Smart

There are a lot of things that I am good at.  I can knit; I can sew.  I can make a mean meatloaf.  I can whine with the best of them.  I can read through course catalogs for colleges/universities and get a good idea of all the policies and procedures the first time through.  I can down a pint of Ben and Jerry's in no time flat.

But I have never done smart.

Smart was not me, growing up.  Smart was my older sister.  She seemed to effortlessly get A's and B's in school, and was always coming home on this honor roll or that.  Not so much for me.  I didn't like to study.  I didn't really like school, to be totally honest.  So, I didn't do well.  Not in high school, not my first time in college for my BSW.  Only by the skin of my teeth did I pass and graduate.

Then I started working in University settings.  First in Enrollment, then Academic Advising.  I started to appreciate "school".  I understood the learning process more.  The more I understood it, the more I appreciated.  I decided that I should go back to school, to get my Master's.

I am sure that there were some who thought that I wouldn't pass.  I am sure there are some who thought I wouldn't make it all the way through.  I am pretty sure one of them was me.  But I surprised myself; I did more than "good", I did honors good.  Graduated with a 3.78.  Holy Cow!

I was happy with my Master's; I thought it made me stand out on applications and that I was going to go far.  It did make me stand out, but in the past 7 years since I got it, I haven't gone far.  I wasn't doing what I really wanted to do, which was to teach at the University level and be a counselor in a practice.  I wanted to have a greater impact on the world.  I wanted to work with adolescents and young adults who were struggling and not making the best choices when it came to coping.  Because I have been there, and I know what the caring of one or two people can do.

But I thought I wasn't smart enough to do that.  To do that would mean to become a doctoral student, and I couldn't possibly do that.  Right?

With a lot of encouragement from about 5 people in my life, I decided to give it a shot.  I applied.  I sent in transcripts, written statements, letters of recommendation.  I crossed my fingers and waited.  I was called in for Interview Day, a day where you would be interviewed by 2 professors and learn more about the program.  I got a new dress, new shoes, new jewelry.  I wanted to "look" smart.

My first interview, the Professor went on and on about how wonderful my references were, how I had an impressive GPA, that my statement paper was well written.  I perked up.  She made me sound smart.  We talked.  I shared stories; she shared horror stories of her graduate work.  Then she did something that shocked me.  She started talking about things she and I could do, could work on, when I was a student.  She talked like I was already admitted.  I was thrown for a loop.  I was in shock, but I was also euphoric.  This lady, who I had never met before, thought I was smart.  Me.  Smart.

I didn't sleep last night, knowing that I would get a phone call today saying if I was or was not admitted.  I woke up at least every 45 minutes and would think about it for 20 before going back to sleep.  I was scared.  What would it mean if I was rejected?  What would it mean if I was accepted?  Torturous!   

Then today, as I was driving to work, my phone rang. I recognized the number.  It was the school.  I was worried.  My stomach did flip flops. 

"Hello?"

"Hi, Megan.  It's Dana from the Illinois School for Professional Psychology.  How are you?"

"Fine, how are you?"

"Great!  I wanted to call to congratulate you on your acceptance to the PsyD program...."

Tears.  Lots of tears.  I had to pull the car over tears.

They think I am smart.  They think I can handle this work, that I have what it takes.  They think that I will make a good doctor. 

A Doctor. 

Dr. Mueller. 

Dr. Megan Mueller.

Smart.  I can do this.  I can do smart.

NaNoWriMo

So, it's November, which is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).  The goal, if you haven't head about it, is to write 50,000 words in the month, essentially a novel.  I told myself that I was up to the challenge...HA!  It's Nov 13th and I am only at 6638 words.  That means I would have to write almost 2500 a day, every day, to finish on time.  Well, that's not going to happen.  But at least I tried, and I will continue to try to see if I can get even half way there.  50,000 words is a LOT of words, right?

I think that it's been so hard for me because I selected to write a novel based on what is going on in my life, and that's a little challenging.  It's hard enough for me to be honest with myself about what's going on in my life, let alone try to put it down on paper.  How do you talk about suicide and how many times you wish you could have completed it?  How do I accurately describe what it's like when I self-harm when it usually happens in a state of fog.  And am I really ready to share all the details, the very private parts of my life, with the world?

Sigh, it's a challenge.  I think I need to think about it some more and maybe try again next year.

In other news, the Interview Day for the PsyD program is tomorrow and I am so nervous.  I have been wanting to get into this program for so long, I don't know what will happen if I don't get in.  Well, I have a good idea of what will happen, but let's keep it positive for now!

Cannot

Today I cannot be still
I want to make it hurt
I want to cut and bleed
The pain and stress
Would be resolved
But I am clean over 30 days
I want to keep that streak
I am antsy
I am unsettled
I want to write
Yet cannot form the words
I want to scream
Yet I have no voice

Lay

She lay down on her bed for what was to be a quick little nap.  After getting up too early that morning, and having one two many cups of coffee that were now upsetting her stomach, she was looking forward to the break.  She had showered, redressed, but left her hair damp and messy as the pull of her pillow was just too much to withstand any longer.  Curling up under her beloved blue and yellow bedspread, she rested her head on the maroon colored pillowcase, reminding herself again that she must buy matching sheets.  Within seconds she seemed to happily drift off.
She felt a thump on her bed, and it didn't startle her at first as often her oversized Bulmastiff dog liked to jump in bed and nap with her.  Keeping her eyes closed, she moved a little closer to the edge of the bed to make room, and felt the animal spin three times before it laid down.  She reached back to pet the short haired dog, and stopped short when she felt fur.  Fur like a cat, not fur like a Bulmastiff.  She cautiously removed her hand and could feel her body quiver as she knew what was really behind her on the bed.  A low level laugh could be heard, and she squeezed her eyes closed even tighter.

"It's been a long time," he scoffed.  "Did you really think that you were going to get rid of me?"

She didn't know how to respond.  She thought maybe if she ignored him, maybe if she didn't give into any of his games, that he would grow bored and just go away.

"You can choose not to answer me, but I will always be here," he added, as if he could read her thoughts.  She could feel him shake in laughter as the bed quivered under her.

"Don't look.  Don't react.  Don't talk.  And for God's sake, don't cry," she told herself.

"I'm very comfortable here today, so you can go about what you are doing, but know that I am watching, that I am waiting for you."  It made her sick to her stomach to hear him say those words.  "And here, I found this.  I thought you might need it, you know, as a sort of comfort."

He flicked something over the bed at her and it landed right on her pillow.  She opened her eyes only enough to see what the item was, then grabbed it and clutched it close to her chest.  He had tossed her an exacto knife, just like the one she used when she cut.  She didn't know if she should keep it or throw it, so she just laid there with it.  The coldness of the metal handle was a familiar feeling, the ribbed pattern running up and down the length of the knife.  The blade was exposed, it was tempting, it was a tease.

"Thought you might like that," the lion laughed.  He settled himself further into the bedsheets, making it obvious that he was not moving.

She closed her eyes again, feeling him drain all her energy and willpower.  She didn't want to go here again, was hoping not to go here, and yet here she was.  It always comes back to this, she thought, and it always will until he wins.  Until she is dead, he will always, always be here.

You have what?

What I posted in my personal/Facebook blog today


Today is World Mental Health Day.  October 10th.  Every year.  And, with the exception of last year, it wouldn't have even been a blip on my radar.  Another "World Something" day, I would have muttered as I looked at Facebook.  There seems to be a day for everything.  But after living with a mental health disorder for the past two years, well, I guess I view it a little different.

I know some of you already know this, as I posted it once and very briefly on my Weight Loss blog...but for those who don't read that one, I have been diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder within the past two years.  Severe and recurrent.  I take medication.  I see a therapist twice a week (LOVE HER).  I have been hospitalized for it.  More than once.  I have had 12 sessions of ECT, which I would never do again and wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.  It's a daily struggle to do basic things: shower, eat, take care of the kids, take care of myself, work.  I have good days, and I fully embrace them when they happen.  I have bad days, when I crawl into my bed and don't move for hours on end and literally want to die.  But I always pull through.  I have learned that there are more good days than bad, and I just have to hang on or sleep the day away and it WILL get better.

So, why share this?  I think that mental health is still widely misunderstood.  And stigmatized.  I think that there are more people out there living with mental health issues than we are aware of because they are too afraid to ask for help or don't have the resources available to them to get help.  Maybe it's you.  Maybe you realize that you are having more off days than on, but don't know what to do or where to go.  Or maybe you have a loved one who has a mental health issue and you don't know how to talk to them or what to say.  Because there are probably a lot more of us out there than you think.


I am not defined (totally) by my disorder.  I am a Mom.  I am a Wife.  I am a Worker.  I am a Brownie Leader.  I am a Daughter, a Sister, an Aunt.  I am an obsessive Starbucks Junkie.  That's who I am.  I just happen to also have this extra bit of "joy" in my life.  One more hurtle to overcome in my journey.

So go here...  APA or here...WFMH  Read about it. Learn about it.  Don't be afraid of it.  Get educated.  Ask questions.  Ask me questions.

Coming Out Of The Dark

Because the depression cycle that I have been in is finally lifting...

By Gloria Estefan

Why be afraid if I'm not alone?
Life is never easy, the rest in unknown
Up to now for me it's been hands against stone
Each and every moment searching for what to believe

Coming out of the dark, I finally see the light now
And it's shinning on me
Coming out of the dark, I know the love that saved me 

Sharing with me

Starting again is part of the plan
I'll be so much stronger holding your hand
Step by step, I'll make it through, I know I can
May not make it easier but I have felt you near all the way

Coming out of the dark, I finally see the light now
And it's shinning on me, I see the light
Coming out of the dark, I know the love that saved me
Sharing with me

Ever, I stand on the rock of your love
Ever, ever, can't nobody stop me, watch me
Ever, and ever, stand on the rock of your 

Love is all it takes, no matter what we face

Coming out of the dark, I finally see the light now
And it's shinning on me, yes it's shining on me
I know the love that saved me
You're sharing, you're sharing with me, you're sharing with me
You're sharing with me, you're sharing with me

Cannot be in the dark, make it into the light, yea
You're love is shinning on me, shinning on me, shinning on me
See the light, I see the light, shinning, shinning on me
I didn't think that I could take it but your love helped me to make it
Coming out of the dark, I see the light now, see the light now

Read more: Gloria Estefan - Coming Out Of The Dark Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Pulling Back

Appt with Dr. C done...me left in deep thinking mode.  Not sad deep thinking...just deep deep in thought.  We talked a lot about..well....I guess it's what you are willing to put up with in a relationship.  Are you willing to be walked all over?  Are you willing to be the sole initiator of conversation and outings?  Are you willing to sit around and wait for someone to contact you, and will you be ok if that contact only comes once a year?  And from it I am pulling, how much do you really value yourself?  Are you willing to be pushed to the side and "used" when you are needed?  Do you want more from that relationship?  Are you willing to put your foot down until you get there?

I didn't say much during the appointment because I was lost in my thoughts.  How many times am I guilty of doing this?  "This" being constantly being the person who has to contact a friend first in order to get together.  How many of my friends will contact me first?  What about with family?  Do I hold them to that same standard?  Do I hold myself to that same standard when it comes to them?

So, I am taking a step back.  I big step back.  I need to stop and think and evaluate what I am doing here.  I have shut down Facebook.  And I will, essentially be shutting down Twitter, too, although I will still use this blog for thoughts and I know several of my Twitter friends are followers of the blog.  I am not pulling away in a depression sense, but more that I am working my way out of it and I need to establish some new rules and parameters for myself.  How much am I willing to take from people?  Who is truly a friend, and who have I friended just to look like I have friends.  I hope that I will find this an interesting and thought provoking journey....and that I will see you on the flip side...

A Week?!!?!

Didn't realize that it's been so long since I have written.  Although last week was hell, I am hoping that this week will be better.

Last week I learned my lesson in snooping and not having full trust in people, namely Dr. C.  And because of it, it caused a rift that has me in a downward spiral.  I have cut, I have binged and purged, I have done almost every harmful thing possible to my body and my spirit.  And now I am trying to climb out of that pit.  It's a long climb up, and it doesn't make me happy.

Although, different from other times I have generally "tanked", I did NOT stop my medications this time.  And I think that was a great help, that even when I was emotionally falling apart, I still had the medicinal support behind me.

This past week was also my birthday, and while it was fine, I think that I was expecting a bit more from my Family or Origin, and was very disappointed.  Now, that's on me, not them.  I cannot expect people who don't talk to me on a regular basis to wish me well, but it still stung that they couldn't even Facebook it.  In fact, I am just about to the point that I am ready to let them go from Facebook.  It's counter-productive for me to keep looking at the pages of people who I am more than likely never going to be friends with again, so why keep torturing myself?  This is certainly not something I will do today, but might make for some good conversation with Dr. C.....

Purge

Shades drawn tight
She hides her shame
Everything gone wrong
She is left in pain
Food is now an enemy
Battling day and night
Willing herself not to eat
And then holding on tight
As she empties the contents
Of her latest binge
Tears spill over
Burning her reddened cheeks
Disgrace, failure, dishonor
She thinks she has become
Horrified of what she has again done

Stressed and more stressed

So, as most of you know, I am applying to get my doctorate!  What a stressful thing!  I am so surprised, I really didn't think that it was going to be that difficult.

I went yesterday to meet with the admissions advisor in person, we had only been chatting over the phone, and the beginning of the conversation went well.  They had gotten my application, my statement, my transcripts.  He had even received the first of three of my forms of recommendation.  I say "form of recommendation" because that's what it was.  A simple form with several boxes to check.  Then he tells me that each form also needs a letter.  A letter?  I looked at the form he had and pointed out that it states a letter is OPTIONAL.  He apologizes, said he knows he forgot to tell me sooner, but each recommendation needs to have a letter as well.  He states he cannot move the application along until it does.  I try to play it cool, but on the inside I am DYING.  It was hard enough as it was to get three people to agree to fill out the form, let alone go back now and ask for a letter. 

I let it consume me.  And my day.  I tried not to panic, and to think of something healthy to do instead.  So, I went and got my hair cut.  And by cut, I mean 6 inches chopped off.  And dyed.  From strawberry blonde to brown with caramel highlights.  It looks AWE-SOME!  It made me feel soooo much better.

When I got home, I e-mailed all three of my references.  I have heard back from two, one who won't be able to do it for over a month and one who will do it this weekend.  The third is out of town, so I will have to wait until Monday to talk to her.  So, back to the drawing board to find a 3rd reference.  

Big sigh....up and down....down and up....

PsyD Stress Out

So, I have decided, with a little bit of pushing and nudging from Dr. C to go back to school.  For my PsyD in Child and Family.  I know, right?

I've talked about it before, and now seems to be a good time to go for it.  I need something positive in my life to work towards, and I am such a school nerd.  I am taking an Adult Psychology course right now at the community college where I work, and I love it.  I know that I can be successful in a program like this, but I didn't expect the application process to be so stressful!

In the past, when I have asked people for references to get a new job, I was always greeted with an "Of course."  But asking someone for a reference for a Doctoral program, I have gotten a lot of shut and locked doors.  So frustrating.  Right now I have my current employer and my advisor from my Master's program who are willing to write one for me,  but I need one more.  Last night, I got myself so worked up about it that I was physically sick.  Today, I wrote Dr. C this morning and said that I was just going to put the whole process aside for the day and breathe.  I am not looking to start until Sept 2014 anyway, so I have time.

I also had a pretty deep conversation with Dr. C about what happens if I start the program and have another breakdown.  She is pretty convinced that that phase is behind us and that we are working towards recovery/maintenance right now.  I am glad that at least she is confident of that because I feel like I could fall apart any day now.  I think she's doing that whole "If I tell her she's ok, she might believe and act as if" routine.  And I am pretty sure that I am falling for it.

Anyway, I will keep you all posted with the status of the application and how things are going.  Anyone out there want to give me a letter of rec?

10 years from now

Where will you be 10 years from now?

It's the year 2023.

Wow, 2023....that sounds so far away!

L will be a Junior in high school, Big A is a sophomore.  What school they will be at depends on a variety of factors and circumstances that could happen between now and then.  I would like them to be at either Loyola High School or St. Viator's High School.  This will, solely, be based on our household financials at the time.  Little A will be in his final year at St. Emily, and Jim and I will be preparing to accept the Golden Eagle award, which is given to families who have gone above and beyond the call of duty during the time their children attended the school.

We will be living in a new house, well, new to us at least.  It will have 5 bedrooms, enough for each child to have their own and for me to have an office where I can close the door and just be.  It will sit on at least an acre of land, J's dream, and will have a pool.  The basement will be newly refinished, and it will be the main "hangout" for the kids and all their friends.  The new house will also have a large front porch with oversized wooden rocking chairs, just like you see when you go to Cracker Barrel.

As for me, I will be teaching at a local University and very happy with my position.  I will be the type of professor who is firm, yet has an open door policy that students use frequently.  I will either have a private practice on the side, or I will work for the school's Counseling Center and help students through the various crises that come up during those years of adjustment and growth.  Hopefully, I will still be seeing you on a regular basis as you have decided not to retire. (Because, right now, imagining you retire would throw me in a crisis!)

J and I will be more in love than we are now, if that's possible.  We certainly will be more relaxed since our children are growing up beautifully and our money situation will have calmed.  We will be able to take vacations and weekend trip without children, which will only prove to strengthen our bond.  Our trips will include going to our neighbor's lake house in Michigan, finally getting to Outer Banks, North Carolina, and planning our big family vacation after Little A graduates to Europe.

I will be happy.  I will be content.  I will know that I have the love of a good man to guide me through the tough times, although they will be further and further apart.  I will have children who, for the most part, want to talk to me and tell me what's going on in their lives.  I will have friends, friends who come over for just a cup of coffee or a glass of wine and to chat.  They will not be high maintenance friendships, but light and easy.

I will be happy.

Just do it

Yup.....I'm gonna do it.....Just going to suck it up and do it.

I'm going to apply for the PsyD program at the Illinois School for Professional Psychology.

It's my dream, and I am going to reach for it.  I have already sent requests to people for forms of recommendation, and I filled out the actual application.  I still have to write my statement of intent.  I am little worried about that, but I know that I am an excellent writer (smiles), so hopefully that should be easy.

The downside, $$$$.  I will have enough in student loans to more than cover the tuition, but it's the every day bills that we will need to cover.  The kids go to private school, and I am not sure that's something that I am willing to sacrifice.  We can probably cut down on the cable bill and the cell phones, going out to eat and Starbuck's coffees will be a luxury item instead of a staple.  I have always been good with the grocery bill and keeping the house stocked, but I can do it for about $75 a week. 

And, it's only 5 years.

5 years.  Wow, that's not a lot of time.  5 years ago I had two babies and was pregnant with my third.  I had just completed my Master's Degree and had a great job at DeVry University. 

Time flies.

I just need a little more self confidence that I can do this.  And I am working on that with Dr. C.  And I will get there.

Lack of Sleep

Ugg....another day (night?) that I have been awake since 3:30AM.  Wide awake.  Awake enough to think I can write a decent blog post.  Listening to 70's music on  YouTube to get me going.

Yesterday was so up and down; I feel that I am still riding a roller-coaster.  This decision of whether I am going to go back to school for my PsyD is crazy.  I need to stop listening to other's thoughts and go with my gut.  My gut says to go for it.  However, there is still that little voice in the back of my head that is telling me that this might not be the best time.  We know how we can pay for school, but how will we pay to live?  The program is 5 years, at about $113,000, and if I was not working we would loose about $225,000 in income over those years.  That's a lot to think about.  Maybe we could win a lotto?  Or find a rich relative?

I have to say, though, that my MDD is SO much better when I am thinking forward.  Dr. C and I touched on this yesterday in session....that I need to be more forward thinking and less backward/depression thinking.  My "depression cycles" have been running every two weeks now instead of 6, and I need to do something, like thinking forward, to break this pattern.  Do you know how exhausting it is to be hospital-grade suicidal every two weeks?  It's not fun.

Today is busy; 2nd appointment with Dr C this week since we had to miss Monday, and then some training at work on a new computer system.  Fun.  This weekend, however, should be fun as we are supposed to be going apple picking at our favorite farm on Saturday!  The weather here has been all over the place, from 98 on Tuesday to 65 today....and it should feel like an awesome fall weekend!

6AM Muffins

I have gotten into a bad habit.  :)

I started, about two weeks ago, to make fresh muffins for my kids before they went to school.  It was a guilt thing, the depression was bad and I knew that I wasn't paying as much attention to them as I should.  It was also a way to try and start the day off on a good foot.  It worked (kind-of) for a limited time, but now the issue is they want them every day!  I agreed to 2-3 days a week, but have slacked this week since L has strep throat and we haven't been getting much sleep.

I woke up this morning after having a dream about getting my PsyD.  Ahh... it was a good dream.  I have been wanting to get back into a Graduate Program since I started one in 2009 but didn't finish.  But the cost, OMG, as I calculated it all out, almost $120,000!  We are struggling to pay the mortgage and my previous student loans right now, let alone add on more debt.  So, I did the next logical thing which is to search for Scholarships.  If I was from Non-European dissent and I was willing to work in underprivileged areas, I would be set.  Sigh...back to the drawing board.

I also had this BRILLIANT idea that I emailed Dr. C about....I have been struggling in our sessions to talk and express my needs, but I can write her an e-mail about it in no time.  I am thinking that pre-session I am going to write it out, as if I am sending her an e-mail, and then print and take it.  That way if I get caught up, I will have it in front of me as a go to.  Like a shopping list for a grocery store.  I am sure I am far from the first person to think of that, but whatever works, right?

The Blanket

She pulls the blanket up to her chin, curling up her arms with fisted hands.  Rolling onto her left side, she cuddles in tighter, bringing in her knees as close as she can to her stomach.  The blanket, she believes, acts as a shield.  It's protecting her from all that is outside.  Because she knows that he is out there, and he lays in wait for her to drop her guard and dare to get out of bed.
Tears fall over the bridge of her nose and drop onto the pillow below her.  She had promised herself that she would not give into him, that she would and could be stronger than that.  She had given in so many times before, with disastrous results on each occurrence.  But her defenses have surely been weakened by all these attacks, and her heart wasn't in it for another fight.
Chills ran up her backbone and up to the little hairs on the back of her neck as she felt the Lion enter her bedroom.  He paced up and down the end of the California King bed...making it take only two strides and having all the confidence in the world.  His loud, hot breathes made her stomach turn; she knew she was in trouble.  She scrunched her eyes tighter and prayed to a God she wasn't sure was even there that He would make the Lion go away.
A deep rumble of dark laughter came from him.
"You cannot pray me away," he scoffed.  "I am not going anywhere until you are dead."
Her eyes blazed open.  Terror filled her already tightened chest.  The Lion stopped his pacing, and placed his two front paws on the end of the bed.  She curled in even closer to herself, not wanting any part of her body to feel him.
Slowly, she felt the blanket being pulled off of her.  She tried to hold on tight to the top of the blanket and pull back, but the fight was useless.  He removed her protector, and then easily leaped onto the bed.  She rolled on to her stomach, arms underneath her, head twisted to the side, as if this would protect her more.  He slowly slid up beside her.  She could feel his mane sweep up the side of her left arm; her shoulder jumped.  He was breathing in her ear, and the tears that were slowly falling before began to pick up the pace until there was almost a waterfall coming out of her eyes.
"Just do it," he said, motioning to her side table.  She glanced up.  It was full of pills, prescription and over-the-counter, whatever she could get her hands on.  She had put them there to just look at them, to just think about what would or what could happen. 
"I don't think I want to," she stuttered.
"Yes, you do," he laughed at her.  "Why else would you go through all this trouble?"
She thought about her daughter, sick in the other room, but sleeping.  She looked at the clock and wondered when her husband would be home.  She was supposed to be going to work, and he was coming home to watch the sick babe.  Was there enough time?  Was the Lion right?  Should she just do it?
The lion easily straddled her on the bed, and with one front paw, forced her to turn over.  She sat up quickly, terrified of what he might do next.
"Take that one first," he motioned to a prescription that she just had filled.  It was an older prescription for sleeping pills.  30 pills.  Shaking, she took the bottle and easily opened the childproof cap.  She poured nine to ten pills in her hand, shocked that they were so little.  Such little pills could do so much damage, she thought.  The Lion handed her a cup, smiling.
"Do it.  You know you want to," he laughed at her.  She looked at him, locked eyes, popped the handful of pills in her mouth, and took the cup from his hands.  She hesitated only for a second before swallowing the overdose. "More," he instructed her.  "Take the rest."  In two more handfuls, she had emptied the contents of the bottle into her empty stomach.  Fear filled her, and she wondered if she should run into the master bathroom and make herself vomit the pills up.  Her thought pattern was broken as the lion handed her another bottle.  She repeated the process, again and again until there were 5 empty bottles on her nightstand.
"Rest, now," he instructed her.  He dismounted the bed, and tossed the discarded blanket back at her.  She held the top and tossed the rest towards the bottom of the bed, watching it fall down like a landing kite.  She laid back down on her bed, and assumed the same curled up position that she had previously.  Her tears had long stopped, but the pillow remained wet and stained from the previous session.  The Lion circled three times, and laid on the ground next to her bed.  He was going to guard her, make sure that she remained on the bed and let the poison do its job.
She closed her eyes.  The decision that she had been attempting to make was final done.  It was all done.  Her body relaxed, she let her mind think of sweet memories.  She took a deep breath, and just let death happen.

Unspoken Silence

I wanted to make homemade mashed potatoes for dinner. They are his favorite, and I was making a traditional Sunday dinner anyway: 7 pound chicken, mashed potatoes, asparagus, and biscuits. My daughters and I had baked a cake early in the afternoon, a special treat usually reserved for parties and birthdays, but tonight it seemed needed. We were pretending, after all. We do that a lot lately.

Peeling potatoes is thought provoking. Standing over the sink, slow upward strokes, bits of brown skin falling into a beige plastic Jewel bag. It makes me feel compelled to write, to put down all my thoughts in hopes they will one day be appreciated. I desperately want to get it all out, the chatter that goes through my head. If I can get it down on paper, if I can make it real, it cannot haunt me.

I keep peeling, keep stroking. We have been pretending all day, pretending that everything is fine, that we are functioning normally. To the naked eye we are; we are probably even doing well to most. Fresh breakfast of bacon and eggs, shopping for an early birthday present, take-out lunch, baking in the kitchen on a Sunday afternoon, the table fully set for a full dinner. We have made love, twice, looking to fill the void. The kids have scurried around the house, building a fort in the living room, playing school and house, arguing and bickering, figuring out how to resolve it themselves.

But there is an unspoken silence. Listen, do you hear it? It's there. The words do not need to be said, but they are screaming from the bottom of my lungs. Unhappiness. Depression. Failure. Anger.  Suicide.

The peeler slips, and knicks my knuckle. I drop it and instinctively suck the wound. It doesn't hurt more than a smart, yet tears come to my eyes.  I shake them away, shaking away with it the emotions of the day.  I must pretend.  I must press on.  I must keep silent. 

What it's like....

It's like a messy closet, the inside of my head.  I think it's just like the closet in Lilli and Abbi's bedroom.  The closet is large; it has two sets of bi-fold doors that open wide.  There is a storage system in the closet that we installed when we were pregnant with Lilli.  On the left is a single bar for hanging, high enough for pants or full dresses.  In the middle is a series of cubbies (4, I think) that are meant to hold folded sweaters, shoes, extra blankets.  Then on the right there are two more hanging bars, for shirts or sweaters or skirts.  There are also two full length shelves that run the length of the closet, perfect for mementos and bigger boxes.  The doors are always closed, but the light is always on so the girls have a little night light.  And when the doors are closed, they are child-proof locked by two sliders at the top.

This is my head.  To a T, this is my head.  There is always a light on.  I am always thinking, there is always brain waves of some sort to be found.  But, like the doors, I am locked.  Locked up tight and locked high where not many can reach.  I have trouble reaching the locks to open the closet doors, and the same goes for my head.  But when I stand on my tippy-toes and will myself to open it, even a crack, a whole lot of mess comes pouring out.

The mess in my head is the same as the mess on the floor of the closet.  Unused baby equipment can symbolize that I have years of childhood that I have yet to let go of.  Really, there is no reason to keep the pack-and-play, yet there it sits.  Just like there is no reason for me to hold on to the abuse of my family, and yet there it sits.  There are boxes of art projects, hand prints, and first scribbles.  Memories that I will want to share some day.  I have those in my head, too.  Boxes and boxes of stories to tell my kids when they get older; stories about them growing up and stories about me and their father growing up.

There is also a huge load of stuffed animals that are no longer "friends".  Some have been discarded because they are ripped or torn, some are dirty and could use a good bath, and some are baby stuffies that are just outgrown.  Again, symbolism!  This could easily represent the people in my life that I am keeping around "just in case" even though they are not needed or wanted.  It's time to clean them up and out.  The ones that are old and dirty maybe just need a washing and then they would be brand new.  These are my friends who are still out there but are neglected and I need to reconnect with.  The stuffies that are ripped and torn are friendships that might have been damaged over the years, but it might be possible to reconnect and patch things up.  As for the toys that I have outgrown, there are so many people in my life that I need to let go of, to let them move on to others that will love and care for them.  It's time for them to go to Goodwill.

Looking at the storage system, well, it was meant to be a place that we could hang and fold clothes and blankets for good use later.  It was meant to help us be organized.  My head has a wonderful organization system as well, I am just not using it very well right now.  Mine, like the closet, is full of clothes and hats that I have outgrown; costumes and dress-up clothes that either don't fit or that I don't want to wear anymore.  But I am not ready to get rid of them for fear I might need them again.  I mean, really, why am I still hanging on to the "lost child without a friend" costume.  I could let that go.  I could also let go of the hats of "ugly sister, unloved adolescent, and tries to hard young adult".  But I hold them, and there pain, just like I hold on to the clothes that no longer fit my girls.

I keep telling myself that I am going to clean that closet, that I will take a few garbage bags and clean it up and out.  I will decide on a few things to keep, maybe a few stuffed animals and a few favorite dresses from when the girls were little just to show them one day.  But it's time for the rest to go; it's time to start using that organizer for it's purpose.  It's time to open the doors and keep them unlocked, so that it is a clean and safe place.

2 weeks

I've been distant.  I've been pretty much non-existant for almost 2 weeks now.

The depression came back and reared it's ugly head.  And it was not pretty.

I stopped taking my meds.  I started to resist, even though I kept going, therapy.  I was making stupid choices and shutting out the people who cared about me.

I lined up the pill bottles.  I pulled out an exacto knife.  If my 4 year old hadn't yelled at his older sister and scared me, I would have gone through with it.

I was spared going to the hospital.  J and Dr C were sure they could get me through this.  I wasn't to be left alone, she told J.  I was to take my meds.  I wasn't to be allowed to despense my own meds.  I was to see her 2-3 times a week.  I was to put some time and effort into my DBT book; one chapter a week.  I am to e-mail them both my 3 favorite things of the day in an effort to remind myself that there are good things going on in the midst of my world falling apart.

I can feel myself slowly coming back to Earth.  Slowly.  Going to work this week has helped.  Pretending that everything is now fine has helped. 

Everything is not fine, but we will keep working on that.

Diminished Light

The darkness of the night sets in
Light is diminished, banished for hours
She lays still
Not wanting to awaken her bedmate
Hot tears travel down her cheeks
Wounds of the day
Stubbornness subsides
Heartache sets in
Plans have been made
Thought over time and time again
Each moment accounted for
She doesn't want there to be errors
Once and done
She pushes away the doubt, uncertainty
Decisions have already been made
They must be followed through
Her eyes flicker
One more night
One more day
And then it will be complete

Anhedonia

Anger

Non stop

Hatred of self

Exhausting

Daily struggle

Overly sensitive

Negative thoughts

Insanity

Abounding

MDD SUCKS!

I am fighting, I swear I am.

But Major Depressive Disorder sucks.  Big Time.  We are not friends at all.

This week has been very challenging.  Work has been tough; so many students to see, so little time.  Family life has been tough, my MIL started chemo this week and I have been pretty emotional about it.  Energy has been low since the lapband was filled and I am not consuming many calories.  Sleep is distant; I miss it so!  And, honestly, I have not been good on my meds.  I think that I am about 4 days behind.  Other un-healthy coping skills abound, but I will save that for fear of triggering others.

But I try and fight. I try to wake up every morning and say that today will be better.  I get up, get the kids dressed and fed, and try to go about my day.  I have been making more of an effort to meet my husband for lunch before I start work (I am on 2nd shift at the college advising office the rest of the month).  I try to relax when I get home before sleep (I am addicted to Candy Crush).  It's just not working.

Dr. C would correct me and say that it is working because I am getting up and moving.  I haven't completely shut down and I am still moving forward.

But, man, this sucks.  You know what I feel like, I feel like an addict.  I wake up every morning and say it's going to be different and fail by the end of the day.  Not much different than someone who wakes up in the morning, saying the will not drink, do drugs, etc., and then cheats by the end of the day.

Whatever.

If I haven't said it yet, this sucks.

Being Positive, Just For Today

When You Are At The Crossroads Between Failing and Flying

I've been playing a lot this week and weekend.  Playing on that line between failing and failing.  I have had some AWESOME days this week, when things actually fell into place and I felt I was on a good path.  And I have had some days where I felt like throwing in the towel.  I guess this is recovery, that this is what it's like to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and keep walking.  Dr. C says that recovery is like going up a mountain, but the road is not straight, it has bumps and holes that you fall over and climb out of.

I hate bumps and holes.

For right now, all I can do is keep going.  I need to remember that a stumble is not a failure, it's me learning how to do things a better way.  I need to learn that when I am in the hole that I HAVE the coping skills to get out; I just need to use them.

(Wow, this is a really positive post for me.  Don't worry, it really is me....just in a good place.  I am sure I will be back to blogging in a more negative place later in the week  :)  )

Fakin it 'Til I'm Makin it

Yup....I'm pretty much at that stage....where I will fake and push myself to be happy until I really am.  I was able to pull myself over the down down depths of depression before I bottomed out this cycle, and am working to keep heading back upwards.  I am making myself do things to feel better, taking care of myself, knocking off the nightly drinking, forcing myself to talk and be more honest in therapy sessions.  And, surprise, it's actually working!

I had a session this morning with Dr. C, and it went really really well.  We kept the conversation light, and while we talked about some semi-serious stuff, I didn't let it overwhelm and take over.  Pretty good, huh?

I am still doing 2-a-weeks with Dr. C, and I am ok with that.  I think that I need the extra support as I battle on through this, and, honestly, I would see her every day if I could; I like talking to her that much!

Light post today; here's to a great weekend and a good report on the otherside! 

It's Amazing

So, I have been trying this new thing when I go to therapy.  And although I have seen Dr. C for almost a year now, it's a skill I am just now getting.  It's certainly not for lack of trust as I adore her, but more lack of self confidence and self-esteem.  I bet you're wondering what this magical things is....

Talking.

Yup, I am talking in sessions. 

Amazing, right?

I have been struggling for a long time to be able to talk, to trust, to tell myself that what I have to say is worth it and that if/when I do talk for the whole session, I feel SO much better afterwards!  Ironic, isn't it?

The problem is that when I get upset I tend to shut-down.  So there have been weeks in a row where I would show up for my appointments and not be able to say more than a handful of words.  Sometimes I would sit in my chair and cry, sometimes I would be able to at least have eye contact with her, sometimes I couldn't even do that.  But I feel with the events of the past few weeks and me actually making some strides to turn this MDD around, that while I am still miserable on the inside, I am at least making progress.

The only one downside of talking that I have found so far is that the session flies by, and then I have to wait another 167 hours to do it again.  (Well, that's not totally true as I usually see her more than once a week, but it feels more like 167,000 hours sometimes.)

Here's to a better today!  I have another doctor's appointment about my lap-band later this morning, and I am sure that I will be back to blog about that!

To thick to break

The burn of alcohol slides down the back of her throat.  It tastes like a strawberry Nyquil.  She think this is her 5th shot, but she has lost track.  She takes another one in the hopes that it evens the number out.  Her leg burns from the cuts she just made and she cannot be sure if it helps or if it causes more pain.  The last slice was deep and it bled more than she thought it would.  She had stared at the droplets that started small as the blade broke the skin, and then got bigger as the knife slid over the same line again and again.  Sarah McLachlan is playing sad songs through YouTube on her computer.  She props her elbows on the table and drops her head into her hands.

She is so confused about the whole weekend, the flurry of activity yesterday in seeing her father and listening to lies, the downfall of today and trying to wrap her head around the information.  Today has been a roller coaster of emotions; she started the day angry and resentful of everything.  She was pretty sure that her family was choosing not to listen to her on purpose and was meaning to drive her insane.  Her husband finally took the kids out, riding bikes and visiting parks for almost two hours.  She was able to make Sunday dinner in that time: roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, broccoli, french bread; but it was all done with a drink in her hand.  Pathetic, she thought, simply pathetic.

Tears hit the table.  She hadn't even realized that she was crying, lost in the song playing.  She had thoughts swimming in her head so fast she could hardly catch them.  Drink more, the thoughts said.  No, they yelled back at each other, just go cut.  Cut your wrists.  The tears fell harder.  She just needed to make it through the night.  She knew if she could make it to morning that everything would seem better.

"The neck, go for the big vein in the neck.  It will only take a few seconds."  That wasn't a thought talking, and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.  It was her Lion.  She couldn't bring herself to turn around, but felt him use his giant paw to sweep the hair away from her left ear.

"I can help you," he purred into her ear.  "I can help this to all go away.  Just give me the knife, I know where you have hidden it anyway.  Give it to me and I will do it for you.  I will hold you as you go to sleep."

Overly-frustrated, she took her shot glass and threw it across the kitchen.  It hit the wall and fell to the floor, but the glass was too thick to break.  The Lion laughed deeply,  She slowly shut her eyes.  Giving up would be easier.  It would make everything go away.  She stood up, still not looking at her captor, circled around him, and headed to the bathroom.  The sound of his breath right next to her assured her that he was following, that this was really going to happen this time.

Entering the bathroom, she withdrew the purple Exacto knife from it's hidden spot.  She pulled the cap off, noticing that there was still a drop of blood on the blade from earlier in the day.  She thought about cleaning it off, then realized that there wasn't a point.  This was it.  She didn't have to worry about infection.

Her eyes closed once again, she reached her hand over her shoulder, felt the Lion take it from her grasp, and tilted her head to expose her neck.  She whispered a prayer as she felt it dig into her skin.  She said each of her children's names, and felt two more tears roll down her face.  She room began to spin, she felt herself lean back into his arms, and she took a final breath.

A Note to my Father

Dear Daddy,

Remember the summer of '84? You were about to get married to Mom, and I was about 7 years old. Do you remember my first two wheeler bike? I do. It was a shinny yellow base, white wheels, white handle bars with yellow and white streamers, and a plastic white basket on the front. And you were determined that I was going to learn to ride that bike before we moved. For weekends on end you and I would be in the front yard with that bike, in the grass since there where no sidewalks. You would hold the handle on the bike of the white banana seat and guide me back and forth until I begged to stop. Eventually, I got the hang of it and you started to let go more and more often until one day I was ready to ride it all on my own.

I know that these past two years have been difficult for you. I can only begin to imagine how I would feel if L, Big A, or Little A were going through depression so bad. I know that this is not the first time that we have been down this road, that we struggled with depression and hospitalization when I was younger and again in college. And I bet you thought, just like I did, that I was so settled down, a husband, three beautiful children, a wonderful job, I bet you thought that everything was going great. I bet you thought, like I did, that I had made it through the worst parts of my life and that only good things were left to come. Boy, weren't we wrong.

I wish that I could fully explain to you how this all went downhill, starting in 2011 and leading up until now. I wish that I could explain it to myself. But, honestly, I don't really know why this happened or how things got so complicated and confusing. I wish I could say, "this is the moment that I caught major depressive disorder." But I can't. Because it's not something that you can "catch". It's something that was probably hidden under the surface for a long time, wearing me out, and I finally couldn't hold it in anymore. I broke. It literally felt like I was snapped in half and I was left with no way to put myself back together.

Jump to June 24, 2013. The day that started the end of it all. I had to call and tell you, once again, that I had become more than suicidal and I was involuntarily hospitalized. I had hoped to never make that call to you again. This was the 5th time I was hospitalized in 9 months, and it was highly embarrassing for me. It was hard each time I had to tell you where I was. I felt like I was disappointing you, letting you down, letting myself down.

To say that I was surprised by your reaction would be an understatement. You wanted out, you wanted "off my roller-coater." I was crushed. I couldn't figure out what I had done wrong. The doctors were not happy with how upset I was. They told me that I shouldn't have visitors until things calmed down; they didn't even want J to come see me everyday. I was put on suicide precautions and watched 24/7. I cried more than I have ever cried in my life. EVER.

You are my father, my Daddy, and you were supposed to be there for me forever. You used to tell me when I was little that you would NEVER leave me the way (Bio-Mom) did, and here it was, feeling like you were doing just that. I wanted to talk to you, to figure out how I could fix it. You e-mailed me and told me to stop stalking you. Pieces of me began to die. I was in the hospital for almost 5 weeks, probably 3 more than I needed to be because I was so impacted by this.

The months after I got out of the hospital, I would tell myself that you were just figuring out how you felt and what to do; telling myself that I should just give you space. I would attempt to talk about it with my therapist or with J, and I would just collapse into tears and frustration. I felt abandoned. I felt that you no longer cared or loved me. I felt that I had disappointed you to the point that you didn't want me to be part of your family. I would e-mail you every couple months and try to reconnect, and I was always turned down in one manner or another.

Fast-forward to a few weeks ago, after a few very hard sessions, were my therapist and I decided that I would send a letter, one more letter, one more attempt to try and reconnect with the family. I needed to send it, to let you all know that I could no longer do this, I would no longer hold on hope that we would reconnect. I needed you all to know that if you didn't want to talk to me, that that was fine, but I needed closure and to move on.

I didn't think that I would get a response, but Mom texted me and wanted to have breakfast. I was terrified, but I went because I was craving some sort of contact. And it went well. And she explained to me what really happened, why you really backed off. J had written an e-mail that highly offended you and by backing off you thought that you were honoring what he had insisted on. You thought that you were doing what my family wanted.

I didn't know about this e-mail until breakfast last Sunday. No idea that it ever existed. I wish that I had known sooner. I wish that someone on one of the sides had thought to bring it up to me. I wish that it was never written. I wish that none of this had ever happened.

But it has happened. And we now need to figure out how to move on from this. I need to learn to trust you again; trust that I will not be hurt or let-down. I am guessing that you are still needing to heal your wounds, that this might be just as hard on you as it is on me.

We need to learn to move on, whether that be together or separate. While I am working as hard as I can, my journey with this depression is far from over and I sure could use all the support that I can get. I could use someone in my corner just solely there for support, to call me and say that they love me, to have lunch with and let me vent, to make me feel as safe as I used to when I was 5 and you would tuck me into bed.

I need my Daddy.

So, the ball is in your court now. The path we walk down is your choice, whether that be walking it together or splitting at the fork. I place this into your hands, letting go as much as I can.


Your M

On being pathetic

pa·thet·ic

/pəˈTHetik/

Adjective Arousing pity, esp. through vulnerability or sadness. Miserably inadequate   ****   I am pathetic.    I am miserably inadequate.    I am pathetic because I seek approval from all the wrong people.    I am pathetic because, aside from my husband who is my best, I don't really have friends.    I am pathetic because despite my training as a counselor, I cannot deal with my own anxiety and depression.    I am pathetic because, again, despite what I have learned to be factually true, I believe that cutting will make me feel better and allow me to escape from pain.    I am pathetic because I make poor choices that go against what I know to be right.    I am pathetic because I know intellectually how to "fix" this situation that I am in, but I cannot put that into practice.   I am pathetic because I believe all of the above.

Just a picture

Making the cut

Shaking hands

Racing heart

Spinning head

Just do it

Shiny and Sharp

Coldness and Affliction

Blood and Relief

Cannot stop it

Dripping thigh

Stained towel

Heavy heart

One more time

Embarressed and Ashamed

Disappointed and Frustrated

Relinquish and Surrender

Start over tomorrow

Anxiety

I can deal with depression.  For me it manifests itself through wanting to just lay in bed all day, doing nothing.  It makes me not want to eat, and hygiene pretty much goes out the window.  I know that if I wait it out, usually 3-4 days, that it will get better.  What I cannot deal with is anxiety.

*Anxiety makes me want to overeat, but my stomach cannot tolerate food so I vomit.

*Anxiety makes me not sleep because I cannot shut my brain down.

*Anxiety makes me think of self-harm because I so desperately want to feel something else.  Pain is a different feeling.

*Anxiety makes me drink, because I cannot sleep and I pray that the numbness of alcohol will help lull me to sleep.

*Anxiety makes me angry, and that, perhaps is the worst.



>I yell at my kids, and they don't deserve that.  At all.

>I scream and swear and pick fights with my husband.  I beg silently for his attention and then violently turn him away when he gives it to me.

>I am sharp with my students, talking in a more condescending tone than I would otherwise.

>I am impatient with people.  I immediately internalize it if I call, text, or write someone and don't get a response.

>I think suicidally.  I make plans in my head and recently have gone as far as to write actual suicide notes both to my husband and all three of my kids.

>I become more forgetful, calling my husband several times to get the answer to the same questions or repeating the same steps at home not realizing that I have already done something.

> Anxiety = Anger = Sadness = Anxiety.  And it becomes a vicious cycle.


I have terribly high anxiety right now, and not even my Klonopin seems to be easing it.  There has been so much going on in the family the past couple weeks, and it has all been building.  Not to mention that I am about to bottom out on my cycle, and I keep trying to push it off/work through it because I know that J needs me to be strong, and Little A's birthday is Thursday so I HAVE to make it until then.  After that, it's all up for grabs.

Yeah, so I might not be ok.

I am sure that you have had one of these days...the day that you try and put on a brave face and walk through the world pretending like everything is ok, when really you are DYING inside.

That's today.

J stayed home today, an unusual thing for him to do, but between Nana's cancer and other stressors of life, he was looking for a break and I was more than happy to encourage it.  Although, deep down, I kind of wanted the day to myself, mainly so I could stay in bed and do nothing but sit in my sadness.  But when J takes days off, it is not for just sitting around.  As soon as the nanny got there, we were out the door.  For almost 3 hours we ran errands, got some beloved chocolate, and went to lunch.  Should have been awesome.  Should have been.

I was really distracted.  He had to repeat statements and questions several times because I was off and lost in my head.  He even asked me once if I was with him on this planet or if I was somewhere else.  (I, of course, was somewhere else.)

So....what was distracting me?

1. Thoughts of self-harm that I had last night that I almost gave into.  And that hasn't happened in a long time.

2. Dr. C had sent me a text message that said she was available to meet today if I still wanted, but that would have meant that J and I would have had to end our outing early, and he was so happy we were out that I couldn't disappoint him.  But I really wanted to see her and now I have to wait until Thursday.

3.  I have been back on my meds (for the most part) for 6 weeks now and I still feel that my cycle now is no different than it was when I was completely off meds.  That's very frustrating and makes me want to stop taking them again.  If they are not making a difference, than what is the point?

4.  My mom and I had breakfast on Sunday (still working on a blog about that) and it has left me spinning.  We haven't spoken in a year, and now she would like us to come on Saturday so she can see the kids.  But she doesn't want J to come.  The whole morning with her was painful and confusing and I still haven't been able to process it all (hence why I wanted the appointment with Dr. C).

 ***

So I am now sitting at work, blogging because my student has not showed up for her appointment, and really wishing that I was at home instead.

I take that back, I don't want to be at home.  I just don't want to be.

I allow myself to be hurt

I have realized something the past few days that has been kinda hard to come to grips with, but I thought it was worth sharing.

I allow myself to be hurt by people.

Seems like a simple enough statement, but it has taken me about 3 hours to build the courage to write this blog.

I allow myself to be hurt by people.

Example on my mind:  I have always struggled with allowing myself to get close to older females.  If I psychoanalyze myself, I could say it was because my biological mom left me when I wasn't even two and I struggled when I was young to have a good relationship with my step-mom.  I would look to teachers to be more than their title required, I was looking for someone that I could attach to, and I was almost always disappointed.  Recently, I have realized that I am still following that pattern, that I take awhile to get close to an older female, and then when I do start to break the walls down, I do not vocalize my needs with them but instead get disappointed when I am not getting what I need.  For example, Dr. C.  She and I had a rocky start, I was not in a good place for most of the three months that I started to see her (October 2012) and then I was hospitalized for about a month in January 2013.  When I came out of the hospital I was in a better place, and started to allow myself to form an attachment.  We e-mailed and blogged, sometimes sending text messages if I really needed something.  Recently, when we were trying to end a REALLY rough session, and I was next to hysterical and trying to walk out of her office, she tried to hug me, and I pulled away.  Later, as I thought about it, I felt really guilty.  She was attempting to give me the very thing that I needed and honestly wanted and yet I couldn't accept it.  So, I decided to start being more open with, well, I guess with the experience.  And what I think I did was allow myself to be hurt.  After that interaction I put her on a pedestal and expected that she would be able to meet all my needs and, frankly, all my demands of her.  I have become upset if I e-mail her and don't get responses.  I get offended if our sessions only last 50 minutes, as routinely we go over the hour mark.  What I need to realize is that I have two options in this situation: I either need to tell her what I am expecting and come to a common agreement OR I need to stop going from zero to 100 in two steps.  Does that make any sense?  I feel like I go from not wanting anything to wanting it all, and that's not fair to her or me.  I need to be more realistic with myself, and have less expectations of her.

This is something that I am just starting to work on, especially since it might be what's going on right now and I am trying to work through it.  Add it to the list of all my goals for this year....

Don’t let your struggle become your identity

I read that title today on Twitter.  Then I re-tweeted it.

Then I thought about it.  And thought about it some more. 

I went and made lunch for L, Big A, and Little A
.
And I couldn't stop thinking about it.  (Obsess much?)

I think that I am totally guilty of this.  Totally and completely.

****

When my depression started to surface in 2011, I would have identified myself as a good mother, a passionate wife, an obedient daughter, a loyal sister, a successful employee, an awesome teacher.  I would have highlighted successful and good and loyal.

But when I try to label myself now, the first thoughts that I normally have are depressed, suicidal, unworthy, unproductive member of society.  Very much a big difference from what I used to be.  And I think this is where I need to focus my efforts on, that I am not all of the negative terms that I call myself in my head.  I need to stop identifying myself as such.  Because, honestly, I am still a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, an employee, a teacher.  I am all of these things.  I am just a person who does all these things along with working through Major Depressive Disorder. 

But I am not Major Depressive Disorder.  I have it, but it should not define me.

It's like when you have the stomach flu.  You are still a mother, a wife, a partner, but you are down and out for a few days.  You may not be performing at your best, but you are still YOU.  Same for mental illness, you are still all the things you would otherwise identify with, there are just some extra hoops and hurdles to jump over.

I know this is one of those "easier sad than done" topics, and I am certainly no expert in the area.  I think since maybe about October 2011 I have been solely identifying myself as someone with a mental illness.  So, I need to learn and focus on how I can change my titles, my self-descriptors, so that they are a more accurate picture of who I am today.

I am a good enough mother.

I am compassionate and understanding wife.

I am a hard working employee.

I am a knowledge-rich teacher.

The Letter

She sat down to write her letter, a trusty glass of Tequila Rose sitting next to her.  She didn't care that it was before 5 o'clock and her husband wasn't even home yet; she had occupied all of her kids and knew she had about 25 minutes of peace.

Opening her Outlook inbox with one hand and taking a big gulp of her tumbler with another, her mind flashed back to the session she had earlier in the day.  The topic of her family came up, in a round about way, and the fact that this week marked the one year anniversary since "the fallout".  She had stifled sobs and choked back tears as she tried to articulate her feelings to her therapist, but knew she was unsuccessful.  Even diverting her eyes and trying to put other thoughts into her head had not let her escape from the painful memories.  She had decided on an action plan after her therapist had shared a personal story that was parallel; she was going to write her family and let them know that it was time to "piss or get off the pot." 

She would no longer allow herself to be a victim. 

She would no longer allow herself to be trapped by their decisions that she didn't agree with.

She would no longer play their game.

A fresh screen opened on her laptop, a fresh screen full of possibilities.  She could take the offensive approach, tell them they were all wrong and that they needed to start talking to her again.  She could take the defensive approach and take all the blame for the situation and beg them to return to her.  She took another drink of the sweet liquor-laced drink and decided to come up somewhere in the middle.

She typed for 10 minutes straight, just getting thoughts out of her head and intending on editing later. 

Just write it out, she told herself, you'll feel better if you do.

Tears fell faster than she could wipe them away as her finger flew across the keys.  She explained that she missed the family, she missed everything little and big that they did together.  She explained that J's mom is sick, and how the reality of this was a shock and how much it made her want to reconnect.  She paused momentarily and then typed the most painful part for her.

"This will be the last time I try and contact you."

And she knew it to be true.  She knew that she could no longer live her life in limbo, waiting for her family of origin to decide that they wanted her back.  She needed to take charge of her own life and take back some of her power.  She needed to be the strong and independent woman that she was 3 years ago.

Taking a final swig of her glass, she edited her piece, mainly for spelling and punctuation errors as she was pleased with the text.  She entered in the e-mail addresses, one by one, noticing that she was putting them in in age order without meaning to.  She added her husband and her therapist to the BCC field, read over it one more time, took a deep breath and hit send.

It was done.  Whatever was to come of it would be.

She pushed the keyboard back, laid her forehead on the table, and cried.

The Pain That Comes With Knowledge

As a society today, we have access to so much information.  All it takes is a couple clicks on Google or Bing and we can read and learn about an infinite amount of topics.  Sometimes that's good, like when you need directions on how to change a tire.  Sometimes it bad, like when you spend the night researching your Mother-In-Laws new diagnosis and find that the prognosis is not good.

(read Heartbroken posted on July 16 if you haven't already to get caught up.)

So, N called last night when she was released from the hospital.  The doctors decided that it was pointless, and expensive, to keep her overnight since my Father-In-Law is available to drive her to all her appointments.  I was at a meeting at the kid's school when she called, and my husband, being strong as always, gave me the information when I got home.

Her pancreatic cancer is stage 2b.  Basically, according to the research that I have done, that means that it has spread past her pancreas into her blood vessels and surrounding organs.  Chances are high that it has also gotten into her lymph nodes.  She has a CT scan for this morning to determine if surgery is possible, but it is only a 10% chance.

I looked at what I thought would be the most reliable website, The American Cancer Society, for more information.  At stage 2b, she has a 5% chance of survival.

I slammed my laptop shut. 

And did the most (il)logical thing I could think of.  I filled a tall glass with Tequila Rose and just started to drink.  Because, you know, drinking in a situation like this when you are on medication is the best thing to do.  (I hope that you all can catch the sarcasm in that.)

Feeling light-headed and overly emotional, I laid in bed with my cell-phone and did something else that I am sure I will regret.  I texted my Mom.  I told her that N had cancer, how bad it was, and that I wanted this fight between the family to be over.

I am not sure why I did that.  I think that I did it because learning about N's cancer has made me see that J and I are truly getting to that stage in our lives where the death of our parents is more of a reality.  Thinking about either of my parents getting this diagnosis and me not knowing because we are not speaking, well, that would be too much.  I want to see my mom, I want to give her a hug, I want her to be back in my kid's lives.  I want to be able to call her up and talk to her about what is going on.  I want to be able to turn to her when N is going through rough patches and lean on her for support.  I want things to go back to how they were before I got sick.

Today is tough.  I begged my husband to stay home, but he has tomorrow off of work to go out with his best friend so that just wasn't possible.  I feel raw emotion sitting right at the surface, and I am trying not to cry because I don't know how I would explain it to the kids.  I am praying this next hour until the Nanny gets here goes by quick.  I want to crawl into my bed and nurse my wounds.  I want to crawl under my covers and pray that the doctors find that they can operate on N and that her prognosis isn't as bad as first thought.  I want to figure out how to be strong for J, for my family, for my extended family.  I want to be a good man in a storm.  I want this all to just go away.

Heartbroken

Do you remember the first time that you felt heartbroken?

I think, for me, that it was when I asked Richard (Something) to Girl's Choice my freshman year.  At first he said yes; I was elated!  Then about a week or so later he came back and said he didn't want to go. 

Heartbroken.

This past Sunday, J and I took the kids to my mother-in-law's house.  We were looking for things to do, and her retirement village has an awesome pool where every Sunday they grill hot dogs.  It got even better as N (mother-in-law) let us know that she asked J's sister and her two boys to join us.  My kids love to play with their cousins every chance they get, and it turned out to be a wonderfully relaxing day.

While we were there, N and I sat under an umbrella and had some good conversation.  She has been UBBER supportive of us through these past two years; I don't know what we would have done without her.  Anyway, she was telling me that she hasn't been feeling good and had a series of doctor's appointments this week.  On Monday she was going in for an ultrasound and bloodwork, and then would meet with her doctor a few hours later.  Her doctor was thinking from her symptoms that it was kidney stones, and he wanted to see the location of them before they decided on treatment.  She called me and left a message on Monday night; it wasn't kidney stones, and they weren't sure what it was, so they were sending her for more tests today.  I breathed a sigh of relief and hoped that it was something much easier than what they originally thought.

It's not.

Tonight, as I was making hot dogs and cheesy broccoli for the kid's dinner, J's sister called.  I knew it was bad because he took the phone and went out to the back porch.  For those in the Chicagoland area, you know today is not a day to voluntarily go into this oppressive heat.  After the kids were all settled, I went out to see what was up.  I could tell by the look and my love's face that it wasn't good.  I stood silent and waited for him to finish the call. 

"It's pancreatic cancer," J said, trying hard to be strong.  His eyes looked like could burst into tears, and as a hugged him it was almost as if I could feel his sadness seeping out through his chest.

"Dad is hysterical.  They are doing more tests tomorrow to see how far it has spread and if surgery is an option."

I stood there, hands on my hips, imitating his fake strength.  My head started spinning.  I know that our parents are all in their 60's and these sort of things start happening now, but I am just not ready.

J and I chatted a little more, agreeing that we were not going to say anything to the kids until absolutely necessary, rearranging schedules for Friday since we are pretty sure that N will not be coming to watch the kids, and just trying to get our bearings.  We hugged again, and came inside.

I immediately went to my computer and started to research, then quickly shut the computer as there was nothing good to read.  It's always malignant.  It has a low survival rate.  It's one of the top 8 cancer-killers in the US.

Heartbroken.  Absolutely heartbroken.

The Pool

The water was warm.  She stepped in up to her calves and enjoyed the ripples in the water as they danced about her legs.  Two more steps into the pool and the it was at her thighs.  Her swim dress played with the water, sashaying back and forth like a graceful dancer.  She continued her decent, reaching the bottom of the pool with two more paces.

She leaned back and allowed her hair to get wet, using both her hands to make sure the water fully engulfed her hairline.  She took a breath, closed her eyes, and eased her legs up towards the surface until she was floating.  A sad smile played across her lips.  While she had been longing for the experience of feeling free like the pool let her feel, her heart still felt trapped.

It had been days, perhaps weeks, since she had truly felt happy.  On the outside to others she appeared to be in a good place; her boss had even complemented her on the fact that she seemed so happy to work with her demanding students.  But that mask was a heavy burden to handle.  Behind the facade, tears would stream down her face and make her gasp for air.  Her heart felt like it had been crushed, stamped on, pulverized.  She longed for the ability to stay in her bed, blankets pulled over her head to block any source of light.

She couldn't eat; while the food would go down her throat it ended with incredible stomach pains that made her not want to repeat the process.  She wavered between not being able to sleep for days and sleeping for 15 hours or more at a time.  The provocation of the later, she discovered, was the black, plastic bottle that laid in the fridge.  Too tall for even the tallest shelf, her newly beloved, Tequila Rose, seemed to be the only thing that soothed her spirit.  "It's just strawberry milk with a little kick," she convinced herself nightly as she over-poured her cup.  Her husband looked at her with a disapproving glance, but knew better than to approach the subject.

Her eyes opened as a cloud passed over the sun and she was snapped out of her thoughts. 

Thump, thump.

She felt her heart beating hard.  It seemed to play like a loud radio under the water.

Thump, thump.

Her eyes filled with tears and she choked down a sob that tried to escape.

Thump, thump.

She turned over in the pool, floating face down, allowing her hair to float around her face.  She remained there, the air that escaped from her lips creating a sea of bubbles that quickly raced to the surface.

Thump, thump.

Her lungs burned.  Her air supply was gone and she knew that she needed to turn over and take a breath.

Thump, thump.

She couldn't will herself to do it.  Her eyes popped open and frantically looked around.

Thump, thump.

She calmed herself internally.  She refused to splash about and elected to let it happen on it's own.

Thump....thump...

She closed her eyes for the last time.

Thump............................

Bittersweet

Yesterday was a tremendously bittersweet day for me.

I know that I have mentioned before that my family of origin is not speaking to me because they became frustrated and overwhelmed last year when I was going through my deepest bouts of depression.  Well, the only person who has attempted to keep contact is my sister-in-law, my older brother's wife.  We have been trying for months to get together, but with 5 active kids between us nailing down a date was difficult!

We were finally able to plan a swim date at their community pool yesterday, and it was wonderful!  Her two kids, E (who is now 9) and W (who is 5) have grown so much!  And they were overjoyed to have three hours to play with their cousins.  We exchanged presents for missed birthdays, had lunch, and swam until my kids were ready to pass out.  We did have to end it a bit early because Big A had a stomach ache and couldn't swim anymore (something that's still going on).

It was wonderful to reconnect.  We never talked about the family and what's going on, but talked a lot about the kids and what they have been up to, plans for the remainder of summer, and worked on finding a date to meet up again.

Then, later last night, she sent me a message thanking me for coming.  Even better then that was she said that it was important to her that the cousins keep getting together no matter who is talking to who.  I must admit, it choked me up a little.  My family was so close; we did everything together.  having that missing for the past year has been horrible.  On some level there has been benefits, it has allowed J and I to start building our own family traditions for holidays and birthdays, but it kills me that the kids have gone for so long without seeing my parents.

Today is Saturday and we are laying low as a family.  The kids helped J wash both cars and I have been concentrating on getting this week's laundry done.  Makes me shake my head with how quick clothes add up to large piles when there 5 people in a house!  I am still having problems eating, I have been getting terrible stomach aches about 20 minutes after consuming anything, which makes me not want to eat anything.  But today I have a little hope, thanks to yesterday's trip, that eventually everything will work out the way it's supposed to.

Not in it to win it...

I don't want to write, which is why I am making myself.

The depression is starting to run deep.  I got only a few hours of sleep last night and have been having terrible stomach pains whenever I try to eat.

Dr. H changed my meds today a bit.  He wants me to drop the Latuda, keep the Wellbutrin and Klonopin, and add Abilify.  And because things are going so rough he wants me back in a few weeks instead of the normal 3 months.

Right after him I had an appointment set with Dr. C.  And I just didn't want to go.  I was feeling sick, I was not in a good place, and overall I just didn't want to talk.  So, I went, but I didn't talk.  Which is totally counter productive.  And she asked about the drinking, and I told her that it was under control, which it isn't but, again, I didn't want to get into it.  Eventually she asked if I just wanted to leave and I said yes, so we ended about 20 minutes early.  She asked that I e-mail or text her in a few days to let her know where I am at; we will see. 

I realize that I have the power here, and that if I keep going down this path it will not end well.  I will try to keep posting, try to keep positive, and try to keep on keeping on.

Broken Self-Imposed Rule

I had told myself when I started this blog that I was going to post every day; I was going to keep it like a journal so that I could monitor the ebbs and flows of my depression.  Well, rule broken.

My depression runs on a 5-6 week cycle, from what I have been able to chart so far.  And I am at the end of week 5, so I thought that I might have broken the cycle.  I think I am wrong.  Yesterday, depression set in like I haven't felt in a long time.  The fatigue, the not caring, the praying just to make it through the day, the irritability.  It's all back.  I attempted to soothe myself with a drink or two (or three), bad idea.  It just made the non-sleeping part worse, and I woke up this morning not really hungover, but certainly not feeling my best.

I think what has me the most worried about this cycle is the not caring part.  In the past when I have gotten to the low stages of my cycle, I have at least cried or worried about bottoming out.  Now, I just don't care.  It's almost as if thinking about suicide doesn't even bother me.  And, I'm thinking, that's not a good place to be in.

I did manage to make it to work today, just a short 4 hour shift, and my first 2 student appointments have already been no-shows, so I am basically just sitting in my empty office, left to think about this depression and how I can try to explain it to Dr. C tomorrow without worrying her.  I also have an appointment with Dr. H to go over meds, especially important since I have not been able to stomach the Latuda and stopped taking it.

Nothing more to really blog about today...just praying that this feeling passes quickly and that tomorrow will be a better day.

The Bar

The room was dimly lit, the small overhead lights casting shadows in the corner.  It reeked of stale beer and fresh cigarette smoke, but not even the worst odors bothered her today.  She was fixated, intent on just getting to a seat and having a drink.  She found an empty stool at the bar, sat down, and waved over the bartender.

"What's your pleasure?"  The bartender had a deep, raspy voice that sent a chill through her.  She squinted at him, feeling like she had seen him somewhere, but she couldn't place him.

"Tequila Rose" she responded.  He nodded his head, grabbed a short glass, and poured an overly generous amount.

"Bottoms up," he said with a smile as he placed it in front of her.  She raised her drink in a toast, and took a gulp.  The sweet strawberry liquor slid down her throat easily with a small after-burn from the tequila.  She closed her eyes and savored the taste.

Keeping her eyes closed, she thought about the day.  Not a good day, she reflected.  She had awakened to thunder and rain, wanting to just roll over and pull the covers up tight.  But there were things to do, so that just wasn't in the cards.  Laundry, dishes, work; they all seemed like simple tasks individually, but put together it was overwhelming.  The depression was back, and she knew if she didn't motivate herself to get moving and take a shower that the morning before work would a wash.  But motivation was not to be found; she grabbed her phone from the bedside and clicked on her Netflix app.  Settling under the covers, she streamed several episodes of "SisterWives" and allowed herself to get lost in the pain of other for a few hours.

Opening her eyes and taking a deep breath, she took another taste.  She started to feel warmth all over her body, the comfortable presence of alcohol streaming through her veins.  She looked again at the bartender, intent on figuring out how she knew him.  She studied his shaggy hair cut, the hair that she could see peeking out from beneath his long sleeved shirt, the devilish smile that he threw to her from down the counter.  She just couldn't place him.  Was he a student at her school?  A colleague with a night job?  Did she go to high school with him?

One more swallow and she emptied her glass.  She put it back on the counter with a clink, and he sauntered back down the bar.

"One more?" he asked.

She nodded her head in response.

"This one's on the house," he stated as he again filled the glass beyond the normal limit.

"I feel like I know you," she said hesitantly.

"Really," he responded with a smile.  "I am pretty sure you do."

She cocked her head to the side and looked again.  His eyes burned into her.  It was almost as if there was a flash of light and an image flashed before her.  Eyes widening, she shook her head as if to erase the image.  She felt iciness stream through her arms and legs as goosebumps appeared.  The image was of her dreaded Lion; the Lion that came to taunt her whenever things were about to get really bad.  Her mind raced.  She thought for sure she was imagining things.  Maybe she had had too much to drink.  Maybe it was lack of sleep and too much pressure.  A touch on her arm from him pulled her back into reality.

"You remember me," he smirked.  His hand remained in place and she was frozen.  The Lion, her Lion, was like poison to her soul.

"Don't touch me," she whispered, but she found she was not able to move her arm away.  He was mesmerizing.

"How we need another soul to cling to," he quoted from Sylvia Plath.

She caught her breath  They had been down this path before, throwing Plath quotes back and forth.  He had won; she had almost lost her life.

"I won't do this again," she said under her breath.

He started to laugh, a laugh deep from his belly that had an eerie tone to it.  Tension raised in her whole body; she stood up to leave the bar.

"I have a violence in me that is hot as death-blood," he quoted Plath again he grabbed her hand.

She stopped in her tracks.  She didn't have the energy, the will, the drive to fight today.  He continued to hold onto her hand, and gently tugged on it to get her to return to the bar.  Dumbfounded, she turned around and sat back down.  She knew she could not win.  She knew she wasn't strong enough.  And she knew the Lion knew all of this.

He nudged the glass of Tequila Rose closer to her.

"Just drink," he stated in a victorious tone.  He was well aware of the fact that if he could just get her to drink some more, she would be his.  He took a towel and began to wipe down the counter.  She followed his direction and finished the glass in one shot.  She hung her head, defeated, empty, a shell of who she used to be.

She thought for a moment, and her own Plath quote coming to mind.  "I want to kill myself, to escape from responsibility, to crawl back abjectly into the womb. "

Tears escaped from her eyes. 

"I am done," she whispered to herself.  She laid her head down on the bar and closed her eyes once more.