Zombie Jess

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When I’m struggling with my anxiety or depression, tasks like cleaning are a BIG deal. The anxiety kicks in, and the task becomes overwhelming. I shut down and do the bare minimum, because it is all my brain can process in that moment. When depression rears its ugly head, it depletes me of my energy. I give what little I have left to the essentials: managing my diabetes, taking care of Lucy, and work, leaving barely any mental resources to handle the rest of life. I describe this dark shell of a human Zombie Jess. She’s the sick science experiment when you combine diabetes, disordered eating, and mental health struggles. Anxiety attack. Zombie Jess. Low blood sugar. Zombie Jess. Crushing self loathing. Zombie Jess. Postpartum depression. ZOMBIE JESS ON STEROIDS. 


Pregnancy and postpartum life were not kind to me. Like A Series of Unfortunate Events, every step I took to become a mom dragged me deeper and deeper into the depths of depression. Down the rabbit hole. I stopped taking my Prozac around Christmas of 2017 after meeting with a very cold and clinical psychiatrist, who simply rattled off the potential side effects of staying on it while pregnant, which were terrible. I was already wary of getting pregnant while having type 1 diabetes. It makes it a high risk pregnancy. Blood sugar fluctuations impact a multitude of things for the baby. I didn’t want to put my future child at any more of a risk, so off the Prozac I weaned, which was the beginning of my downfall. I had been doing so well on it, and I didn’t take that into consideration at all. Mental health was the last thing on my mind. 


And so began the reign of terror of Zombie Jess for over 2 years. Very little got done in that time. My husband took on things like grocery shopping and cooking, because I was only capable of what felt like the bare minimum. Work. Diabetes. Baby. Repeat. I would find myself on the couch, totally zonked out. Friendships definitely fell by the wayside, as I barely felt human enough to relate to anyone. I honestly don’t remember a lot from back then. I’m so thankful for the pictures I captured so I can relive portions of my daughter’s infant years with a fresh set of eyes. Her cuddles in the dark moments truly kept me going.



Even with the infant years now a distant memory, Zombie Jess still comes to haunt me and those I love from time to time. It is far less frequent and doesn’t last nearly as long, but she is still there. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike, taking over my brain and causing me to crumble to the ground in an incoherent mess. Physically present, but mentally absent. Frozen and numb, unable to express herself. 


I used to think my anxiety and depression made me weak, but I’m beginning to question that narrative. How can someone who battles literal monsters in their head be weak? On the outside it may not look like I’m doing much, but I promise you I am fighting with all I have to get back to the land of the living. 

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