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.

Slow Day

It's Sunday and, as usual, things are calm in our house.  No one was out of jammies before noon, Little A took a good, long nap, L and Big A got to go to Toys R Us to spend birthday gift cards.  J has now taken all three kids on a walk in the forest, and I get to relax before the whirlwind of evening activities start.

I am sad that I am out of episodes of Army Wives to watch, but I have started to stream Sister Wives through Netflix.  It's an addiction, I know, but it's so much fun to watch someone else's story and see what goes on in their lives.  It's like being a Peeping Tom, but doing it legally.

I am sad, however, because tomorrow my cousin will be giving birth to her second child.  And because of the division in the family, I won't be there to see the baby.  I am sure that I will see pictures via Facebook, but it's really not the same.  Some days this whole "alienation" thing really bugs me, like when things like this are happening.  I grew up with my cousins like we were siblings, and now because 1 person in my family had an issue with my depression, everyone has had to choose sides, and I have been left alone; abandoned by all the people who I have thought loved me throughout the years. 

Not a lot else to say...tomorrow is back to the comfortable schedule of the work-week, nanny will be here, the kids will play all morning and swim all afternoon, then pass out after dinner.  I do have an appointment with Dr. H this week which is good because since I have stopped the Latuda (it causes severe stomach cramps) I am able to see that the Wellbutrin does not do enough on it's own.  I also have an appointment with Dr. C, which could be interesting.  Last night, I might have had a few shots of Tequila Rose and then I might have accidentally texted her instead of J, stating that I was ready for more shots...don't think that's going to go over real well.  It is what it is, and I am sure that I will survive.

Good night for now, if anything interesting happens I will be sure to come back and tell you all about it!

Until I make it to tomorrow

Tonight should be a perfect example of a beautiful summer night in Chicago.  It's in the mid 70's, we have all doors and windows open so there is a soft breeze blowing through the house.  The kids have been fed, both a healthy dinner and then chocolate dipped ice-cream cones from McDonalds.  They are now in the backyard, running and screaming, burning off extra energy and sugar in the hopes that they will sleep past 7AM tomorrow.  J has made himself comfortable with our dog, Mia, on the back porch and has been pretty silent, except for the occasionally need to tell L to not be so bossy or remind Little A that they have to share toys in the sandbox.   It should be a beautiful night.

I am sitting at our oversized kitchen table, a round, 8 person table with a lazy-susan in the middle.  It sits on my freshly washed white tiled floor, surrounded by stucco and deep yellow walls.  The almost-white counters are as clean as they will ever be, littered with library books that are due back tomorrow, various Rescue Bots that Little A got for his birthday party yesterday, and a pan of leftover purple cupcakes.  While there is a stack of dishes to be done, looking at them reminds me that we just had a family dinner, something that is rare during the busy summer months, especially since I have been working until 7PM lately.  I should be content.  I should be happy.

Yesterday we had what I should consider a very successful birthday party for the kids.  Since L, Big A, and Little A's birthdays are all within a month of each other we simply have one giant party.  We rent out a local pool, invite all of their friends and families, order several dozen pizzas and just let them loose.  We had about 60 people in attendance last night, something I was happy with considering the weather in Chicago went from being in the upper 80's to a very chilly 68 last night.  Of course, little kids don't give two thoughts to cold weather; they were to anxious to jump in the pool and go down the two story tall waterslide!  The parents sat bundled in coats and watched their children turn from adorable little kids to blue-lipped monsters.  I should be thankful.

But I am not. 

Tonight depression is rearing its ugly head.

Tonight I am not a good mother, I am a slacker who is doing whatever she can to avoid contact with her children.

Tonight I am a bad wife because dinner was a simple set of leftovers, both pasta from the other night and pizza from last night.  Not that anyone complained, but I should have done better for a Sunday night dinner.

Tonight I don't like myself.  I can feel every pound on my body and I wish I could literally take a pair of scissors and cut off unwanted pieces.

Tonight I want to crawl into a ball in my bed, pull the blanket up over my head, and just shut out the world.

Tonight I think thoughts that are too overwhelming and triggering to put into words.  I think thoughts that would end this depression.

Tonight I worry that this past week of somewhat contentment is breaking way for a week of going downhill.  I worry, as I always do, that I will not survive another round of deep depression and anxiety.

Tonight I will shut everything out as soon as the kids go to bed (T-minus 15 minutes), watch a few episodes of ArmyWives on Netflix, and just breath.

Tomorrow, well, I know that if I can make it to tomorrow I will have survived tonight.  And for now that's all I can do.

Who do you tell?

OMG, the rain in Chicago today!  It started at about 4AM and didn't stop until after 9AM, which means our front yard turned into a lake again, essentially trapping J and I in the house.  He is able to work from home, so that's good, and it turns out that there was so much widespread flooding that they closed my college today!  We let the nanny still come for the kids, we all went to lunch, and now have shipped them off to the pool so I can have some much needed down time....

Making the best use of my time, I decided to watch a few episodes of ArmyWives on Netflix.  I heart ArmyWives.  So much drama, so much big hair.  This was the episode where Claudia Joy learns that she has diabetes and decides that she doesn't want to tell anyone.  She declares over and over to her husband that it is her personal problem and it's no one's business.  But, she ends up going into shock and her friends find out anyway (I know, predictable).  It made me think, though.  How true is this for people with mental illness?  How many friends have you told?

For me, telling people when I first starting having symptoms of depression was horrible.  Having to ask my boss, the Dean, to adjust my schedule to accommodate doctor's appointments was humiliating.  And then having to fill out the paperwork to ask for FMLA leave, beyond embarrassed.  I didn't tell people at work that I was leaving, I just couldn't.  The timing was bad, my last day at work was the day before the Asst. Dean's wedding that we were all going to, so I just didn't mention it.  J and I went to the wedding, acted as if nothing was going on, and kept our mouths shut.  We left it up to the Dean to tell people on Monday morning that I was out for at least 12 weeks.  I also didn't tell my family at first that I was taking a leave.  Again, embarrassment and fear of reaction overwhelmed me.  This later came back to bite me in the arse, but at that time it seemed like the right thing.  I thought that I was sparing them pain by not sharing mine.  As for friends, I told exactly 2 that I was going through this; one of my friends who noticed right away that I was not acting the same and another who I knew was also going through depression and would probably understand.  And that's it.  For almost 2 years now, I have kept it a secret.

Then I started the new job.  I started May 1, so it's not even been 2 months that I have been there.  And I love it!  The people who I work with are fabulous, and I quickly became friends with one we will call JMR.  She is beyond nice, so down to earth, and incredibly funny.  We clicked right away.  Anyway, the other day I was in her office and I was telling a story about this jerk of a driver and I said, "I was already worked up from being with my therapist for over an hour," and as soon as the words came out I started to panic.  She, however, got this big smile on her face and said, "You see a therapist?!?!"  It was almost as if she was happy about it.  Weird, very weird.  She then asked me if I was on medication, and I reluctantly said yes and she got even happier and said that she has been on anti-depressants since her 20's (she is almost 40 now).  She then launches into a story about her past experience with therapists and doctors.  It was one of the most reassuring feelings that I have had in a long time.  Here was someone, whom I had pre-judged as not safe to talk to, who actually has now turned out to be one of my best allies.  We have shared stories about childhood, seeing therapists we've hated and loved, what medications work the best for us, how we handle breakdowns.  I cannot begin to explain how good it is to know that I have someone in my office who is aware of my situation, is completely non-judgemental, and who I know I can turn to if I need a boost.

Now, does this mean that I am going to run out and tell everyone about my depression?  Well, I guess I am on this blog, but I don't think that I will be sharing it anytime soon with my Facebook world.  It's a hard call, who to tell and who not to.  There are some people who don't understand, who judge and point fingers and laugh.  There are some people who will be ubber supportive and can become close friends.  It's a flip of a coin, a risk we have to take.

Have you had positive or negative experiences telling people?  Stories you'd like to share?