Seriously, who the crap am I?
Transitions are tough. Even when the new state of being is positive. Even when the other side is wonderful. The change can be difficult.
I remember reading that transitions are especially dangerous mental health territory. Well, I already have mental health issues. And now I'm in the middle of several transitions. What a surprise I'm having a tough time.
My youngest child just graduated. I was so focused on all the pain-in-the-butt things that were going away that I didn't look much further ahead. And now I find myself on unsolid ground. Not sure of my footing. Staring at a bunch of building materials with no idea what I want to create.
My oldest will be twenty-six in a few months. For over twenty-six years (I'm including my pregnancy), my whole life has been focused on my kids. Their safety. Their happiness. How to help them be good people. That's a long time in one job.
My youngest will be eighteen in a little over a month. And as my kids have become adults over the last few years, my role has changed somewhat. They're in charge of, and in control of, more of their lives. They're responsible for their choices, whether they act responsibly or not. In a little over a month, I will not be legally responsible for anyone but myself.
And I'm having some trouble processing that.
The transition has happened slowly, in theory. One child at a time. A couple years in between each one. So why does this moment feel so shocking?
Because she's the last one.
I've been a stay-at-home mom for most of their lives. Significantly longer than I was single and childless. When I no longer have minor children at home, but still choose not to work, what am I?
And what do I want to be?
See, here's the thing. I have all the choices in the world. My husband has no desire for me to work, for both physical health and mental health reasons. Although he would support me if I chose to work. Because he supports me in pretty much anything I want to do.
And that's the key phrase. What I want to do. And I have no idea. What do I want to do?
My health is better than it's been in years, but it's still a day to day thing. There are still days I can't get out of bed. Still lots of fatigue and pain.
But there are other days. Days when I feel pretty good. Days when I feel powerful. Days when I believe I can conquer the world.
I'd love to be able to plan out my life. I'd love to live by schedule. I'd love to know how I want to spend my days. To write it all down and live by it. But with the freedom to set it aside if a friend needs me. And I'm just not sure how to balance that.
I yearn for structure. I've always been a planner. But when my health fell apart eleven years ago, I had to stop committing to things. I had to stop planning. Because it just felt so bad when I let others down, when I had to cancel at the last minute. When I couldn't do that one thing I'd so looked forward to and worked to make happen.
I'm scared to plan again. I'm not sure why. And I guess I've planned all along, just on a different level. I'm not sure why this feels so different.
Yes, I am. I don't want to waste. I don't want to use my time badly. I don't want to just pass through day after day. I don't want to look in my rearview mirror and see emptiness. Days of nothing.
Before now, even if I did nothing else all day, I still parented. I still did something productive, just by keeping people alive and on task in their lives. When that's not my job anymore, what value do I have? Especially if my days are spent just doing whatever I want.
I know I'll find my footing. I always do. And it will be great. And I will be happy. But right now I feel like I'm dancing on quicksand. In an earthquake. With a tornado approaching.
And I have to decide whether to hunker down or face the storm.
Showing posts with label Lost. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lost. Show all posts
Saturday, June 18, 2016
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
The Land of Irritation or Depleted or Something Else
You bug me. Yes, you. Whoever you are. If you're reading this, you bug me. And so does everyone who's not reading this.
Right now almost everyone and everything irritates me. A lot. And I don't know why.
I'm severely limiting my social interactions, digitally and in real life. Because I can't keep up the facade.
I can't pretend the things you're saying or doing or wearing or eating aren't making me crazy. It takes so much energy to be polite and smile when I really just want to go off on a diatribe about how ridiculous I find you.
I absolutely know how self-centered this sounds (because it is). I understand how un-Christlike this sounds (because it is). I get it. And in my heart of hearts I don't feel this way.
But in my nerves I do. I don't want to. I'm working on it. But right now I do.
And my isolation is for both of us.
I'm certain my facade will eventually break down when we're together, and I'll tell you how whiny I think you are. I'll tell you to quit complaining and either do something about it or just shut up. Which will hurt you.
Which will hurt me. Because I will feel your hurt and carry the weight of that in my heart and on my back. And I just don't have that strength right now.
I think part of the reason everyone and everything is bothering me is because I feel like it's my job to fix all the problems. All of them. All of them in the world.
I know it's not. In my head. But in my heart I feel differently. Accountable. Responsible. At fault.
And I want the world perfect. I want the world to be the way I want it. That includes the people and their behavior. And if I'm accountable, at fault, then it's my job to fix it.
But it isn't. And people get very irritated when I try. (As well they should.)
So I'm just going to pull back and give myself some space to get through this. It's kind of like taking my ball and going home because you won't play what I want to play, only a bit more mature (I hope). You can keep the ball. I'm just going home.
Right now almost everyone and everything irritates me. A lot. And I don't know why.
I'm severely limiting my social interactions, digitally and in real life. Because I can't keep up the facade.
I can't pretend the things you're saying or doing or wearing or eating aren't making me crazy. It takes so much energy to be polite and smile when I really just want to go off on a diatribe about how ridiculous I find you.
I absolutely know how self-centered this sounds (because it is). I understand how un-Christlike this sounds (because it is). I get it. And in my heart of hearts I don't feel this way.
But in my nerves I do. I don't want to. I'm working on it. But right now I do.
And my isolation is for both of us.
I'm certain my facade will eventually break down when we're together, and I'll tell you how whiny I think you are. I'll tell you to quit complaining and either do something about it or just shut up. Which will hurt you.
Which will hurt me. Because I will feel your hurt and carry the weight of that in my heart and on my back. And I just don't have that strength right now.
I think part of the reason everyone and everything is bothering me is because I feel like it's my job to fix all the problems. All of them. All of them in the world.
I know it's not. In my head. But in my heart I feel differently. Accountable. Responsible. At fault.
And I want the world perfect. I want the world to be the way I want it. That includes the people and their behavior. And if I'm accountable, at fault, then it's my job to fix it.
But it isn't. And people get very irritated when I try. (As well they should.)
So I'm just going to pull back and give myself some space to get through this. It's kind of like taking my ball and going home because you won't play what I want to play, only a bit more mature (I hope). You can keep the ball. I'm just going home.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
When the Parent Becomes the Child
I have no idea how to write this post. I really don't. But I know it must be written. For me. For her. For others.
I try to always tell the truth. My truth (because that's all I really know). Especially when I write, because I know it will last. It will stand as a testament to who I am long after I remember saying or thinking it.
But sometimes our truths intersect. My truth crosses your truth. Who owns that portion in the middle, that shared truth? Who has the right to present that to the world?
I want to be careful about that. I want to honor the person who shares that space with me. But I also want to tell the truth.
I hope that by owning up front that this is MY truth and not necessarily THE truth, it's okay for me to share. This is about me and my mom.
My ability to recall memories is not great. I have vague images. And pictures. I have those, and they help.
This is me and my mom on my wedding day.
As a teen, I always thought she wore too much makeup, and I never understood the hair. But she was always put together. She wouldn't leave the house until she "put her face on" and "cleaned herself up." How she looked mattered to her.
And she was so sharp! She was the one who edited my papers. She could type and take shorthand like nobody's business. She was the Administrative Assistant to the President of the local state college and totally rocked that job! She was loved and admired by all who knew her. I don't remember ever hearing anyone say anything negative about her.
That was twenty-five years ago. She was two years older than I am now. And things have changed.
It's been gradual. Little things here and there. Her asking me how to spell things. Her not remembering the proper noun/verb correlation. Her not able to figure out how to use a new cell phone.
This is the profile picture she chose for her facebook account when someone helped her set it up five or six years ago.
She felt it represented well her many moods. I liked it then.
It's painful for me now. It feels like a way too accurate representation of her current fractured state.
I have these vague recollections of her coming to my grade school to do an art presentation. Of her taking me garage sale-ing on Saturday and then to Arctic Circle for lunch. Of her telling me I was her saving grace. The only daughter she got. The one who could understand her in a house full of men. I remember her being my best friend - so many years ago.
I don't have a picture of her now. I'm not sure I'd share it if I did; it wouldn't be a happy picture.
She's seventy-two now. Only seventy-two. I wasn't ready for it to happen so soon.
Because she's not her anymore.
I still live in the town I grew up in. And it's the town she grew up in. So I regularly run into people who knew me when I was little and she was so capable. I even run into people who knew her when she was young, long before I was around. People who grew up with her.
Inevitably the moment comes. They ask the question. The question I don't want to answer. "How's your mom?"
And the only answer I can give is, "Not good." As I start to tear up.
They ask what's wrong. I don't know the answer. None of us do. My dad. My brothers. Me. Her doctors - many, many doctors. We each have a guess; we think we know. But we don't.
My mom has fought anxiety, PTSD, and PMS for longer than I was aware. I remember when I was young and she discovered walking. Walking stabilized her. Walking cleared her mind. Walking was the mental medicine she needed that made her able to face her life again. And so she walked. Miles and miles all over town.
Back then, when I would run into people, they would say, "I see your mom out walking all the time." Back then it meant they saw their friend and she looked good. Like she was okay. It was said with positive energy. Now when they say, "I see your mom out walking," it's said with sadness and concern.
My mom still walks, when she can (she's injured right now). And those miles she used to walk pale in comparison to the miles she walks now. She's tiny and frail, and she will walk ten or fifteen miles a day. Maybe more. Because she no longer has a driver's license and she can't stay in one place. Honestly, it feels like she's trying to escape her own self.
She no longer leaves the house beautifully coiffed. She doesn't always have her makeup on. She can't smell well enough to know if her clothes are really clean. As long as they don't have major spills on them and are the right warmth for the weather, she'll wear them. And off she goes. Pulling her little rolling suitcase behind her. Looking like a bag lady.
I remember many years ago, as her own mother was aging and having difficulty walking and preparing meals, my mom said, "If I could choose between losing my mind and losing my ability to walk, I'd choose to lose my mind. As long as I can walk, I'll be okay."
I'm afraid her wish was granted.
I remember when she was strong. And healthy. And competent. And happy. But just vaguely. Because I feel trapped in this moment. I feel trapped in her hell.
She is angry much of the time, maybe most of the time - usually at my dad. She has difficulty keeping track of what day it is, even when I've told her three times already in the last hour. She doesn't prepare meals for herself, do her laundry, or meet most of her own care needs. And she still thinks she's independent. Most of the time.
She feels abandoned by my brothers who moved to another state years ago. She feels abandoned when my dad leaves town, for an occasional respite - which he so badly needs and deserves. She feels abandoned when my adult daughters stay with her instead of me. And she feels abandoned when none of these things are true.
She feels abandoned that we don't understand. Like we've left her alone to her anguish.
She will spend hours upon hours reliving all the traumas of her past. Over and over. Telling me the same stories again and again. Of her pain. Of all the things people did. Of all the ways they hurt her. And they are all true. They are her truth. And she is trapped there.
But it hurts. It hurts me.
When my dad leaves town I become her primary caregiver. It's my job to help her get where she needs to go, even when she can't decide where that is. Even if it means dropping everything and going to pick her up at her motel room (which my dad rents for her by the month, because she has to have somewhere to go other than her house). For the third time that day. Or taking her to my house, because she feels peace there.
But those are the good days. If all I have to do is take her where she needs to go and listen to her tell me for two hours straight how horrible my dad is and was, that's a good day.
Lately they haven't been good days.
Lately it's been her showing up at my door, pounding and pounding, hysterical. Or calling. Any hour of any day. She's crying. Sobbing. "No one understands how bad I am! I can't make it! I just can't make it! He doesn't care! All he thinks about is himself! No one cares! No one will help me!"
And if I don't answer (because I'm not home and can't answer my door or I'm at church and have my phone off) then she feels abandoned by me. And sometimes in those moments she'll turn to my brother in town. And he'll help as best he can.
But usually it's me. Often even when my dad is in town. Because he and she have had another screaming match and she wants a divorce and her life will be all better if she could just get a divorce.
Because she can't see that he manages her world. That he wraps his life around her and what she feels and what she needs. That he drops everything, including his job, to come get her. To take care of her.
Yes, they have an ugly history. I know that. I was there. There were many years I prayed they would divorce because he was so mean. So controlling. So angry and unkind.
But he isn't that way now. At least, not that I see. I am sure there are times when he loses it and he yells back when she's screaming at him. But not nearly as much as she is horrifically unkind to him.
Those rants I hear for hours and hours? He gets them, too. She just rips him up one side and down the other. All while he is trying to help her. Because sometimes she isn't clear in her expression of what she wants (when she can figure out what she wants). And when he, or any of us, gets it wrong she says it's because we don't care what she wants. We don't give a damn about her feelings.
A month ago, when she found out he was going to leave town to go golfing with my brother for six days (which we were happy about and fully supported, because he needs refueling - even if he won't admit it), she lost it again. She showed up at my house - hysterical - and just cried and cried. Not quiet I'm-so-sad cries. Anguished end-of-the-world crying. Lost. Alone. Abandoned. Sobbing. Screaming. And somewhat slurred.
Because it turns out she took twice as many pain pills as she should. Along with Ritalin. And Valium. And progesterone. And whatever else she could think of that would take care of the pain and help her be calm enough to survive in her own skin.
I called my brother, who had prescribed the pain pills, and asked him what to do. He sent her a text begging her to give me the pills. He couldn't live with it if she died as a result of something he'd prescribed. She gave me the pain pills. And then I kept watch over her as she slept and watched Elvis in my living room for the next seven hours. I tried to feed her, but the most I could get her to eat was half a banana.
You see, her teeth are very bad. So bad that I don't think she brushes them anymore because it hurts. She knows she needs to have work done on them, but her anxiety is too intense to sit through it. So she can't eat anything that's not soft. And she has gotten to the point that she usually doesn't even want to try. She lives on Ensure and chocolate. And water. She will go days without having anything else. I know this because I've lived with her for several days at a time.
That day when she took too much medication was a major turning point. (Oh, who am I kidding? I think she takes too much medication every day.) Since then, she has needed nearly round the clock care. Someone to be with her all the time. Yes, someone to try to feed her and get her where she needs to go. Someone to tell her when she can take what pain pills. But mostly, someone to help manage her panic.
She can't sleep well. She can't walk much, because of her injury. And the meds just don't manage the anxiety like they used to. So she melts down. And she needs someone there when she does.
This last week, which started with her pounding on our door at five in the morning on Sunday, was the most difficult for me yet. There were at least five times in the four days I took care of her that I was sure we would be heading to the ER in the next five minutes.
I've taken care of a lot of people over the years. I've acted as nurse to many people through surgery recovery, illness, and many emotional breakdowns. I've raised five children (as a stay-at-home mom, so around the clock) from birth to adulthood. I'm good at it. I'm good at taking care of other people. I am patient. I am knowledgeable. And I truly care. I'm really good at it.
But this last week broke me. Over and over.
When she showed up at five in the morning, my husband answered the door. She was in a bad way again. My dad had told her he was leaving town the next day and she'd lost it. They'd gotten into another screaming match.
My husband was able to get her to lie down on our couch and try to sleep. And then he let me know she was there so I wouldn't be hit with it unexpectedly when I got up.
I had a long day ahead of me at church, on my feet in an energetically demanding calling for two hours. I hadn't had more than four hours of sleep the last two nights. So when he told me she was there I tried so desperately to go back to sleep. But, knowing she was there and was likely to throw off my entire morning (possibly the whole day) and bring that angry energy to my family and completely drain me on a day of rest, made it impossible to sleep. I did stay in bed and at least try to rest. Even as my panic and anxiety began to set in.
A couple hours later I got up and got ready for church. I talked to her a bit as I put the evening's dinner in the crock pot. Well, talked with her is not exactly right. Two-way conversations don't happen much anymore. She just talks and talks and talks and I just listen. So as I walked around getting ready, she kept talking at me. I have no idea what about, except how awful and self-centered my dad is. (I would be lying if I said I don't sometimes tune her out while she's talking at me.)
Eventually I was ready and told her I needed to go, but my husband was there and would help her if she needed him. I told her he could take her anywhere she needed to go. And then I called him and told him he was on duty. I could hear his heart drop in the answering sigh.
I went to church. I had a wonderful, soothing day, as I almost always do. And as I came out of church I checked my phone.
I had missed several calls from my mom. And I had a voicemail. The worst voicemail I've ever received. Sobbing - "Robin, I need help! I've made a mistake! I need you to come and get me! I need somebody to because everybody just doesn't think I'm as bad as I am! I can't make it! I can't make it anymore!!! Please!" - followed by more sobbing. I can't describe the emotion, panic, pain, and terror that I heard in her voice.
I also had a missed call from my local brother. I called him back. He was on his way to pick my mom up from her motel (where she'd had my husband take her). My brother told me she had called my other brother, the doctor, and yelled at him about how worthless he was. She also called my dad and told him she'd taken a bunch of pills and would see him in the morgue. My brother was on his way to a job when she called and wondered if I could take over. I told him I would meet him at her house.
You may be wondering why we didn't go immediately to the ER, after the statement about pills. Honestly, she says a lot of things in anger that aren't even close to reality. Especially to my dad. She tries to punish him and strikes out quite frequently. She wants to hurt him; she has said so. But when I ask, she has no hesitation in telling me what she's taken. As long as she can remember what she's taken. So I knew the ER was a possibility (one I was terrified of), but wanted to talk to her first. To assess the truth of the situation. As it turns out, she didn't take a bunch of pills. She didn't take anything other than her regular stuff. She admitted she just said that to my dad because she was mad at him.
I stayed with her at her house for many hours. (I wish I could truly convey what that day and those to follow were like. It felt like she was an 18-month old child who is overly tired. A child who is so tired but won't sleep. She wants to be picked up and then when you do pick her up she hits you and wants to be put down. She wants the toy but when you hand it to her she throws it back at you and hits you in the face. You feel bad for her because you know she has no idea what to do with the emotions she's feeling but you don't know either and you're sure if she could just sleep things would be better. And even though you feel bad for her your frustration at her unwillingness to comply grows. And your stress grows. And your sadness grows. And you want to throw things, too. You want to hit someone, too. And you're getting no sleep, or even rest, because of her temper tantrums and she won't let anyone help her but you. And it goes on for days and days. It's a lot like that. Except this toddler takes prescription medication [not always hers] according to her own whims and walks all over town any time of the day or night and has money and a cell phone to call a cab and is considered an adult who is in charge of her own life. Oh, and she is completely verbal so she can tell you over and over how much you've failed her and how much everyone else who's trying to help has failed her and how none of you care and are all so selfish. It's like that.)
As I said, my mom doesn't sleep well. Even when she's taken enough meds to put down a horse. So it was a day of trying to sleep. Pacing and panicking because she can't sleep. Her calling and texting my dad about what to do. Him trying to help from another state. Him calling and texting me asking what's going on and suggesting other things to try. And encouraging me to try to keep her from going to the ER (which she does at least once every month or so).
My 24-year old daughter came over to relieve me for a few minutes so I could go home and finish dinner for my family and get some food. I was only gone about fifteen minutes. I then stayed with her until my 20-year old daughter (the one my dad had asked to stay with my mom while he was gone) came over at about ten thirty to spend the night.
I went home, hoping that now that my mom was finally sleeping she would be a bit better and my daughter could cover for a bit. But my mom showed up at my door early the next morning telling me she couldn't make it. And it started all over again. A couple more times thinking we were going to end up in the ER. Then she called her therapist who said she could see her later that day. I know this usually calms her, so I was eager for this to happen. Even though I don't always agree with this therapist. Or what my mom presents as the things this therapist says.
Somehow we got through that day and got to the therapist. I was hoping to get her in and go lie down in the car for an hour. I just needed a few minutes alone. A few minutes of not needing to take care of her. A few minutes of not having to calm anyone but myself. But it didn't work out that way.
My mom asked if I wanted to come in with her. I said I would do whatever she wanted. Her therapist suggested they meet together first and then invite me in if they needed me. Which meant I needed to stay in the waiting room.
Half an hour or so later, her therapist invited me into the room.
This was rough. My mom had gone there to get help from the therapist on how to divorce my dad. The therapist asked me how I felt about my mom divorcing my dad. I told her I didn't care at all if she and my dad stay married. I spent years as a child praying they would get divorced. I truly didn't care if they were married. And then I paused. I am always as truthful as possible in therapy. This was the moment I worried about. This was the moment I had to tell a painful truth to my mom. This is the moment I knew I would hurt my mom. Just the first of many that would happen in that session. I said I didn't care if they divorced, but I worried about who would take care of my mom if that happened. He does so much for her that she can't do for herself. And I couldn't take that load on. I just can't.
Lots of other discussion. Lots of other distraction. More truths I told her.
* When she rejects one of us, she says it's because she needs someone who sees reality. I challenged her on that and said, "Your reality. Your reality isn't the same as the reality I see or others see."
* When she called my dad manipulative I challenged her on that. "What about when you called him and told him you'd taken a bunch of pills and would see him in the morgue? Don't you think that was manipulative?"
* When she said my dad has everyone on his side because he gives them money I challenged her on that. "I have never felt obligated to take his side because he's given me money. None of us do. We're not taking sides. We listen to both of you. We try to help both of you. We are not against you."
There were other truths I shared. It did hurt her. She's brought at least one of them up again since. The one when I said I couldn't take the whole load on by myself. Later that night or the next day (things are kind of blurring together), as I was getting my stuff together so I could go back over to her house with her, she walked out the front door. She didn't tell anyone she was leaving or where she was going. She didn't ask for a ride. She just left. I sent my daughter after her. My daughter came back and said my mom was unwilling to come back. She just needed to leave. It was cold and my mom was in no condition to be out walking to who knows where. I told my daughter to go get her in the car and bring her back. My daughter said she wouldn't come back. I told her to just bring her to the driveway and wait for me, she didn't need to come in.
I went to the car and asked her where she wanted to go. She said she guessed she had to go to her motel. She just couldn't go home. She couldn't be in that house. I asked her if she felt like she could be okay alone at the motel. She said what other choice did she have. She couldn't go home. I asked if she wanted to come back into my house. She said I had said I didn't want her calling me with her problems. She said I had said I didn't want to help her. I said that just wasn't true and what was she talking about? She said that I'd said it in her therapy session. I tried to clear up what I'd said. I do want to help her, but I can't take on the whole load without dad. I again asked if she wanted to come back in my house. She said yes, if there was somewhere private and quiet that she could be. (So far, she'd been in the living room. It's the center of the house and the only gathering room other than the kitchen - we don't have a large house.) I said she could try my bedroom.
I led her to my bedroom. I helped her get settled on my bed. I made sure she had what she needed nearby. And then I sat in the chair by the bed and listened again, for half an hour or an hour. When she finally felt stable, like maybe she could sleep, I left and closed the door. She must have slept because I didn't see her again for hours. (You would think I would rest during this time, but not so much. In those moments I'm still on constant alert listening for her and knowing at any minute I could be called on again to manage another crisis.) She got up and went to the bathroom once, but then went right back. Eventually it was bedtime and I just curled up on the couch, hoping she'd get lots of sleep and finally feel better.
She came out a few times starting at about three in the morning. I pretended to be asleep, although I woke up each time. I was hoping if she thought I was sleeping she would go back to bed. It worked three or four times, until it started to get light and she could see for sure that it was me on the couch. She woke me a little after six, in another panic and wanting to go to the hospital. I spent the next hour trying to settle her enough that I could get my kids up when I needed to and another hour after that as I tried to get my kids out the door for school.
A couple more days like that. One night when she actually let my daughter be in charge and I got some sleep. And so much panic and anger and recycling trauma. And so many hours of me suppressing my feelings so I could do what needed to be done without causing her additional stress - and then going into the bathroom to break down in sobs from the emotional weight of it all.
Near the end of her therapy session, her therapist had asked if she could talk to me alone. My mom said that would be fine and went to the waiting room. As soon as the door was closed her therapist looked at me and said, "Do you think your mom is competent?" Without missing a beat I answered, "No. Absolutely not."
Her therapist said she'd seen a noticeable decline in my mom since the last time she'd seen her. She was very concerned about all the meds my mom takes and the addict behavior she displays. Then she said she wanted her to have a neurological evaluation, to have her competency assessed. She spelled out how to do that, recommended who to call, and told me what could happen afterward. She said if my mom and dad divorce or separate that we would likely have to put her into assisted living. And she told me my mom would likely be very angry with me and with her.
And I felt another weight drop heavily on my shoulders. I now have the expectations and wishes of the therapist. And the feelings and needs of my mom. And the feelings and beliefs and stewardship that is my dad's. And my brothers. And my own issues, anxieties, panic, and sadness. And somehow I am supposed to balance all this and figure out what is right. What am I to do? My dad is her primary caregiver. How am I to tell him? Should I tell him, knowing how my mom feels about him? How much do I involve my brothers, not wanting to place extra burden on them? And honestly, not wanting them to make my job harder by disagreeing with me when they aren't here and don't see what I see.
She thinks if she could just get on the right meds she'd be her old self again. My dad thinks if she would just get off all the meds she'd be her old self again. I'm not sure what my brothers think. I think her old self is gone. I think the meds are a problem. I think she needs to be in a treatment center where they can take her off all the meds and figure out which she really needs and teach her to manage them properly. Or hand the management off to someone else. But I also think her mental capacity is declining. A lot. I think we are past the point of no return. I think she will never be competent again, no matter what we do. I think we are on a downward slope and we will just continue down until she dies. But I could be wrong.
So, for now, I am sitting on it. I'm not making a decision about what her therapist said and what to do with it. My dad is back and has taken over, although I'm still getting calls for rides. It's only a matter of time until another crisis. And she will turn to me. Or he will. Because I've managed them well in the past and none of us knows what to do and we all reach out for the piece of driftwood that will keep us afloat just a little longer. And I am often the driftwood.
And sometimes I'm the one sinking.
I try to always tell the truth. My truth (because that's all I really know). Especially when I write, because I know it will last. It will stand as a testament to who I am long after I remember saying or thinking it.
But sometimes our truths intersect. My truth crosses your truth. Who owns that portion in the middle, that shared truth? Who has the right to present that to the world?
I want to be careful about that. I want to honor the person who shares that space with me. But I also want to tell the truth.
I hope that by owning up front that this is MY truth and not necessarily THE truth, it's okay for me to share. This is about me and my mom.
My ability to recall memories is not great. I have vague images. And pictures. I have those, and they help.
This is me and my mom on my wedding day.
And she was so sharp! She was the one who edited my papers. She could type and take shorthand like nobody's business. She was the Administrative Assistant to the President of the local state college and totally rocked that job! She was loved and admired by all who knew her. I don't remember ever hearing anyone say anything negative about her.
That was twenty-five years ago. She was two years older than I am now. And things have changed.
It's been gradual. Little things here and there. Her asking me how to spell things. Her not remembering the proper noun/verb correlation. Her not able to figure out how to use a new cell phone.
This is the profile picture she chose for her facebook account when someone helped her set it up five or six years ago.
It's painful for me now. It feels like a way too accurate representation of her current fractured state.
I have these vague recollections of her coming to my grade school to do an art presentation. Of her taking me garage sale-ing on Saturday and then to Arctic Circle for lunch. Of her telling me I was her saving grace. The only daughter she got. The one who could understand her in a house full of men. I remember her being my best friend - so many years ago.
I don't have a picture of her now. I'm not sure I'd share it if I did; it wouldn't be a happy picture.
She's seventy-two now. Only seventy-two. I wasn't ready for it to happen so soon.
Because she's not her anymore.
I still live in the town I grew up in. And it's the town she grew up in. So I regularly run into people who knew me when I was little and she was so capable. I even run into people who knew her when she was young, long before I was around. People who grew up with her.
Inevitably the moment comes. They ask the question. The question I don't want to answer. "How's your mom?"
And the only answer I can give is, "Not good." As I start to tear up.
They ask what's wrong. I don't know the answer. None of us do. My dad. My brothers. Me. Her doctors - many, many doctors. We each have a guess; we think we know. But we don't.
My mom has fought anxiety, PTSD, and PMS for longer than I was aware. I remember when I was young and she discovered walking. Walking stabilized her. Walking cleared her mind. Walking was the mental medicine she needed that made her able to face her life again. And so she walked. Miles and miles all over town.
Back then, when I would run into people, they would say, "I see your mom out walking all the time." Back then it meant they saw their friend and she looked good. Like she was okay. It was said with positive energy. Now when they say, "I see your mom out walking," it's said with sadness and concern.
My mom still walks, when she can (she's injured right now). And those miles she used to walk pale in comparison to the miles she walks now. She's tiny and frail, and she will walk ten or fifteen miles a day. Maybe more. Because she no longer has a driver's license and she can't stay in one place. Honestly, it feels like she's trying to escape her own self.
She no longer leaves the house beautifully coiffed. She doesn't always have her makeup on. She can't smell well enough to know if her clothes are really clean. As long as they don't have major spills on them and are the right warmth for the weather, she'll wear them. And off she goes. Pulling her little rolling suitcase behind her. Looking like a bag lady.
I remember many years ago, as her own mother was aging and having difficulty walking and preparing meals, my mom said, "If I could choose between losing my mind and losing my ability to walk, I'd choose to lose my mind. As long as I can walk, I'll be okay."
I'm afraid her wish was granted.
I remember when she was strong. And healthy. And competent. And happy. But just vaguely. Because I feel trapped in this moment. I feel trapped in her hell.
She is angry much of the time, maybe most of the time - usually at my dad. She has difficulty keeping track of what day it is, even when I've told her three times already in the last hour. She doesn't prepare meals for herself, do her laundry, or meet most of her own care needs. And she still thinks she's independent. Most of the time.
She feels abandoned by my brothers who moved to another state years ago. She feels abandoned when my dad leaves town, for an occasional respite - which he so badly needs and deserves. She feels abandoned when my adult daughters stay with her instead of me. And she feels abandoned when none of these things are true.
She feels abandoned that we don't understand. Like we've left her alone to her anguish.
She will spend hours upon hours reliving all the traumas of her past. Over and over. Telling me the same stories again and again. Of her pain. Of all the things people did. Of all the ways they hurt her. And they are all true. They are her truth. And she is trapped there.
But it hurts. It hurts me.
When my dad leaves town I become her primary caregiver. It's my job to help her get where she needs to go, even when she can't decide where that is. Even if it means dropping everything and going to pick her up at her motel room (which my dad rents for her by the month, because she has to have somewhere to go other than her house). For the third time that day. Or taking her to my house, because she feels peace there.
But those are the good days. If all I have to do is take her where she needs to go and listen to her tell me for two hours straight how horrible my dad is and was, that's a good day.
Lately they haven't been good days.
Lately it's been her showing up at my door, pounding and pounding, hysterical. Or calling. Any hour of any day. She's crying. Sobbing. "No one understands how bad I am! I can't make it! I just can't make it! He doesn't care! All he thinks about is himself! No one cares! No one will help me!"
And if I don't answer (because I'm not home and can't answer my door or I'm at church and have my phone off) then she feels abandoned by me. And sometimes in those moments she'll turn to my brother in town. And he'll help as best he can.
But usually it's me. Often even when my dad is in town. Because he and she have had another screaming match and she wants a divorce and her life will be all better if she could just get a divorce.
Because she can't see that he manages her world. That he wraps his life around her and what she feels and what she needs. That he drops everything, including his job, to come get her. To take care of her.
Yes, they have an ugly history. I know that. I was there. There were many years I prayed they would divorce because he was so mean. So controlling. So angry and unkind.
But he isn't that way now. At least, not that I see. I am sure there are times when he loses it and he yells back when she's screaming at him. But not nearly as much as she is horrifically unkind to him.
Those rants I hear for hours and hours? He gets them, too. She just rips him up one side and down the other. All while he is trying to help her. Because sometimes she isn't clear in her expression of what she wants (when she can figure out what she wants). And when he, or any of us, gets it wrong she says it's because we don't care what she wants. We don't give a damn about her feelings.
A month ago, when she found out he was going to leave town to go golfing with my brother for six days (which we were happy about and fully supported, because he needs refueling - even if he won't admit it), she lost it again. She showed up at my house - hysterical - and just cried and cried. Not quiet I'm-so-sad cries. Anguished end-of-the-world crying. Lost. Alone. Abandoned. Sobbing. Screaming. And somewhat slurred.
Because it turns out she took twice as many pain pills as she should. Along with Ritalin. And Valium. And progesterone. And whatever else she could think of that would take care of the pain and help her be calm enough to survive in her own skin.
I called my brother, who had prescribed the pain pills, and asked him what to do. He sent her a text begging her to give me the pills. He couldn't live with it if she died as a result of something he'd prescribed. She gave me the pain pills. And then I kept watch over her as she slept and watched Elvis in my living room for the next seven hours. I tried to feed her, but the most I could get her to eat was half a banana.
You see, her teeth are very bad. So bad that I don't think she brushes them anymore because it hurts. She knows she needs to have work done on them, but her anxiety is too intense to sit through it. So she can't eat anything that's not soft. And she has gotten to the point that she usually doesn't even want to try. She lives on Ensure and chocolate. And water. She will go days without having anything else. I know this because I've lived with her for several days at a time.
That day when she took too much medication was a major turning point. (Oh, who am I kidding? I think she takes too much medication every day.) Since then, she has needed nearly round the clock care. Someone to be with her all the time. Yes, someone to try to feed her and get her where she needs to go. Someone to tell her when she can take what pain pills. But mostly, someone to help manage her panic.
She can't sleep well. She can't walk much, because of her injury. And the meds just don't manage the anxiety like they used to. So she melts down. And she needs someone there when she does.
This last week, which started with her pounding on our door at five in the morning on Sunday, was the most difficult for me yet. There were at least five times in the four days I took care of her that I was sure we would be heading to the ER in the next five minutes.
I've taken care of a lot of people over the years. I've acted as nurse to many people through surgery recovery, illness, and many emotional breakdowns. I've raised five children (as a stay-at-home mom, so around the clock) from birth to adulthood. I'm good at it. I'm good at taking care of other people. I am patient. I am knowledgeable. And I truly care. I'm really good at it.
But this last week broke me. Over and over.
When she showed up at five in the morning, my husband answered the door. She was in a bad way again. My dad had told her he was leaving town the next day and she'd lost it. They'd gotten into another screaming match.
My husband was able to get her to lie down on our couch and try to sleep. And then he let me know she was there so I wouldn't be hit with it unexpectedly when I got up.
I had a long day ahead of me at church, on my feet in an energetically demanding calling for two hours. I hadn't had more than four hours of sleep the last two nights. So when he told me she was there I tried so desperately to go back to sleep. But, knowing she was there and was likely to throw off my entire morning (possibly the whole day) and bring that angry energy to my family and completely drain me on a day of rest, made it impossible to sleep. I did stay in bed and at least try to rest. Even as my panic and anxiety began to set in.
A couple hours later I got up and got ready for church. I talked to her a bit as I put the evening's dinner in the crock pot. Well, talked with her is not exactly right. Two-way conversations don't happen much anymore. She just talks and talks and talks and I just listen. So as I walked around getting ready, she kept talking at me. I have no idea what about, except how awful and self-centered my dad is. (I would be lying if I said I don't sometimes tune her out while she's talking at me.)
Eventually I was ready and told her I needed to go, but my husband was there and would help her if she needed him. I told her he could take her anywhere she needed to go. And then I called him and told him he was on duty. I could hear his heart drop in the answering sigh.
I went to church. I had a wonderful, soothing day, as I almost always do. And as I came out of church I checked my phone.
I had missed several calls from my mom. And I had a voicemail. The worst voicemail I've ever received. Sobbing - "Robin, I need help! I've made a mistake! I need you to come and get me! I need somebody to because everybody just doesn't think I'm as bad as I am! I can't make it! I can't make it anymore!!! Please!" - followed by more sobbing. I can't describe the emotion, panic, pain, and terror that I heard in her voice.
I also had a missed call from my local brother. I called him back. He was on his way to pick my mom up from her motel (where she'd had my husband take her). My brother told me she had called my other brother, the doctor, and yelled at him about how worthless he was. She also called my dad and told him she'd taken a bunch of pills and would see him in the morgue. My brother was on his way to a job when she called and wondered if I could take over. I told him I would meet him at her house.
You may be wondering why we didn't go immediately to the ER, after the statement about pills. Honestly, she says a lot of things in anger that aren't even close to reality. Especially to my dad. She tries to punish him and strikes out quite frequently. She wants to hurt him; she has said so. But when I ask, she has no hesitation in telling me what she's taken. As long as she can remember what she's taken. So I knew the ER was a possibility (one I was terrified of), but wanted to talk to her first. To assess the truth of the situation. As it turns out, she didn't take a bunch of pills. She didn't take anything other than her regular stuff. She admitted she just said that to my dad because she was mad at him.
I stayed with her at her house for many hours. (I wish I could truly convey what that day and those to follow were like. It felt like she was an 18-month old child who is overly tired. A child who is so tired but won't sleep. She wants to be picked up and then when you do pick her up she hits you and wants to be put down. She wants the toy but when you hand it to her she throws it back at you and hits you in the face. You feel bad for her because you know she has no idea what to do with the emotions she's feeling but you don't know either and you're sure if she could just sleep things would be better. And even though you feel bad for her your frustration at her unwillingness to comply grows. And your stress grows. And your sadness grows. And you want to throw things, too. You want to hit someone, too. And you're getting no sleep, or even rest, because of her temper tantrums and she won't let anyone help her but you. And it goes on for days and days. It's a lot like that. Except this toddler takes prescription medication [not always hers] according to her own whims and walks all over town any time of the day or night and has money and a cell phone to call a cab and is considered an adult who is in charge of her own life. Oh, and she is completely verbal so she can tell you over and over how much you've failed her and how much everyone else who's trying to help has failed her and how none of you care and are all so selfish. It's like that.)
As I said, my mom doesn't sleep well. Even when she's taken enough meds to put down a horse. So it was a day of trying to sleep. Pacing and panicking because she can't sleep. Her calling and texting my dad about what to do. Him trying to help from another state. Him calling and texting me asking what's going on and suggesting other things to try. And encouraging me to try to keep her from going to the ER (which she does at least once every month or so).
My 24-year old daughter came over to relieve me for a few minutes so I could go home and finish dinner for my family and get some food. I was only gone about fifteen minutes. I then stayed with her until my 20-year old daughter (the one my dad had asked to stay with my mom while he was gone) came over at about ten thirty to spend the night.
I went home, hoping that now that my mom was finally sleeping she would be a bit better and my daughter could cover for a bit. But my mom showed up at my door early the next morning telling me she couldn't make it. And it started all over again. A couple more times thinking we were going to end up in the ER. Then she called her therapist who said she could see her later that day. I know this usually calms her, so I was eager for this to happen. Even though I don't always agree with this therapist. Or what my mom presents as the things this therapist says.
Somehow we got through that day and got to the therapist. I was hoping to get her in and go lie down in the car for an hour. I just needed a few minutes alone. A few minutes of not needing to take care of her. A few minutes of not having to calm anyone but myself. But it didn't work out that way.
My mom asked if I wanted to come in with her. I said I would do whatever she wanted. Her therapist suggested they meet together first and then invite me in if they needed me. Which meant I needed to stay in the waiting room.
Half an hour or so later, her therapist invited me into the room.
This was rough. My mom had gone there to get help from the therapist on how to divorce my dad. The therapist asked me how I felt about my mom divorcing my dad. I told her I didn't care at all if she and my dad stay married. I spent years as a child praying they would get divorced. I truly didn't care if they were married. And then I paused. I am always as truthful as possible in therapy. This was the moment I worried about. This was the moment I had to tell a painful truth to my mom. This is the moment I knew I would hurt my mom. Just the first of many that would happen in that session. I said I didn't care if they divorced, but I worried about who would take care of my mom if that happened. He does so much for her that she can't do for herself. And I couldn't take that load on. I just can't.
Lots of other discussion. Lots of other distraction. More truths I told her.
* When she rejects one of us, she says it's because she needs someone who sees reality. I challenged her on that and said, "Your reality. Your reality isn't the same as the reality I see or others see."
* When she called my dad manipulative I challenged her on that. "What about when you called him and told him you'd taken a bunch of pills and would see him in the morgue? Don't you think that was manipulative?"
* When she said my dad has everyone on his side because he gives them money I challenged her on that. "I have never felt obligated to take his side because he's given me money. None of us do. We're not taking sides. We listen to both of you. We try to help both of you. We are not against you."
There were other truths I shared. It did hurt her. She's brought at least one of them up again since. The one when I said I couldn't take the whole load on by myself. Later that night or the next day (things are kind of blurring together), as I was getting my stuff together so I could go back over to her house with her, she walked out the front door. She didn't tell anyone she was leaving or where she was going. She didn't ask for a ride. She just left. I sent my daughter after her. My daughter came back and said my mom was unwilling to come back. She just needed to leave. It was cold and my mom was in no condition to be out walking to who knows where. I told my daughter to go get her in the car and bring her back. My daughter said she wouldn't come back. I told her to just bring her to the driveway and wait for me, she didn't need to come in.
I went to the car and asked her where she wanted to go. She said she guessed she had to go to her motel. She just couldn't go home. She couldn't be in that house. I asked her if she felt like she could be okay alone at the motel. She said what other choice did she have. She couldn't go home. I asked if she wanted to come back into my house. She said I had said I didn't want her calling me with her problems. She said I had said I didn't want to help her. I said that just wasn't true and what was she talking about? She said that I'd said it in her therapy session. I tried to clear up what I'd said. I do want to help her, but I can't take on the whole load without dad. I again asked if she wanted to come back in my house. She said yes, if there was somewhere private and quiet that she could be. (So far, she'd been in the living room. It's the center of the house and the only gathering room other than the kitchen - we don't have a large house.) I said she could try my bedroom.
I led her to my bedroom. I helped her get settled on my bed. I made sure she had what she needed nearby. And then I sat in the chair by the bed and listened again, for half an hour or an hour. When she finally felt stable, like maybe she could sleep, I left and closed the door. She must have slept because I didn't see her again for hours. (You would think I would rest during this time, but not so much. In those moments I'm still on constant alert listening for her and knowing at any minute I could be called on again to manage another crisis.) She got up and went to the bathroom once, but then went right back. Eventually it was bedtime and I just curled up on the couch, hoping she'd get lots of sleep and finally feel better.
She came out a few times starting at about three in the morning. I pretended to be asleep, although I woke up each time. I was hoping if she thought I was sleeping she would go back to bed. It worked three or four times, until it started to get light and she could see for sure that it was me on the couch. She woke me a little after six, in another panic and wanting to go to the hospital. I spent the next hour trying to settle her enough that I could get my kids up when I needed to and another hour after that as I tried to get my kids out the door for school.
A couple more days like that. One night when she actually let my daughter be in charge and I got some sleep. And so much panic and anger and recycling trauma. And so many hours of me suppressing my feelings so I could do what needed to be done without causing her additional stress - and then going into the bathroom to break down in sobs from the emotional weight of it all.
Near the end of her therapy session, her therapist had asked if she could talk to me alone. My mom said that would be fine and went to the waiting room. As soon as the door was closed her therapist looked at me and said, "Do you think your mom is competent?" Without missing a beat I answered, "No. Absolutely not."
Her therapist said she'd seen a noticeable decline in my mom since the last time she'd seen her. She was very concerned about all the meds my mom takes and the addict behavior she displays. Then she said she wanted her to have a neurological evaluation, to have her competency assessed. She spelled out how to do that, recommended who to call, and told me what could happen afterward. She said if my mom and dad divorce or separate that we would likely have to put her into assisted living. And she told me my mom would likely be very angry with me and with her.
And I felt another weight drop heavily on my shoulders. I now have the expectations and wishes of the therapist. And the feelings and needs of my mom. And the feelings and beliefs and stewardship that is my dad's. And my brothers. And my own issues, anxieties, panic, and sadness. And somehow I am supposed to balance all this and figure out what is right. What am I to do? My dad is her primary caregiver. How am I to tell him? Should I tell him, knowing how my mom feels about him? How much do I involve my brothers, not wanting to place extra burden on them? And honestly, not wanting them to make my job harder by disagreeing with me when they aren't here and don't see what I see.
She thinks if she could just get on the right meds she'd be her old self again. My dad thinks if she would just get off all the meds she'd be her old self again. I'm not sure what my brothers think. I think her old self is gone. I think the meds are a problem. I think she needs to be in a treatment center where they can take her off all the meds and figure out which she really needs and teach her to manage them properly. Or hand the management off to someone else. But I also think her mental capacity is declining. A lot. I think we are past the point of no return. I think she will never be competent again, no matter what we do. I think we are on a downward slope and we will just continue down until she dies. But I could be wrong.
So, for now, I am sitting on it. I'm not making a decision about what her therapist said and what to do with it. My dad is back and has taken over, although I'm still getting calls for rides. It's only a matter of time until another crisis. And she will turn to me. Or he will. Because I've managed them well in the past and none of us knows what to do and we all reach out for the piece of driftwood that will keep us afloat just a little longer. And I am often the driftwood.
And sometimes I'm the one sinking.
Friday, October 17, 2014
Have to Write
Have to write.
Can't.
Stuck.
Hurts.
Wound so tight.
Things a blur.
Unsure.
Lost.
Choking on thoughts.
Flailing.
Drowning.
Pinned at the bottom of the sea.
Looking up.
Wishing.
Waiting.
Believing.
Can't.
Stuck.
Hurts.
Wound so tight.
Things a blur.
Unsure.
Lost.
Choking on thoughts.
Flailing.
Drowning.
Pinned at the bottom of the sea.
Looking up.
Wishing.
Waiting.
Believing.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
What Depression Looks Like
Earlier this year a friend of mine asked if she could take my picture. She's spending the year focusing on the importance of the people in her life, A Year of Faces. I was one of many she'd asked and declined at first. It was a very dark time in my life. Not a time I would look my best. I explained to her where I was emotionally and asked if I could participate later, when I felt better.
She said she understood and, of course, we could wait if I wanted to. But if I was willing, she'd like to capture where I was right then. The darkness.
And I knew it was right. I needed this to happen. Even though it wouldn't be pretty and even though it was difficult, it was also so important. I agreed to do it.
She sent me some pictures she'd found on the internet of depression. Some were very stylized, very artsy. Some were blank stares. Some were silhouettes. I understood why people associated these with depression. And these might represent depression for some people, or even me at some times.
But not this time. None of these came close this time.
This was my darkest time, at least the darkest I can remember. This was the most painful depression I've ever had. And the most unrelenting. Months and months of pain and numbness and isolation and fear and loneliness and sadness and confusion and anxiety and guilt and exhaustion.
The day she came I was wearing the same pajamas I'd been wearing for three or four days straight. My hair was dirty because I just didn't have the energy or will to shower. She was the first person I'd invited into my home in weeks.
She asked me to tell her about my current struggle as she took photos. She was gentle and kind. She listened and asked questions. It was an important moment.
She used one photo for her project. I've been saving the others for the right time. Today is the right time.
These photos are difficult for me to look at. They hurt. But people need to understand what depression is and I believe these will help.
Thank you, Karen, for capturing a hidden moment that needs to be seen.
This is what depression looks like. It's not a bad day. It's not when things go wrong. It's when the world is pulled out from under me and I am plunging to my death and I just don't even care.
She said she understood and, of course, we could wait if I wanted to. But if I was willing, she'd like to capture where I was right then. The darkness.
And I knew it was right. I needed this to happen. Even though it wouldn't be pretty and even though it was difficult, it was also so important. I agreed to do it.
She sent me some pictures she'd found on the internet of depression. Some were very stylized, very artsy. Some were blank stares. Some were silhouettes. I understood why people associated these with depression. And these might represent depression for some people, or even me at some times.
But not this time. None of these came close this time.
This was my darkest time, at least the darkest I can remember. This was the most painful depression I've ever had. And the most unrelenting. Months and months of pain and numbness and isolation and fear and loneliness and sadness and confusion and anxiety and guilt and exhaustion.
The day she came I was wearing the same pajamas I'd been wearing for three or four days straight. My hair was dirty because I just didn't have the energy or will to shower. She was the first person I'd invited into my home in weeks.
She asked me to tell her about my current struggle as she took photos. She was gentle and kind. She listened and asked questions. It was an important moment.
She used one photo for her project. I've been saving the others for the right time. Today is the right time.
These photos are difficult for me to look at. They hurt. But people need to understand what depression is and I believe these will help.
Thank you, Karen, for capturing a hidden moment that needs to be seen.
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| My fingertips are pressing on the spot where I've had a headache for nine years. When I cry, I tend to furrow my brow; this makes my head hurt worse. I press on that spot to try to get the muscles to release and relieve the pain. It helps a little. |
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| Depression makes me feel incredibly vulnerable. I have no emotional energy to protect myself. That's part of why I isolate. So often, when I am with other people, I feel the need to defend or explain myself. When I am in a depression I just have nothing in me to do that. I have no strength or will to draw boundaries and defend them. It's easier to just be alone than to feel like a rag doll at the whim of those around me. I often find myself in the fetal position in an attempt to seal myself off from the world and keep myself safe. |
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| Sometimes my depressions are emotionless. I feel nothing. Most of the time it was like that. Dull. Blank. Empty. Nothing. Other moments were like this. Gut-wrenching. Crying from the deepest parts of myself. Falling to the ground sobbing. Unable to stop shaking from the shredding of my soul. |
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| And this is how I felt so much of the time. For months and months and months. Like an empty shell. Depleted. Like everything that made me who I was had been taken away. Worthless. Like I had nothing to offer the world. Without hope. Without purpose. Gone. Lost. Alone. |
Saturday, January 25, 2014
The Silent Storm
A continuation from my last post, What a Bad Mental Illness Day is Like.
**********
For the most part, when I am struggling, I am not obvious about it. I get very quiet and avoid people and activities when I can. Because I have to for self-preservation.
Do I hide it on purpose? Sometimes. When I cry and cry all day long at every little thing, I fight those tears around my kids. And around most other people. I don't want my kids to worry. I don't want to have to explain myself to others. And seeing the pain in others' eyes because I am hurting is hard.
But sometimes I have to explain. And then I cry and pace and shake my arms to try to make the feelings go away. It's so exhausting and it hurts! After an hour of trying to explain and process, I feel like I've done the hardest workout of my life. I have to change my clothes because I sweat so much.
This last week I had to do this twice.
First with my bishop (pastor). I snapped at him at church. Later I apologized and told him I was not in a good place. He asked if I needed to talk. I try to keep my life off his plate because I know his plate is full. But this time I absolutely needed him. I needed a priesthood blessing. And he needed to understand how bad it was.
We visited for an hour. He listened well and asked good questions, but not too many. And he gave me a blessing.
But I scared him. Enough that he asked about hospitalization. It's not the worst I've ever been, but it's the worst he's seen me.
He asked me to promise to communicate with him more often when I'm struggling and let him worry about how much is on his plate. I promised to try. It's very difficult. I also promised to talk to my therapist about hospitalization and medication. That was Sunday.
Yesterday, I met with my therapist and had to do the whole thing again. So exhausting.
We did an EMDR scan to see if this was connected to some trauma we haven't worked on yet. Nothing came up. We did a couple of EMDR tracers to see if it was connected to either of the two traumas we've recently worked on. Again, nothing. My symptoms have been a lot like PTSD, but it doesn't seem like that's what this is.
When my PTSD gets triggered, I usually have at least an inkling of what it's connected to, even if I don't want to talk about it. This time there is nothing. I have no idea where any of this is coming from. I don't know what's causing it.
My therapist said we treat it like an anomaly and treat the symptoms the best we can until it passes (unless it doesn't). He suggested it might be SAD (seasonal affective disorder). He offered to put my name on the list for the DBT group (dialectical behavior therapy -- mood regulation training). We established a medication plan. He gave me permission to isolate myself therapeutically (you wouldn't think that permission matters, but it does).
He asked what one symptom was the worst. I thought for a minute and answered, "The way the emotions of others overwhelm me."
You see, right now I feel everything those around me feel. It's like I am permeable and can't keep their emotions out. They saturate me and drown me. It feels like everything is a crisis. When my daughter complains about someone she works with it feels the same as someone talking to me about the death of their child. Everything is a ten on the pain scale and it all comes through into me. Like they are drowning and clinging to me to save them, drowning me in the process. It hurts. The emotional pain is so intense that it becomes physical.
So I have to protect myself from it. I have friends who have been going through a tough time and I haven't been able to reach out to them because it's too much for me.
Even when I'm not with people I hurt. I feel like all my nerves are on fire. It's like I'm wearing a coat lined with little needles and they are all pressing into my skin. And it feels like if anyone bumps me they will press those needles deeper. Plus, people give off their own electrical field. When anyone is closer to me than about three feet, it feels like their electrical field is being conducted through those little needles into my body. Having people near me hurts. It just hurts so bad.
I cry a lot, over anything. My heart races. I feel like I am shaking (although I am only occasionally actually physically shaking). And I am so sensitive to everything. Today, even the shower hurt.
But this doesn't show. There's no visible sign that I'm not okay. Except for my red eyes when I'm crying. Or when I cringe away from people when they get too close (which so often hurts their feelings).
I still can't connect to myself. I've tried. And I can't connect to God. I keep trying. I don't think he's pulled away, but I just can't seem to connect. It's incredibly painful to not be able to connect to myself and to God. I feel so lost.
I've had similar symptoms in the past, but I've always been able to figure out why. I can't this time. And it's usually been of short duration, but this time it's been a month with almost no break. I know my behavior doesn't make sense. I know my reactions are completely out of proportion. I know I am angry way more than I should be, but I can't stop it.
So if you see me, please be kind. I may look okay, but inside there is a storm raging that threatens to submerge me.
**********
For the most part, when I am struggling, I am not obvious about it. I get very quiet and avoid people and activities when I can. Because I have to for self-preservation.
Do I hide it on purpose? Sometimes. When I cry and cry all day long at every little thing, I fight those tears around my kids. And around most other people. I don't want my kids to worry. I don't want to have to explain myself to others. And seeing the pain in others' eyes because I am hurting is hard.
But sometimes I have to explain. And then I cry and pace and shake my arms to try to make the feelings go away. It's so exhausting and it hurts! After an hour of trying to explain and process, I feel like I've done the hardest workout of my life. I have to change my clothes because I sweat so much.
This last week I had to do this twice.
First with my bishop (pastor). I snapped at him at church. Later I apologized and told him I was not in a good place. He asked if I needed to talk. I try to keep my life off his plate because I know his plate is full. But this time I absolutely needed him. I needed a priesthood blessing. And he needed to understand how bad it was.
We visited for an hour. He listened well and asked good questions, but not too many. And he gave me a blessing.
But I scared him. Enough that he asked about hospitalization. It's not the worst I've ever been, but it's the worst he's seen me.
He asked me to promise to communicate with him more often when I'm struggling and let him worry about how much is on his plate. I promised to try. It's very difficult. I also promised to talk to my therapist about hospitalization and medication. That was Sunday.
Yesterday, I met with my therapist and had to do the whole thing again. So exhausting.
We did an EMDR scan to see if this was connected to some trauma we haven't worked on yet. Nothing came up. We did a couple of EMDR tracers to see if it was connected to either of the two traumas we've recently worked on. Again, nothing. My symptoms have been a lot like PTSD, but it doesn't seem like that's what this is.
When my PTSD gets triggered, I usually have at least an inkling of what it's connected to, even if I don't want to talk about it. This time there is nothing. I have no idea where any of this is coming from. I don't know what's causing it.
My therapist said we treat it like an anomaly and treat the symptoms the best we can until it passes (unless it doesn't). He suggested it might be SAD (seasonal affective disorder). He offered to put my name on the list for the DBT group (dialectical behavior therapy -- mood regulation training). We established a medication plan. He gave me permission to isolate myself therapeutically (you wouldn't think that permission matters, but it does).
He asked what one symptom was the worst. I thought for a minute and answered, "The way the emotions of others overwhelm me."
You see, right now I feel everything those around me feel. It's like I am permeable and can't keep their emotions out. They saturate me and drown me. It feels like everything is a crisis. When my daughter complains about someone she works with it feels the same as someone talking to me about the death of their child. Everything is a ten on the pain scale and it all comes through into me. Like they are drowning and clinging to me to save them, drowning me in the process. It hurts. The emotional pain is so intense that it becomes physical.
So I have to protect myself from it. I have friends who have been going through a tough time and I haven't been able to reach out to them because it's too much for me.
Even when I'm not with people I hurt. I feel like all my nerves are on fire. It's like I'm wearing a coat lined with little needles and they are all pressing into my skin. And it feels like if anyone bumps me they will press those needles deeper. Plus, people give off their own electrical field. When anyone is closer to me than about three feet, it feels like their electrical field is being conducted through those little needles into my body. Having people near me hurts. It just hurts so bad.
I cry a lot, over anything. My heart races. I feel like I am shaking (although I am only occasionally actually physically shaking). And I am so sensitive to everything. Today, even the shower hurt.
But this doesn't show. There's no visible sign that I'm not okay. Except for my red eyes when I'm crying. Or when I cringe away from people when they get too close (which so often hurts their feelings).
I still can't connect to myself. I've tried. And I can't connect to God. I keep trying. I don't think he's pulled away, but I just can't seem to connect. It's incredibly painful to not be able to connect to myself and to God. I feel so lost.
I've had similar symptoms in the past, but I've always been able to figure out why. I can't this time. And it's usually been of short duration, but this time it's been a month with almost no break. I know my behavior doesn't make sense. I know my reactions are completely out of proportion. I know I am angry way more than I should be, but I can't stop it.
So if you see me, please be kind. I may look okay, but inside there is a storm raging that threatens to submerge me.
What a Bad Mental Illness Day is Like
It's so difficult to explain how it feels when you struggle with mental health issues. How do you explain emotional pain in a way that others can understand? How do you say how hard everything has become, things that shouldn't be hard at all? Especially to people who don't struggle.
I've been on the other side. I've been the one whose life was turned upside down on a regular basis because I lived with someone with mental illness. I've been the one who got angry because my life couldn't be what I wanted it to be. I've been the one who resented the person struggling. I've been the one who thought they were making up excuses for things they didn't want that I did. I've been the one who felt like I was being manipulated. And I've been the one who felt guilty because I couldn't find empathy in my heart for them because I was too close to the situation.
But this time it's me. This time I'm the one whose mental illness is affecting the lives of those around me. I'm the one who's messing up the plans. I'm the one who's dropping the ball. And I feel guilty about it and try to hide it and try not to let it affect those around me. But it does.
When you have a physical illness, it's not tough to explain why you can't follow through on a commitment or why you don't want to go out with friends. "I think I'm getting the flu." "I did too much last night and am just too worn out." People might not be happy about it, but they get it.
It doesn't work that way when it's mental illness. "I'm having an emotional breakdown." "Leaving my house is impossible." "I can't be around people." People don't get that. And if it happens over and over, they think they are excuses and you don't really want to be with them at all and they just leave you.
Or they want to fix it. They ask so many questions (which are exhausting for me when I'm struggling). Then they tell you what to do to fix it so you can be with them again. Like somehow they know what you need. Let me just tell you right now, I've been under the care of lots of doctors and therapists over my lifetime and even they don't know what will make it better. Luckily, they all knew enough to say so. "Try this or that," but not "This is the answer for sure." Because mental illness doesn't work that way. (Heck, physical illness doesn't even work that way.)
I've been in a very bad place for about a month now. Really dark days and just cloudy days but no bright days. And I am trying. I have done all the things every doctor and therapist and spiritual leader has suggested and I'm still there. In the darkness.
Usually, I can't write when it's a really bad day. But a couple of weeks ago I was able to. I share it with you now knowing it might make me look more crazy than anyone thought. I share it knowing there will be some who still think I'm making excuses. But I share it because I am able. Mental illness is difficult to communicate. So difficult. But I am a communicator, so I share this for all those who can't put it into words.
**********
January 13, 2014
I've been hurting a lot the last week or so. Headache that just won't break. I have a few hours that aren't so bad, but then it overwhelms me again. Nothing I've taken will take it away.
But that's not the bad part. The anxiety is the bad part. For a couple of weeks now. Moments of okay and then hours of worry and fear.
And I worry that whatever I've taken for my head is making the anxiety worse. But if I don't take anything, the pain and anxiety stop me cold.
Still, neither of those is why I'm writing.
Today I feel like I'm slipping away. Like my mind is going. I have visions of myself in the psychiatric ward, no longer myself. No longer able to care for my family or even for myself.
This thought was followed by the thought I often have that I need to get my life in order. I need to get things running smoothly enough and processes in place so my family can run things without me.
For the longest time I've thought this was because I will continue to deteriorate physically. To the point that I can't get out of bed and do things.
But today I found myself thinking, feeling, it might be something else.
What if I'm not just going to deteriorate? What if I'm going to be gone? What if I need to get things in order because I am going to die young?
It feels like a very real possibility in my heart. I feel like I need to get my life in order so my family can get on without me.
And today, I just feel like I am slipping away. Like there's less and less me inside this shell of my body.
And I thought I should write these feelings down while I can. Before I'm too far gone.
It scares me and I don't know what to do.
***later***
I took a shower and brushed my teeth in case I need to go to the hospital.
Writing calmed me some. But the feeling isn't gone. It's like I've resigned myself to the situation.
It's like reality is just a step away from me. I could reach out and grab it, but I don't. I don't want to. I'm not sure why.
My body is present; I am just slightly out of phase with my body. Just connected enough to go through the motions. I can put on a show. Make people think I'm here.
They see my body so they think I'm here. But I'm not. I just left a tiny piece of myself in my body like a tether. I am still connected to my body but not present with it.
I wonder if I will come back. I wonder how long I'll be gone. I wonder why I left and why I don't want to go back.
***later***
I interact with my family. They can't tell anything is wrong. I'm just more quiet than usual, until someone stresses me out with questions. Then I snap and yell and leave.
But mostly I'm just quiet. On the outside. Inside there is a storm raging. I want to peel my skin off. Inside I feel like I am banging around on the walls. Pounding. Trying to get out. Like I am trapped in an asylum. Inside I am pounding and screaming. But on the outside I'm just quiet. And trying so hard not to be touched.
**********
I need to say more, but this is already too long. For the rest of the story, see The Silent Storm.
I've been on the other side. I've been the one whose life was turned upside down on a regular basis because I lived with someone with mental illness. I've been the one who got angry because my life couldn't be what I wanted it to be. I've been the one who resented the person struggling. I've been the one who thought they were making up excuses for things they didn't want that I did. I've been the one who felt like I was being manipulated. And I've been the one who felt guilty because I couldn't find empathy in my heart for them because I was too close to the situation.
But this time it's me. This time I'm the one whose mental illness is affecting the lives of those around me. I'm the one who's messing up the plans. I'm the one who's dropping the ball. And I feel guilty about it and try to hide it and try not to let it affect those around me. But it does.
When you have a physical illness, it's not tough to explain why you can't follow through on a commitment or why you don't want to go out with friends. "I think I'm getting the flu." "I did too much last night and am just too worn out." People might not be happy about it, but they get it.
It doesn't work that way when it's mental illness. "I'm having an emotional breakdown." "Leaving my house is impossible." "I can't be around people." People don't get that. And if it happens over and over, they think they are excuses and you don't really want to be with them at all and they just leave you.
Or they want to fix it. They ask so many questions (which are exhausting for me when I'm struggling). Then they tell you what to do to fix it so you can be with them again. Like somehow they know what you need. Let me just tell you right now, I've been under the care of lots of doctors and therapists over my lifetime and even they don't know what will make it better. Luckily, they all knew enough to say so. "Try this or that," but not "This is the answer for sure." Because mental illness doesn't work that way. (Heck, physical illness doesn't even work that way.)
I've been in a very bad place for about a month now. Really dark days and just cloudy days but no bright days. And I am trying. I have done all the things every doctor and therapist and spiritual leader has suggested and I'm still there. In the darkness.
Usually, I can't write when it's a really bad day. But a couple of weeks ago I was able to. I share it with you now knowing it might make me look more crazy than anyone thought. I share it knowing there will be some who still think I'm making excuses. But I share it because I am able. Mental illness is difficult to communicate. So difficult. But I am a communicator, so I share this for all those who can't put it into words.
**********
January 13, 2014
I've been hurting a lot the last week or so. Headache that just won't break. I have a few hours that aren't so bad, but then it overwhelms me again. Nothing I've taken will take it away.
But that's not the bad part. The anxiety is the bad part. For a couple of weeks now. Moments of okay and then hours of worry and fear.
And I worry that whatever I've taken for my head is making the anxiety worse. But if I don't take anything, the pain and anxiety stop me cold.
Still, neither of those is why I'm writing.
Today I feel like I'm slipping away. Like my mind is going. I have visions of myself in the psychiatric ward, no longer myself. No longer able to care for my family or even for myself.
This thought was followed by the thought I often have that I need to get my life in order. I need to get things running smoothly enough and processes in place so my family can run things without me.
For the longest time I've thought this was because I will continue to deteriorate physically. To the point that I can't get out of bed and do things.
But today I found myself thinking, feeling, it might be something else.
What if I'm not just going to deteriorate? What if I'm going to be gone? What if I need to get things in order because I am going to die young?
It feels like a very real possibility in my heart. I feel like I need to get my life in order so my family can get on without me.
And today, I just feel like I am slipping away. Like there's less and less me inside this shell of my body.
And I thought I should write these feelings down while I can. Before I'm too far gone.
It scares me and I don't know what to do.
***later***
I took a shower and brushed my teeth in case I need to go to the hospital.
Writing calmed me some. But the feeling isn't gone. It's like I've resigned myself to the situation.
It's like reality is just a step away from me. I could reach out and grab it, but I don't. I don't want to. I'm not sure why.
My body is present; I am just slightly out of phase with my body. Just connected enough to go through the motions. I can put on a show. Make people think I'm here.
They see my body so they think I'm here. But I'm not. I just left a tiny piece of myself in my body like a tether. I am still connected to my body but not present with it.
I wonder if I will come back. I wonder how long I'll be gone. I wonder why I left and why I don't want to go back.
***later***
I interact with my family. They can't tell anything is wrong. I'm just more quiet than usual, until someone stresses me out with questions. Then I snap and yell and leave.
But mostly I'm just quiet. On the outside. Inside there is a storm raging. I want to peel my skin off. Inside I feel like I am banging around on the walls. Pounding. Trying to get out. Like I am trapped in an asylum. Inside I am pounding and screaming. But on the outside I'm just quiet. And trying so hard not to be touched.
**********
I need to say more, but this is already too long. For the rest of the story, see The Silent Storm.
Monday, September 16, 2013
He's Got Me Unsettled
A couple of months ago I decided I was ready for a break from therapy. These have been a couple of really tough months. And even though I've had moments when I wished I had my therapist to draw strength from, for the most part I was happy with my decision.
I have faced incredibly difficult things without him these last two months. Ugly times between my husband and myself. My parents pushing boundaries I've established to keep myself emotionally safe. My husband's unemployment. My depression. The loss of a friendship. A personal struggle with self-definition.
And I've done well. I held my boundaries. I practiced forgiveness and humility. I communicated openly and honestly.
I've been doing just fine without therapy.
But something happened Friday that's got me unsettled.
My dad was going to be out of town and asked if I could take my mom to her therapy appointment. I thought about this and decided I was okay with it; it didn't cross my boundaries. I agreed. But as I thought about it I realized something. There was a possibility I would run into my therapist because he works in the same office as my mom's therapist.
I wasn't sure how I felt about this. Did I want to see him or avoid him? Did it matter either way? Would he even say anything if he saw me? Would it be uncomfortable? I just didn't know.
Well, I took her. She went in and I waited in the lobby. Therapist after therapist came out and claimed their clients. It was almost half past the hour by this point. Maybe he wasn't there that day after all and all my worrying would have been for naught.
And then he opened the door to the lobby.
I was listening to an audio book and playing a game on the ipad. I was just going to let it be. I knew he was there but didn't look up.
I heard a slight sound. Then another. With my audio book playing in my ears it wasn't clear. But soon I realized he was calling my name. I turned off my book and looked up at him. He smiled and waved and said hello. I returned his wave and hello and looked back down at my game.
His client was waiting, had been waiting for an extra long time, so I expected that was the end of it. Then I sensed him approaching.
I took out my headphones and looked up to see him extending a hand to me. As he shook my hand he said, "I just wanted you to know I'm still here if you need me." All I could muster was, "Okay. Thanks."
And then he was gone.
And I've been unsettled ever since.
Our last session was not a good one. I don't know if he understands this the way I understand it. I don't know if he thinks I quit coming because he challenged me to do something difficult and I am hiding from it. He could very easily think that because of what happened in our session, but it's not the truth. Not even close. If he knows me at all, he should know that I don't run from difficult things. There was so much more in the reason I quit seeing him.
I've been asking myself why I'm unsettled. Why am I suddenly questioning my decision to quit therapy? Do I want to go back once Bill gets established in his new job and we have good insurance again? What's got me so stuck in my head about this?
Is it because there was no closure, because I didn't go back and tell him what the problem was and why I didn't want to see him anymore? Is it because I am struggling right now and really could use a trained professional to talk to? Is it because therapy had become an addiction for me and seeing him was like getting a tiny taste of my old, familiar drug? Is it because no matter how much I tried to say he was just my therapist, I really see him as a friend and I miss him? Or is it just because I'm lost and floundering for direction?
I don't know. But I've got some time to chew on it for a while as I try to figure things out. My husband starts work next Monday and won't get paid for a while after that. It will take us some time to figure out what our insurance situation is. I've got at least that long to postpone the decision.
Oh, so much to think about.
I have faced incredibly difficult things without him these last two months. Ugly times between my husband and myself. My parents pushing boundaries I've established to keep myself emotionally safe. My husband's unemployment. My depression. The loss of a friendship. A personal struggle with self-definition.
And I've done well. I held my boundaries. I practiced forgiveness and humility. I communicated openly and honestly.
I've been doing just fine without therapy.
But something happened Friday that's got me unsettled.
My dad was going to be out of town and asked if I could take my mom to her therapy appointment. I thought about this and decided I was okay with it; it didn't cross my boundaries. I agreed. But as I thought about it I realized something. There was a possibility I would run into my therapist because he works in the same office as my mom's therapist.
I wasn't sure how I felt about this. Did I want to see him or avoid him? Did it matter either way? Would he even say anything if he saw me? Would it be uncomfortable? I just didn't know.
Well, I took her. She went in and I waited in the lobby. Therapist after therapist came out and claimed their clients. It was almost half past the hour by this point. Maybe he wasn't there that day after all and all my worrying would have been for naught.
And then he opened the door to the lobby.
I was listening to an audio book and playing a game on the ipad. I was just going to let it be. I knew he was there but didn't look up.
I heard a slight sound. Then another. With my audio book playing in my ears it wasn't clear. But soon I realized he was calling my name. I turned off my book and looked up at him. He smiled and waved and said hello. I returned his wave and hello and looked back down at my game.
His client was waiting, had been waiting for an extra long time, so I expected that was the end of it. Then I sensed him approaching.
I took out my headphones and looked up to see him extending a hand to me. As he shook my hand he said, "I just wanted you to know I'm still here if you need me." All I could muster was, "Okay. Thanks."
And then he was gone.
And I've been unsettled ever since.
Our last session was not a good one. I don't know if he understands this the way I understand it. I don't know if he thinks I quit coming because he challenged me to do something difficult and I am hiding from it. He could very easily think that because of what happened in our session, but it's not the truth. Not even close. If he knows me at all, he should know that I don't run from difficult things. There was so much more in the reason I quit seeing him.
I've been asking myself why I'm unsettled. Why am I suddenly questioning my decision to quit therapy? Do I want to go back once Bill gets established in his new job and we have good insurance again? What's got me so stuck in my head about this?
Is it because there was no closure, because I didn't go back and tell him what the problem was and why I didn't want to see him anymore? Is it because I am struggling right now and really could use a trained professional to talk to? Is it because therapy had become an addiction for me and seeing him was like getting a tiny taste of my old, familiar drug? Is it because no matter how much I tried to say he was just my therapist, I really see him as a friend and I miss him? Or is it just because I'm lost and floundering for direction?
I don't know. But I've got some time to chew on it for a while as I try to figure things out. My husband starts work next Monday and won't get paid for a while after that. It will take us some time to figure out what our insurance situation is. I've got at least that long to postpone the decision.
Oh, so much to think about.
Friday, September 6, 2013
Writing
Writing because I need to.
Writing because my heart feels like it's going to explode.
Writing because I'm lost.
Writing because it's healing.
Writing because it's often how God and I communicate.
Writing because my world is dark.
Writing because I feel like I'm missing something obvious.
Writing because I'm sad.
Writing because I hurt.
Writing because . . . I just don't know what else to do.
Writing because my heart feels like it's going to explode.
Writing because I'm lost.
Writing because it's healing.
Writing because it's often how God and I communicate.
Writing because my world is dark.
Writing because I feel like I'm missing something obvious.
Writing because I'm sad.
Writing because I hurt.
Writing because . . . I just don't know what else to do.
Friday, February 22, 2013
A Dark and Difficult Place
It can be tough to admit when I am not okay. Right now I am not okay. I am in a dark and difficult place and have been for quite some time.
So I am asking this from my heart. If you read this and are a religious person, would you please offer a prayer in my behalf? If you're not religious, maybe send some happy thoughts my way. It would mean a lot to me.
So I am asking this from my heart. If you read this and are a religious person, would you please offer a prayer in my behalf? If you're not religious, maybe send some happy thoughts my way. It would mean a lot to me.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Transitions Suck or Forced Early Retirement
Take your pick. Either title works.
I am in transition. Kind of stuck in transition. At least, I hope it's transition. I hope it's not my new life for keeps.
I worked very little before I got married. I got pregnant almost immediately after getting married, was incredibly sick, and became a stay-at-home mom. We made lots of sacrifices to live on one income so I could be with my kids. My heart and soul were devoted to them. As exhausting and difficult as it was sometimes, it was totally worth it and I don't regret a minute of it.
As my youngest child approached school age people started asking what I was going to do with all my children gone. I joked that I'd probably sleep the first year. After that I might consider working. We're old fashioned. My husband believes it's his responsibility to provide for our family and I believe it's my responsibility to raise the kids. We've each pitched in a bit in each other's realm, but for the most part we took the traditional route. My husband left my choices about what to do with my life after the kids went to school entirely up to me. Work or don't work. My choice.
Kindergarten was only a couple hours a day, just enough time for me to run errands and get a few things done. But when our baby started first grade it opened up six hours a day for me. I wasn't looking for work, but as it happens a wonderful job fell into my lap. A job I was perfectly suited for and excelled at. A job full of wonderful people. A job that helped others. A job that was very personally satisfying.
I worked there for three or four years. There were ups and downs as I tried to merge my work life and my family life. I got to a point where I felt like I had it worked out. Balanced? Maybe not quite. But well shuffled. I was happy and content and fulfilled.
Then my health fell apart.
Long story short, I had to make a choice. I only had enough in me physically to work or take care of my family -- not both. It was a traumatic time. I didn't want to give up what I'd gained through work. But my heart told me to go home. Many other people could fill my position at work. No one could take my place at home.
So I quit my job and went home. I'd been a stay-at-home mom for about fourteen years before that job. I knew how to do it. The transition back should be easy, right? Not so much.
I didn't have little kids any more. The world I left and the one I returned to weren't the same. I was kind of lost. Still lots to do in the morning and after school but so much empty time during the day.
Which should sound beautiful and appealing and free. But it's not. Because I don't feel well. Really ever. So I have six hours a day trying to force myself to do something even though I don't want to get out of bed. I'm still searching for a purpose. I would love to have a schedule and plans. I would love to volunteer or create or make a dream come true. But each day I don't know if I am going to be able to get out of bed. I can't plan my day because I don't know if I'll be functional.
I keep thinking I'll find a routine, a rhythm to my life. I'm still searching. It's been five or six years. I spent the first three or so going to doctors and doing everything I could to feel better, hoping in the back of my mind that I could go back to work some day. Expecting that one day I would feel good again and go back to being the over-achiever I am in my heart. I still go to doctors and try to feel better, but I now accept that I won't have that life back again. This is the life I have now. I need to figure out how to live it and feel fulfilled in it.
But I still feel like I haven't found my footing. I still spend too much time floating from this distraction to the next trying to find what fits. Bored and frustrated. What works one day doesn't work the next. One day I have a little energy but my mind won't work clearly. The next day my mind is okay but I can't see well. And then there are the days that I don't get dressed until just before my kids get home from school, having spent the whole day in bed without actually noticing that time passed.
I'm trying to create a life that fits me. But I still struggle to know who I am now, in this new form. I'm still wandering. Hoping I'm still in transition. Hoping I'm not just lost in my own life.
I am in transition. Kind of stuck in transition. At least, I hope it's transition. I hope it's not my new life for keeps.
I worked very little before I got married. I got pregnant almost immediately after getting married, was incredibly sick, and became a stay-at-home mom. We made lots of sacrifices to live on one income so I could be with my kids. My heart and soul were devoted to them. As exhausting and difficult as it was sometimes, it was totally worth it and I don't regret a minute of it.
As my youngest child approached school age people started asking what I was going to do with all my children gone. I joked that I'd probably sleep the first year. After that I might consider working. We're old fashioned. My husband believes it's his responsibility to provide for our family and I believe it's my responsibility to raise the kids. We've each pitched in a bit in each other's realm, but for the most part we took the traditional route. My husband left my choices about what to do with my life after the kids went to school entirely up to me. Work or don't work. My choice.
Kindergarten was only a couple hours a day, just enough time for me to run errands and get a few things done. But when our baby started first grade it opened up six hours a day for me. I wasn't looking for work, but as it happens a wonderful job fell into my lap. A job I was perfectly suited for and excelled at. A job full of wonderful people. A job that helped others. A job that was very personally satisfying.
I worked there for three or four years. There were ups and downs as I tried to merge my work life and my family life. I got to a point where I felt like I had it worked out. Balanced? Maybe not quite. But well shuffled. I was happy and content and fulfilled.
Then my health fell apart.
Long story short, I had to make a choice. I only had enough in me physically to work or take care of my family -- not both. It was a traumatic time. I didn't want to give up what I'd gained through work. But my heart told me to go home. Many other people could fill my position at work. No one could take my place at home.
So I quit my job and went home. I'd been a stay-at-home mom for about fourteen years before that job. I knew how to do it. The transition back should be easy, right? Not so much.
I didn't have little kids any more. The world I left and the one I returned to weren't the same. I was kind of lost. Still lots to do in the morning and after school but so much empty time during the day.
Which should sound beautiful and appealing and free. But it's not. Because I don't feel well. Really ever. So I have six hours a day trying to force myself to do something even though I don't want to get out of bed. I'm still searching for a purpose. I would love to have a schedule and plans. I would love to volunteer or create or make a dream come true. But each day I don't know if I am going to be able to get out of bed. I can't plan my day because I don't know if I'll be functional.
I keep thinking I'll find a routine, a rhythm to my life. I'm still searching. It's been five or six years. I spent the first three or so going to doctors and doing everything I could to feel better, hoping in the back of my mind that I could go back to work some day. Expecting that one day I would feel good again and go back to being the over-achiever I am in my heart. I still go to doctors and try to feel better, but I now accept that I won't have that life back again. This is the life I have now. I need to figure out how to live it and feel fulfilled in it.
But I still feel like I haven't found my footing. I still spend too much time floating from this distraction to the next trying to find what fits. Bored and frustrated. What works one day doesn't work the next. One day I have a little energy but my mind won't work clearly. The next day my mind is okay but I can't see well. And then there are the days that I don't get dressed until just before my kids get home from school, having spent the whole day in bed without actually noticing that time passed.
I'm trying to create a life that fits me. But I still struggle to know who I am now, in this new form. I'm still wandering. Hoping I'm still in transition. Hoping I'm not just lost in my own life.
Friday, December 30, 2011
You Fell Out of the World
A while back I was listening as my son coached my daughter with a video game. I heard a squeal of disappointment and he said, "You fell out of the world."
I'm not quite sure what the implications of this were for her; I'm not very familiar with the game. But that phrase struck me. And has stuck with me.
You see, sometimes I fall out of the world.
I am going along, doing my thing, and suddenly I am nowhere. There is no earth beneath me. I simply am. But what I am is unclear.
I've been in this non-place lately. Disconnected but somewhat present. Visible but absent. Unable to find what I've lost.
I have moments of normalcy. My feet touch the ground and I run from here to there trying to get things done, knowing my time is temporary. And then normal dissipates like a fog and I am undone again.
Time passes and yet the earth is still. My mind races and yet I can't think. I speak and do and yet there are no results.
I will find my footing again. Gravity and I will renew our relationship. The earth will be solid. And I will be a part of all that exists. I will exist.
For now I am simply waiting.
I'm not quite sure what the implications of this were for her; I'm not very familiar with the game. But that phrase struck me. And has stuck with me.
You see, sometimes I fall out of the world.
I am going along, doing my thing, and suddenly I am nowhere. There is no earth beneath me. I simply am. But what I am is unclear.
I've been in this non-place lately. Disconnected but somewhat present. Visible but absent. Unable to find what I've lost.
I have moments of normalcy. My feet touch the ground and I run from here to there trying to get things done, knowing my time is temporary. And then normal dissipates like a fog and I am undone again.
Time passes and yet the earth is still. My mind races and yet I can't think. I speak and do and yet there are no results.
I will find my footing again. Gravity and I will renew our relationship. The earth will be solid. And I will be a part of all that exists. I will exist.
For now I am simply waiting.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Lost My Footing
When I was a kid summertime meant freedom. Roaming. Exploring. And one place my friends and I spent time was the creek.
Early summer would find it still deep enough to come up to my thighs. And, man, was it cold.
We would walk up the creek, marveling at the wonders around us. Finding cool rocks. Talking about life.
But when I wasn't careful I would lose my footing. I'd step on a wobbly rock or a slippery one and down I'd go. Sometimes I got caught in the current and was carried a ways downstream before I could get my feet under me again.
Well, I've lost my footing. I was going along okay, but I guess I wasn't watching where I was going. Suddenly I was down and going the wrong direction. I was cold and floundering. I think I've stopped losing ground and I'm very carefully trying to get back on my feet.
This happens. Over and over this happens. It's so frustrating. And sometimes it's very scary. What if I can't catch myself this time? What if I float so far away no one can find me? What if I drown?
I have always found my footing in the past. I believe I will this time as well. The sun will come out and begin to warm me as it dries my clothes. I will find my way back to my friends.
But right now I'm just stepping oh so carefully. One wrong move and I'll be down again. And I don't want to be down again; the fight to get back up can be so hard.
Early summer would find it still deep enough to come up to my thighs. And, man, was it cold.
We would walk up the creek, marveling at the wonders around us. Finding cool rocks. Talking about life.
But when I wasn't careful I would lose my footing. I'd step on a wobbly rock or a slippery one and down I'd go. Sometimes I got caught in the current and was carried a ways downstream before I could get my feet under me again.
Well, I've lost my footing. I was going along okay, but I guess I wasn't watching where I was going. Suddenly I was down and going the wrong direction. I was cold and floundering. I think I've stopped losing ground and I'm very carefully trying to get back on my feet.
This happens. Over and over this happens. It's so frustrating. And sometimes it's very scary. What if I can't catch myself this time? What if I float so far away no one can find me? What if I drown?
I have always found my footing in the past. I believe I will this time as well. The sun will come out and begin to warm me as it dries my clothes. I will find my way back to my friends.
But right now I'm just stepping oh so carefully. One wrong move and I'll be down again. And I don't want to be down again; the fight to get back up can be so hard.
Friday, April 1, 2011
A Princess Story
Once upon a time there were three princesses: Gwendolyn, Donatella, and Genevieve. They lived in an enchanted realm, in neighboring kingdoms.
One day a new princess, Princess Bobbie, moved to the realm and brought her kingdom with her. Only she didn't know that she was a princess. You see, that's something about being a princess -- sometimes you forget.
As she was out exploring the realm, Princess Bobbie met the three princesses. (The three princesses were often together; it helped them remember that they were princesses.) She was mesmerized. These princesses glowed. And they glowed because they were magic! They weren't the ordinary kind of magic, the kind where everyone can do the same things. They each had their own special magic and it was exactly the kind of magic needed for their own kingdom.
Princesses aren't what most people think. They aren't superior and unkind. They are welcoming and inclusive, and Princess Bobbie was thrilled to be invited into their circle of friends. As she spent more and more time with them she began to remember who she was. Her magic began to return. And that was a very good thing because an evil spell had come over her kingdom; they needed her magic. So Princess Bobbie left to protect her kingdom. Things got better and she returned to find her princess friends. And they were happy together again.
But the evil spell isn't ever fully conquered, it is just cast out of a kingdom. And over time it was evident that when the spell left one kingdom it would eventually find its way to another. Sometimes it found its way to one of the other princesses' kingdoms.
If it attacked a kingdom while the princess knew who she was, she was able to defeat it. But if she was a little unsure of herself, if she couldn't see her own magic anymore, the evil could overwhelm her.
And one of the laws of magic and spells was that each princess had to defeat the evil in her own kingdom. The other princesses couldn't do it for her. All they could do was cheer for her. And try to remind her of who she was and to help her find her magic again.
But the evil tried to keep the princesses apart. The evil knew that the princesses were stronger when they were together, that their magic grew as they spent more time with each other.
The evil also knew that being a princess is hard. It can be a very lonely thing. Especially when a princess forgets who she is. That's why the evil worked to make each princess feel like she didn't belong or wasn't good enough to be with the other princesses.
But the princesses love each other. And they are strong. And they will keep fighting their battles and strengthening each other. And although one may get lost every now and then, the glow from the others will always lead her back to them. And the princesses will welcome her back where she belongs and help her remember who she is and the power she has. Because that is what princesses do.
One day a new princess, Princess Bobbie, moved to the realm and brought her kingdom with her. Only she didn't know that she was a princess. You see, that's something about being a princess -- sometimes you forget.
As she was out exploring the realm, Princess Bobbie met the three princesses. (The three princesses were often together; it helped them remember that they were princesses.) She was mesmerized. These princesses glowed. And they glowed because they were magic! They weren't the ordinary kind of magic, the kind where everyone can do the same things. They each had their own special magic and it was exactly the kind of magic needed for their own kingdom.
Princesses aren't what most people think. They aren't superior and unkind. They are welcoming and inclusive, and Princess Bobbie was thrilled to be invited into their circle of friends. As she spent more and more time with them she began to remember who she was. Her magic began to return. And that was a very good thing because an evil spell had come over her kingdom; they needed her magic. So Princess Bobbie left to protect her kingdom. Things got better and she returned to find her princess friends. And they were happy together again.
But the evil spell isn't ever fully conquered, it is just cast out of a kingdom. And over time it was evident that when the spell left one kingdom it would eventually find its way to another. Sometimes it found its way to one of the other princesses' kingdoms.
If it attacked a kingdom while the princess knew who she was, she was able to defeat it. But if she was a little unsure of herself, if she couldn't see her own magic anymore, the evil could overwhelm her.
And one of the laws of magic and spells was that each princess had to defeat the evil in her own kingdom. The other princesses couldn't do it for her. All they could do was cheer for her. And try to remind her of who she was and to help her find her magic again.
But the evil tried to keep the princesses apart. The evil knew that the princesses were stronger when they were together, that their magic grew as they spent more time with each other.
The evil also knew that being a princess is hard. It can be a very lonely thing. Especially when a princess forgets who she is. That's why the evil worked to make each princess feel like she didn't belong or wasn't good enough to be with the other princesses.
But the princesses love each other. And they are strong. And they will keep fighting their battles and strengthening each other. And although one may get lost every now and then, the glow from the others will always lead her back to them. And the princesses will welcome her back where she belongs and help her remember who she is and the power she has. Because that is what princesses do.
Monday, January 3, 2011
A Little Lost
I'm a little lost right now. I'm sure I'll find my way again -- I always do.
For now, I just wanted you to know why I'm missing.
For now, I just wanted you to know why I'm missing.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Where's My Duct Tape?
Often, when people ask me how I am, I reply that I am holding on -- with both hands and a roll of duct tape.
I misplaced my duct tape.
I say this because my life slipped out of my hands a bit recently. I was stuck doing triage. Hitting those life or death things, but missing the details.
I kept the electricity on. We had food in the house. My kids went to school.
But I fell down on some things, too.
I have been sleeping too little at night and too much during the day. I haven't been eating much. I stayed home almost all the time, usually not getting dressed for the day until my kids were about to get home from school. Or after they did and I had to take them somewhere.
Basically, I quit doing things for me. I spent so much time trying to put out fires that I forgot to make sure my firesuit was secure. And I got a little burnt.
Once I find myself there, it's tricky to get out. It's a steep climb without any gear. Because I left all my gear on the ledge I fell off of.
But it's still there. I know where it is this time. I have some spotters who will help keep me from plummeting to my death. I've made the climb before.
And I've finally figured out what the duct tape is. It's self-care. I've got several rolls stashed in various areas of my life.
Now if I can just remember what I'm looking for when I walk into the room that has it. Then I'll be all set.
I misplaced my duct tape.
I say this because my life slipped out of my hands a bit recently. I was stuck doing triage. Hitting those life or death things, but missing the details.
I kept the electricity on. We had food in the house. My kids went to school.
But I fell down on some things, too.
I have been sleeping too little at night and too much during the day. I haven't been eating much. I stayed home almost all the time, usually not getting dressed for the day until my kids were about to get home from school. Or after they did and I had to take them somewhere.
Basically, I quit doing things for me. I spent so much time trying to put out fires that I forgot to make sure my firesuit was secure. And I got a little burnt.
Once I find myself there, it's tricky to get out. It's a steep climb without any gear. Because I left all my gear on the ledge I fell off of.
But it's still there. I know where it is this time. I have some spotters who will help keep me from plummeting to my death. I've made the climb before.
And I've finally figured out what the duct tape is. It's self-care. I've got several rolls stashed in various areas of my life.
Now if I can just remember what I'm looking for when I walk into the room that has it. Then I'll be all set.
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