I've always been a private person. Keeping my most inner thoughts, emotions and demons to myself has always been part of my ways. Though I share many things with the ones closest to me, I haven't always been completely transparent with those individuals as far as expressing the impact that certain situations have had on me. It's only been recently that I've revealed my personal experiences. There's one in particular that I've shared with various girls who have sought refuge within my trustworthy ears and understanding soul.

My privacy doesn't stem from shame, but from the genuine belief that others are more concerned with feeding their curiosity than your well-being. Now that I have obtained wellness and have relinquished my tormented mind of all of the demonic fueled thoughts that once tainted it, I am ready to allow my truth to ignite someone's journey of change.

I suffered from severe prenatal and postpartum depression.

Many of you followed my pregnancy. On the outside looking in, I may have appeared to be happy. I was. But there lingered a constant yet unverified reminder that I had gotten myself into an unfavorable situation. I wasn't aware that my constant worrying and dissatisfaction of the ways my life had changed was festering away at my previously invincible state of mind. I was progressively falling into a state of depression. Because I had never been in that vulnerable of a state mentally, I was totally unaware of what was happening within my heart, mind and soul.

[Prenatal Depression: a form of clinical depression that can affect a woman during pregnancy, and can be a precursor to postpartum depression if not properly treated.]

My pregnancy was beautiful. I formed a bond and a connection with my son as he formed in my womb. I prayed over him and made changes in my daily habits to ensure that he'd develop without any complications. He was nothing less than a blessing. What better way to thank God for His goodness than to put your all into caring for the gift you've been given? Many of those prayer were accompanied with tears, which then turned into repetitive apologies. Apologies to my son for conceiving him with someone who I began to relate to the son of the devil. Apologies for bringing him into a situation that wouldn't be conducive. Those prayers turned tearful apologies often upset me to point that I was close to going into preterm labor. My uterus would contract, my breath would shallow and my blessing's movements would cease.

Thankfully, I carried my child to term and delivered a completely healthy baby. As I had mentioned in "When The Other Parent Doesn't Want To Parent", I had mentally prepared myself to go through the experience of childbirth without the presence of the person who made up half of who this child was. At least, that's what I thought.

Upon leaving the hospital and returning home with a newborn baby, I was filled to the brim with fear. Initially, I believed that I was fearful because of how small and fragile he was. It has taken me up until now to realize that I was really afraid of having to raise a child alone. It didn't hit me after I had given birth, but had become a reality when I returned home to an apartment that was occupied by my mother and myself. No father in sight, nor in contact.

I convinced myself that I was fine, and for a while I truly believe that I was. Those prayers turned tearful apologies had subsided and I frequently visited a family member to ease the sting of constantly being home alone with no visitors and little to no phone calls. Those visits eventually stopped and I had returned to a state of social solitary confinement. Months rolled by and the depression that I had experienced during my pregnancy trickled into my postpartum life. My hair began falling out, the extra baby weight clung to my hips for dear life and the newly formed stretch marks plastered on my sides didn't make me feel any better.

9 months after my son was born, I returned to school. Being a single, stay at home mom was a little much but the excitement of returning to school masked the hard times that were to come. Throughout my pregnancy I suffered from severe pain in my groin and hips that made sleeping extremely uncomfortable. This pain took many months to subside, even after I had given birth.

I was exclusively breastfeeding, so middle of the night hunger cries from the baby came very frequently. For the life of me, I couldn't understand why he wouldn't sleep. He just wouldn't. Every 3 hours he would awaken frustrated and hungry. Rooting to nurse, unaccepting of a pacifier and unwilling to go to sleep unless he was fed. I would place him next to me on the bed and allowed him to nurse himself back to sleep. Because my small infant was laying so closely next to me, I would never fall into a deep enough sleep that would give me the proper rest I would need to make it through the day.

Can you imagine the exhaustion of only being able to lightly sleep for 3 hour intervals?

The obligations that came with exclusively breastfeeding paired with the torturous pains that plagued my lower body left me in a constant fatigued and rest deprived state. The lack of sleep took a big toll on every aspect that contributed to my wellness.

I could no longer catch up on missed out sleep because I was spending the bulk of my days at school. I was already worn to my limit and adding the responsibilities of being in school to my life further drew from an energy source that had already been depleted.

Each of my days were filled with moments of sadness. I had vowed to myself that no matter how difficult things became that I would never cry in front of my child or allow my weariness to be apparent. Many times I'd call on my mother and asked if she could watch the baby for a few moments while I allowed myself to release a well needed, bottled up meltdown.

More days passed and as they came and went the moments of sadness appeared more frequently. Many of those moments took place while I was home alone with a clingy, nursing, screaming baby. It was impossible to soothe him being that he picked up on my horrendous vibes. I had began to feel an immense amount of disdain, feeling unworthy and unwilling to nurse my child to bring him comfort. I loved him, but hadn't been allowed enough opportunity to take a break, to gather my thoughts, to pull it together.

He wouldn't sleep, he always cried and my mental capacity had sunken into the same hell hole that my physical state was in.

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was home alone, anxiously awaiting my mother's return from work. I was sitting in the middle of my bedroom floor looking at my son as he cried and rejected my attempts to calm him. It was as if my mind disconnected from all awareness and reasoning. I sat there in a zombie-like state and envisioned myself drowning and suffocating him.

I was able to dig into my conscience and pull myself out of the dark pit that had momentarily swallowed the thoughts that occupied my mind. The disgust that I frequently felt towards myself returned. I immediately went into prayer. I had never been in such dark times in my life that I had lost control of myself in a manner such as that one. I was afraid of myself and had recognized that war had been declared. The Angels were fighting to ward off the demons that had slowly infiltrated my mind, spirit and soul.

I had become afraid to be alone with my son. The lack of control instilled a fear within me. In my right mind, I would never do anything to bring harm to my precious baby boy. But it had become very apparent that I was no longer operating within my right mind.

I had finally decided to reach out. I revealed to my mother the tormenting thoughts that polluted my mind. For the longest, I denied that I had fallen into a depression and equated all that I was going through to the baby blues. But the devil had sunken his claws into me further than I wanted to admit. I was in full-blown postpartum depression.

We reached out for help. We called a family member and asked if she'd be willing to come be with me during my time of need. She had previously made mention of traveling this way for another reason, so we hoped she'd be willing to come for two reasons instead of one. She declined. This is a typical practice of the people in my family. We only ask for their assistance during detrimental times of need and are usually always left to fend for ourselves.

I relied heavily on prayer and the strength of my mother. The homicidal thoughts vanished but only made room for suicidal ones. Many times I'd be driving to or from school in silence, talking myself out of driving my car into a barricade or off of a bridge. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that my child would be left in this world without a mother or a father. I knew I was in desperate need of help when the thought of my parent-less child led to thoughts of ending both of our lives. That way he wouldn't have to live his entire life as an orphan and I wouldn't have to live the remainder of mine with these unquieting, torturous thoughts and feelings.

I sought out professional help in the mental health services department at my school. After attending two sessions with one of the psychologists there, it had been concluded that she was in over her head. She referred me to a psychiatrist at one of the local hospitals and suggested that I'd be put on medication.

I assured her that I would schedule the appointment and would call 9-1-1 if i ever needed immediate help. I lied. I didn't want to go to a psychiatrist and be placed on psychotropic drugs. I was breastfeeding and didn't want any of the medication to transfer to the child that I had been fighting to protect. I didn't want any psychiatrist questioning the safety and well-being of my baby. I didn't want child protective services in and out of my residence scrutinizing every inch of my son's body and every corner of our home. I didn't want strangers judging me on whether or not I'm fit to parent this child who had become everything I lived for.

I had to stop being the rope used in the tug of war between those angels and Demons. I had to pull away from the darkness that had consumed me and work my way towards the light. It was a difficult effort and it took a lot of time and prayer, but I was able to defeat the self-destruction that I was going through. I had to learn how to love myself again and constantly remind myself that everyday there's a God and a little baby that looks at me and sees nothing less than perfection.

My efforts paid off tremendously and every day got better. More and more time passed and the self love that I had in my previous years redeveloped and came back. Only this time it was stronger than it had ever been. The deadly thoughts dissipated and left never to return again. I had become a better version of myself that has yet to stop improving.

I grew stronger. I figured out better ways to handle the stress. I began practicing being more positive and giving off positive vibes. I was able to conquer depression.

I thank God for deliverance. I am now able to thoroughly enjoy motherhood and enjoy every second I spend with my child. I've even found an enjoyment in his crying. At one point I was unable to soothe his through his unhappiness. Now there isn't a second thought of what to do and how to do it when my baby cries.

There's a taboo in the Black community towards mental illnesses and seeking professional help. I want every person reading this to know how important it is to be able to recognize when you've lost control. There is absolutely nothing wrong with reaching out for help. Don't wait until you've lost your mind to seek help. There is so much healing and relief in sitting down and speaking with someone who will listen to your inner most thoughts and provide you with ways to handle them.

Certain things are completely out of our control and we need help. Again, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. I don't care how strong you are. The strongest person's knees will buckle under the weight of their world.

Maintaining your mental health is a component of providing yourself with self love.

They say your mind is a terrible thing to waste, but it's also a terrible thing to lose. Love yourself enough by relieving it before reaching your breaking point.