I did it. I socialized. A friend of mine invited my husband and I to a small barbecue this past weekend.

I went, and I did fine. There was even a new person there, and I did okay. Whew. It felt semi good to get out and interact. I still feel like a lone freak at times, and this just magnified it. My friend has 2 children, had one of them while her husband was deployed like I did, and never had a PPD issue. I watch her with her kids and feel guilty. I know I shouldn’t compare, everyone is different, yada yada, but it is what it is.

In a little over a week, we’re going to my parents’ for Thanksgiving. I’m a little worried, but nothing major. I can’t wait to see them. I haven’t told either of them about being diagnosed with PPD. My mom has battled depression off and on, since I was around 7. My goal in life, as horrible as this sounds, is to not be her. I don’t want to bring it up because I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. I don’t want my mom’s advice about it, I have far too many bitter memories of being left at school because she couldn’t get out of bed to come get me. I can understand it better now, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

R has his 4 month checkup tomorrow. I’m worried. I’m staggering his shots, and the doctor tried to bully me into changing his shot schedule last time. No one else could get him in in time, so we have to go back to that doctor. My husband is coming with me, but I just hope there’s no conflict. The doctor can’t change my mind, but I hate even having to argue. It’s just obnoxious and draining.

I haven’t been doing too badly. I feel a bit more motivated than I did, maybe I did just need to give my medication more time to kick in. I feel okay most of the time. There’s no overwhelming sadness anymore. That’s something, right?

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