of women get depressed after they have children. I think you're suffering from that. My psychologist was telling me about it. I was so worried about you, and I didn't know where else to turn, baby. I just want you to be okay…"
"You WHAT? Why the hell would you bring some shrink into this? What the hell? I'm fine!" She looked hurt and overwhelmed, holding me tighter as I squirmed against her body, trying in vain to break free.
"My psychologist gave me some information about the disorder, and honey I know how much you hated going to the psychologist and psychiatrist and all of that, but…please baby, just consider it. I just want you to be happy again. I want you to be Maureen again." I couldn't deny that the idea was tempting, and I really, desperately wanted to go back to being my normal self again, however fucked up that had been. I wanted to be able to enjoy life, and eat and have sex and have fun again! I sighed heavily, looking up into her eyes again.
"Okay, Joanne. We'll give it a shot." She looked relieved, and hugged me, kissing me on the forehead. She carried me to the bedroom, setting me down on the bed before retrieving some pamphlets from her purse.
"Honey, the first thing we should do is fill out this form. The answers will give us a better idea of what's going on with you, okay?" I nodded, feeling like a small, naïve child. "Okay then. First question: do you have a history of depression or substance abuse?" I rolled my eyes. "I know, honey. Obviously. If substance abuse, what kind? That would just be alcohol, right babe?" I became very uncomfortable. "Maureen, what's wrong?"
"Well I…there was…also…heroinandecstasyandmarijuana."
"What?"
"It was a long time ago, and I did it with Roger…"
"No, I didn't understand you. Say that again?"
"I did heroin, ecstasy and marijuana." She looked softly at me.
"Honey…baby…"
"I know. I should have told you, and I don't know why I didn't, but that was really dumb, and I'm so sor--"
"Shh. I know. It's okay. Next question. Do you have family history of mental illness?"
"Well, my aunt has schizophrenia…or, had it…until she killed herself, and my mother has manic depression...my father was always depressed. They never diagnosed it, though." She could tell, without me having to say anything, that this was a hard topic for me. I let myself be comforted by her as she stroked my back gently and whispered softly in my ear that everything was going to be all right.
"Next question--" her voice cut off suddenly as she frowned and grew quiet.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Do you have the support of friends and family? How would you rank it?" This is going to be a fun one to answer! What if she hates me for what I say?
"I…I…push everyone away. I would have support…but everyone is so busy with having lives, and I don't want to be a burden." She held me as tears slid down my face, brushing my curls from my face, wiping my tears as they came.
"Baby girl…I'm here for you. I don't mean to be repetitive, but please I am begging you, talk to me! You could never be a burden. I love you too much. The only thing that will make me truly happy is if you are." Now I was really, truly crying…touched by the sincere emotion and concern.
"Can we finish this later? I'm tired."
"Honey, there are only three more questions. It'll be okay. Unless you really want to stop--"
"Fine. Let's just finish it."
"Anxiety about the baby?" She laughed, quickly clapping her hands over her mouth, apologizing and filling in the answer without waiting for a response. "Alright. Problems with previous pregnancy or birth—that's a no, right?" I shook my head, anxiety building up within me, not wanting to tell her the details of what had happened.
"I miscarried…twice." She looked taken aback, stunned. I was afraid that she would jump to conclusions or maybe just hate me forever, even without knowing the details. A part of me wanted to continue, and I tried to, but I couldn't. My vocal cords wouldn't allow it, so I took in a deep breath, hoping that it would calm me down, that I would be able to tell Joanne about it. She looked at me sympathetically now, running her hands through my hair, soothing me, telling me that whatever it was, it was okay. I merely shook my head, and she told me that it was okay, I could tell her whenever I was ready, but I could tell that she was hurt and suspicious.
"Do you want to continue baby?" I shook my head.
"Jo…I really…I'm sorry. I don't think I can. It's hard. Do you mind—can I just finish it by myself?" She looked skeptical, concerned and hurt.
"Are you sure? I really want to be here for you. I understand that it probably makes this harder for you to tell me these things, because obviously you didn't want me to know. I'll be right here for you when you're done, and you don't have to tell me anything. Just let me be here for you." I nodded, shaking somewhat as I took the paper from her, turning my back to her. It was fortunate that I took the paper from her when I did, because the last question asked if I was having any marital problems. Technically no…technically we're not married…maybe we don't have problems, maybe I'm the only problem…I keep hurting her and I can't talk to her, I feel undeserving and I don't want her to worry so much and I don't want my inability to trust to continue to hurt her…I answered the question hastily, shoving the paper into Joanne's bag and grabbing my apartment key and shoes, running out of the apartment. I didn't know where I was going, but I needed to be alone, to try to clear my mine or be alone with my thoughts. Since she had broken the bathroom door, that wouldn't have made an adequate hiding spot.
When I got outside, I saw that it was raining…or rather I felt it. The big, warm drops pelted me angrily as I ran. I didn't know where I was going…I didn't know what day or month it was. It was summer though, that much I could tell. I didn't know who to go to—it would have been awkward to talk to Mimi, and I really still needed to prove to her that I could do a good job and that I was handling it. I didn't want to talk to Mark because I was afraid he would take Marcie away, because he wouldn't trust me anymore. We weren't that close anymore, anyway. I certainly couldn't talk to Roger…what would her think? God, Collins…I need you! I need you. Why did you have to die? It's not fair. You were the only one who really knew me, the only one who really cared…