Like a Komondor

I was guarding my house like a komondor the night before it happened. The night before they tried to kill me. I was up all night, pacing the perimeter (this part is literal) and watching for someone I thought I had seen. The babies were sleeping in their beds. But were they?

I checked three times before I was sure they were there. I was terrified. So I went back outside and did my rounds again. No one showed their face so I retreated inside and made sure all doors were locked.

Smoke bothering you? Well roll your window down. And the road’s gettin’ bumpy here so I’m gonna slow down even more. Ok. Anyway.

The two babes were there. We slept. The next day, though, I thought I had to run for it. If not, they’d be back to slip inside my house at night and take the little ones. They knew how to trick me and send me off on the wrong trail – I’d seen that already.

So I decided we would run. But I was tired from watchdog-ing all night and my delusional train of thought told me to wait another day. Just go to the store, I decided. But take both children! Don’t let them out of your sight!

So I loaded my precious ones into the Chevy and we left. Calm down, I kept telling myself. I was fighting it- the delusions, I mean.

Then, we ended up at the place where it happened. I don’t know how we got there – the turns I took (I was trying to lose “them”), but suddenly, a red train caboose parked on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere was calling the excited attention of my three year old.

He’d been there before, I was sure. I parked the truck, which had been acting weird anyway. The house was charming and the owners had multiple buildings, grain bins, and silos on the property.

“Gigi!” Sergio cried with excitement. What? He must have known that this was not Gigi’s house. So who’s house was it? I would find out.

Being a sunny, hot day, I unloaded the kids and placed Marisol’s carseat on the ground near a picnic table in front of the house. The front door was pink. Music, or a TV, could be heard mumbling inside. Sergio and I, holding the baby in one arm, knocked on the seemingly inviting door.

No one answered. So, being like a komondor, I took my pups on a tour of the perimeter of the suspicious house. A sudden crunch of gravel announced the arrival of someone and I knew I was in danger.

Lifting my three year old into my other arm I ran (like Bambi and his mother) into the weeds on the backside of one of the outbuildings.

Immediately the children were screaming and I fell once. I calmed them – talking calmly, quietly, in fear for our lives. For a few moments we laid in the tall grass while I caught a breath and slowed my heart. Then I picked us up and ventured further into the field of wild weeds.

Someone was trying to kill us. Kill me so they could take my children. Well, I wouldn’t let that happen. Let me tell you how we escaped.

This post is part true but contains delusions. It is a way for me to digest my own post partum psychosis. It is not intended to diagnose or treat any symptoms of post partum psychosis or other delusional mental health disorders. If you fear that you will harm yourself, your baby, or others, call 911 or go to your nearest ER.

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