Long Time, No Post

Hi there,
Remember me, old blog? The lady who had children, quit her job to stay home, went crazy, got better, went back to school, became a nurse, starting working, quit facebook, and now has no free time? I'm still here. Still making my way through the miasma of parenting while working. A is now 10 and W is now 7. I can't believe I started this blog 7 years ago. I'm sad I didn't regularly update it because time has flown by so fast that I don't remember what happened in those years since I have posted. I feel like I should start posting again. I miss facebook but I don't miss the drama associated with it. So perhaps I will write here instead?
I love my job. I'm very glad I went back to school to have a career. It is fulfilling to make money doing something I love. Unfortunately, being a working parent is fucking crazy. Especially working night shift.
All these years of focusing on the kids and focusing on school has kind of left my marriage in the toilet. We are working on it. It is a slow process, especially when life inserts itself into everything you do. Suddenly your children have active lives that need your attention to maintain (lessons, school projects, etc.) and it is like one day I looked up and realized that I was out of touch with the man I married 14 years ago. That is the crazy part about time. One day you let something slip thinking your inattention will be a one time thing. Next thing you know a decade has gone by and there is a chasm separating you from your partner. Now we have to climb our way back out. Just one more thing to add to the list of stuff that I need to work on.
My friendships have changed since I went back to work. I only have time to focus on the friends who are important to me and who get where I am at professionally and personally. That meant leaving some friends behind. That was hard.
It seems like I have a lot to talk about. I will come back when I have more time.

Remember me?

I saw something amazing today. I was in the operating room during a surgery and saw peristalsis of the intestine. It was probably the most memorable thing I have seen in my journey to become a nurse. Why? Because most everything else I have witnessed has been the dysfunction of the human body. But today...today I saw the human body operating as the wonderful machine it is. Normal, healthy, and something that most people in their lifetimes will never witness. It is times like this where I feel like becoming a nurse is such a privilege. I hope that I always keep this feeling with me.
I have been waiting for one of my rotations to strike me like lightning and help me decide which population I want to work with the most. I was desperately hoping that Peds wasn't going to be it. Because I knew in my heart of hearts it would be the rotation I took home with me. They would be the patients I would cry my heart out about. But they are also the patients that give me the most hope. I knew in my heart I would love it. I am scared to commit to being a Pediatric Nurse. I think the highs could be amazing. It is the devastating lows that frightens me the most. I feel a connection with Pediatric patients and their parents that makes me want to fight for them harder because they are fresh and new and didn't ask for any of it.

Tap. Tap. Tap. This thing on?

Yeah, I know. Its been a while. I have a million excuses why I haven't been blogging, but none of them are really worthwhile so I won't bother to share. Just thought I would put some things down that I have been thinking lately.
A is going to be in 1st grade in August. He is a smart kid, but is convinced that he is smarter than most everyone, including me. He may be smarter than most people we meet and may even be smarter than me. But he is not street wise yet like his Mama. He doesn't understand how I know what he is deviously plotting all of the time. I think I am in trouble when he is finally wise enough to pull one over on me. Until then, I will let him believe that I really do have eyes in the back of my head that hide under my hair.
W is starting preschool in August. When I started this blog she was a newborn. Crazy. She never stops talking. She loves to dance and sing. She shows me her "ballet" moves all the time, but most especially when she is wearing a dress. She makes her dolls and animals have distinct voices when she is playing with them. She is just a girly girl. I am not, but for her I try.
Every day I rejoice and regret staying home with them. It has been six years now and while I am glad that I made the decision to stay at home I cannot say that every minute has been a blast. Being a mom has been the most difficult and humbling experience of my life. I am trying to learn not to personalize everything. I do the best that I can. And that has to be good enough.
I am going back through and reading my posts on this blog. It is amazing to me how much insight I have lost in the years since I had PPD. I cannot say that I have truly mastered this disease. While it is probably too late to call this Post Partum Depression, it is still something I struggle with. But I have 95% good days, and the other 5% could be called bad but are by no means as bad as bad once was. Progress! But I dwell in the future too much, which is something I said i would stop doing when I beat PPD. It is just so hard not to fantasize about things to come when you are wiping butts and making sandwiches all day (not necessarily in that order).
After a 1 year hiatus, I decided to go back into therapy. I had abruptly ended my sessions with Dr. M due to insurance changing and not being able to afford her fee. I decided now to only go once a month, and she reduced my fee to make it more affordable. It was nice to see her again and talk about how I am feeling. I don't know why there are some people who are so skeptical about psychology/psychiatry. I love having a rational sounding board to run things by. Her insights are so poignant that I go through at least half a box of tissue a session.
I won't make any promises about coming back here for good. But, this is the first summer in two years that I am not in school and I am trying to remember what that feels like. It would be nice to blog again.

I'm back

My decision to start a new blog and try to make a go of it professionally kind of went bust. I didn't really like the format of the new blog and felt an itching to start this up again so here I am. Thanks to Sara and Adrianne for commenting on my last post. Nice to know someone out there is paying attention enough to see something new here.
So, my battle with PPD culminated in the desire to follow a dream that I had been denying myself for years. I always wanted to be a nurse, but years of my mother whispering in my ear, "Why be a nurse when you can be a doctor instead," always made me stop in my tracks. Instead of being a doctor I joined the Navy, got my degree in Human Services, and then quit a really crappy job to stay at home. All these years my fascination with nursing was still lurking. My brush with, lets be honest, a depression so deep and horrible that I probably could've offed myself made me realize that life is way too short to be doing what my mother thinks I should do. So, as of May of '09 I went back to school to do the required prerequisites to apply to nursing school. I am in my last class now.
I was still on Zol.oft that summer I went back to school and wondered how I would ever wean myself if I got used to studying while medicated. I was told once that you should always try to recreate the environment in which you study when you are taking a test, including any chemicals (like caffeine) that may be present in your body. I didn't want to feel tied to Zol.oft for that reason alone so I quit taking Zol.oft in between classes. Cold Turkey. Man, was that a mistake. It took a month before this really strange side effect that almost felt like my brain was jiggling inside my skull to stop. The first week was filled with nausea and terrible dizziness and self-doubt. I was a total moron for quitting like that, but after a week I just felt like I should continue because it would eventually get better. It did, but stepping down the dosage would've made a lot more sense and saved me 6 weeks of feeling gross.
Going back to school was a big adjustment after 4 years of having free time dedicated to only myself. But remembering that I have something to offer this world is SO worth never doing anything but studying when school is in session. I feel like a contributing member of society again. I have something to look forward to and I love that feeling.
Even though things are going in such positive directions here I still think about my battle with PPD every day. What no one tells you is that while your depression may get better, the changes in your life that came with it never leave. I still have feelings of guilt over the first year of W's life that I barely remember because I was consumed by the devil of PPD. I still have feelings of resentment towards my husband because I don't really ever feel like he believed that anything was wrong. And still to this day he seems to write the whole ordeal off as some kind of temporary inconvenience. I feel obligated to remind him that the whole thing could've gone in a completely different direction. Two years later he still doesn't seem to get it.
Most importantly, my outlook on parenting has completely changed. I remember being pregnant with A and never considering the enormity that parenting would be. Gleefully, I picked out names and got his room ready and pictured my warm, snuggly baby sleeping peacefully in my arms. Of course, we mothers are all innocent in that respect because how could anyone describe to the uninitiated the all encompassing thing it is to be a mother?
When friends announce they are pregnant I am filled with fear for them. No one ever plans on anything going wrong. When I envisioned being a mother I never imagined that something could cause ME to be the biggest danger to my children. I feel like I did being pregnant after having a miscarriage. Like the veil of innocence was stripped from my eyes and I can imagine all that could go wrong.
Maybe these feelings are just a reflection of the fact that I have touched the void personally? I have been covered in the depths of darkness and had the most horrible thoughts about life and its meaning circling through my head. I felt the wonder of life and the fear of mortality. In a moment, life became precious and fleeting.
I heard that you never really appreciate the tallest peaks until you have seen the bottom of the valleys. I hope that is true. I am due for some magnificence after coming through the other side of PPD. All of us are.

Thinking about coming back

If only I weren't so busy. Update soon for anyone that still cares. 2 year anniversary of PPD diagnosis, 1 year anniversary of weaning off Zol.oft. Definitely something to celebrate.

formspring.me

Why do you hate Christmas so much?

Wow, good question right out of the gate. I think it all boils down to my own feelings of inadequacy in all things that I do. I never feel like what I do is good enough and spend an inordinate amount of time berating myself for not measuring up to some standard that I hold. This is especially true in being a mother. I think a lot about how my children will see me in the future and thanks to my own crappy relationship with my Mom I am terrified that they will feel about me the way I feel about her. The thought of disappointing them somehow makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry. And this is the most difficult part of parenting...you have no control about how your kids will feel about you, even if you are doing the best job you possibly can.
That being said, the build up of Christmas and the anticipation of it is just too much for me. I feel like I will never do enough to make it as magical as everyone thinks it should be for children. So I feel guilty about it.
I also don't like having obligations to do anything (like giving gifts to people that I don't really like) or feel indebted to someone and all that comes with gift giving and receiving. I like giving gifts but don't like receiving.
I am working really hard on being more positive about Christmas for my kids. I would say that they probably have no idea I hate the season. I hope it stays that way.

Ask me anything

New Blog

I am trying to make a go out of blogging professionally. I will be posting more on my new blog now unless it doesn't work out, then I may come back here. I prefer this format, anyway.
Here is my new address
crazymama.today.com
I hope you stop by.

National Delurking Week

So, according to my friend Aurelia last week was national delurking week. I know people read this blog because google analytics tells me so. I also know that most people come here by way of strange google searches. But I would really love for all of those who read and give a shit to make a comment and let me know you are out there. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Or is that the 4 year old Vicodin I found at the bottom of the medicine cabinet last week?

Putting myself out there

I decided to apply for a part time job in the evenings. As a bartender. Anyone who knows me would know that really it is the perfect job for me. Liquor is probably my first true love right next to ice cream and babysitters. I put in my application on Friday and worried about it all weekend. I have no experience. I do, however, have a completely useless Bachelor's degree that cost me an arm and a leg to get at a private university and which I will probably never ever use. I think I am going to find out that my degree doesn't amount for squat nowadays.
As I was applying at this newly built chain restaurant, the stuffy temporary trailer was filled to the brim with people only speaking Spanish. In fact, one of the interviewers was dedicated solely to them. I learned back when I used to manage a chain fast food joint after I got out of the Navy that there are many jobs that those who are new to this country and do not speak English can do in the food services industry. I would say probably 85% of my staff were non-native English speakers and of the 85%, probably 25% spoke English passably enough to work the cash register. Everyone else made burgers and cleaned.
These people were extremely dedicated and most of them worked 2 and 3 jobs at fast food places to send money back to their home country for their families. They all lived together, sometimes 7 or 8 to an apartment. They would work their asses off for 6 months saving what money they didn't send home, and then return to their home country to live like Kings and Queens for the other 6 months. Then come back across the border and do it all over again.
I had no problem with these people, except for the language barrier I suppose. Honestly I don't really care who you are or what you do as long as you work hard and keep your nose clean.
When I walked into that trailer on Friday I have to admit I was a little smug. I have a degree, for goodness' sake! I am a smart woman who was very successful in my career...um, 4 years ago. Yeah. 4 years ago.
As I looked around I realized that most of the people applying for the jobs that I looked down my nose at (dishwasher, etc.) would probably be hired. They had job experience. They worked for much less pay. Me? Not so much.
Suddenly I am very humble.
The man who interviewed me when I turned my application in told me that they would call for interviews starting on Monday (today) after 5pm. What does it mean if I don't get a second interview?

Let's get one thing straight

There was an anonymous comment a few posts back concerning my husband. I would like to set the record straight with regards to S and our relationship. I feel bad that all I seem to do is post the things he does that aggravate me and never touch on the loving and wonderful things he frequently does. I guess since this blog is my vent that it does take the shape of a place for me to scream and rant without repercussion. I feel obligated, however, to do some loving on my husband now.
Friday started out as a very tough day for me. After S called me from work and I was short with him about changing my therapy appointment this week on short notice he came home at 1pm (he is normally home at 5). In his arms was a huge bouquet of flowers and a $15 i-tunes card. He told me to get the hell out of dodge and not come back until dinner. A lovely 4 hour reprieve from the cares of the world, which was just what I needed to recharge. He does this type of thing as much as he can.
While he may not volunteer to do things with the kids all the time he has never said no when I have requested time out or away. I truly believe that he just doesn't think to offer because in his mind if HE needed me time he would just ask for it and since I don't ask I don't need it.
He does spend a lot of time in his office by himself. I don't begrudge him that. I envy it. I admit I am bitter that I don't really have a space of my own in this house. But his work is such that he really needs a room dedicated just to his junk, I mean, equipment. Otherwise it would be spilling everywhere in our house or getting trampled on by the kids.
S always helps with the housework. In fact, he does all of the dishes on the weekends and while I was in the throes of my anxiety he tackled the laundry and most of the housecleaning as well.
While he may not be as emotionally available as I would like he definitely does what he can to help out. As far as the emotional stuff all I can say is that we are working on it. I have to remember that he is not a mind reader and it is unrealistic for me to expect him to be able to anticipate my needs.
He is truly the only person alive on this earth that I can spend 24/7 with and not get sick of his company.
He appreciates my intelligence and still finds me hot even after 10 years and two kids.
He never fails to whisper in my ear "You are the most beautiful woman in this room," whenever we are at a party.
He is not perfect but that is what makes our relationship interesting. Because, regardless of what the Match.com and e-harmony commercials tell you, true love does not mean that you agree all the time.
True love is
what happens in the time after you disagree
the coming together after difficult periods stronger than before
recognizing that your relationship will change as you change yourself

Hindsight is 20/20

My first husband was like an addiction. I could never do or say enough to impress him. We were young and on our own for the first time. I had never lived with anyone but my family before. He had to patiently instruct me on the finer points of housekeeping since I had never cleaned a day in my life thanks to an extremely anal retentive mother. I was hopelessly and desperately in love with him.
We married impulsively because we were about to be separated by the military. Our marriage was simple and quiet with only our friends and his parents in attendance. My family refused to attend. There was some strong objection to the groom and to the fact that we were both barely 20 years old. My brother in law warned me that the first dumb things people do within six months of boot camp are to get a tattoo and get married. I did both.
Without going into the long, sordid story he was kicked out of the military for being arrested dealing drugs at a rave while we were between duty stations. I was in NY starting a new training program and he was in FL waiting to follow me up to NY for good. In the process of being booked at the police station he consumed a large quantity of a certain drug to keep it from being found during a body search. It changed him forever.
I am sure he had always had an undiagnosed chemical imbalance. But this drug altered him completely and caused him to have flashbacks from time to time with no warning. There was no rhyme or reason to it. We could be going along normally and then BAM, instant insanity.
I watched him attempt suicide twice. The first time was during a flashback in our apartment in Navy housing. We were on the second floor. We had been fighting and all of a sudden he snapped. I was due to report for work in a little while and all of a sudden he lost it. He ran across the living room, opened the window, pushed out the screen and tried to throw himself head first out. I grabbed on to his pants by the belt loop and hauled him back in. It never occurred to me what a Herculean effort that must've been at the time until I woke up the next day completely sore from my shoulders to my feet. Somehow I had conjured enough super human strength to haul this 165 pound man against the force of gravity back through the window.
I had to call a friend of his to come watch him while I went to work. The military waits for no man. I showed up for work late. When I was questioned about why I was late I promptly burst into tears. The military does not like tears, especially from a woman. Eventually, I explained what had happened. My supervisor took me in his car to take the long drive back to our apartment. On the way home we passed my husband and his friends heading up to the base. We flagged them down and my husband informed me that I had forgotten my dinner and they were heading up to drop it off. He was normal again and worried about me being hungry during my 12 hour shift. My supervisor insisted that he get checked out at a hospital. My now normal husband was angry at me and at him.
We were at the hospital for 4 hours and they finally released him only if I promised to have someone with him at all times for the next few days to make sure he didn't relapse. After my supervisor dropped us off at home my husband tore into me for telling people our business. The next day my boss' boss tore into me for crying at work and lying about why I was late(I had originally told them I wasn't feeling well).
Sometimes when I am just falling asleep and my mind is drifting I have flashbacks from this period in my life. I assume that anyone who has had traumatic events occur does the same thing. It is just a byproduct of the PTSD experience. Occasionally, I remember details that I had forgotten or chosen to forget. Usually, I am flooded with the emotions I felt back then and feel them come rushing back in remembrance.
I am ashamed to say that there are times when I welcome the feelings. Feeling something, albeit sad and scary, feels better than being numb.

Flummoxed

A great word, that. Here is a post that is nothing but complaining.
I am flummoxed at all of humanity.
This morning my husband scolded me like a three year old. This isn't the first time he has done this and I am sick of it. I am an adult and if I want to break the baby's fucking jammies drawer because it wouldn't open and she was screaming her head off because she was cold and wet from her bath then so be it! That dresser is a piece of shit anyway.
A has even started scolding me. "Don't leave your water on the floor, Mama, or the baby will knock it over." Listen here, you little stinker. If I want to leave my water on the floor and the baby knocks it over then so be it! I will clean it up. I always do.
My daughter cries all day long. Whining, whimpering cries that become screams when she doesn't get her way. She is 9 months old and already throwing tantrums. If she isn't being held by me she is crying and pulling at my legs. I can't catch a fucking break with this kid. She still wakes up every two hours at night. I have tried to let her cry it out, however, she is so stubborn and determined that she will cry until I go in there. Or until her brother wakes up.
I have been contemplating just packing a bag and getting the hell out of here. When I was waiting for the Zoloft to kick in I contemplated the same thing, however, I thought that leaving would be better for the kids. Now I think that leaving would be better for me. How much would they hate me if I left? Is the chance at freedom worth the guilt I would feel every day of my life for abandoning them?
My husband gets to go to work every day. He has a whole room (office) dedicated to himself. He retreats there when he gets home because he needs time to decompress. I get that. I feel like even when I do get time to myself I am always on call anyway.
I fantasize about getting a hotel room and sleeping through the night uninterrupted.
I fantasize about going back in time to when I was young and unattached and reliving those times. I feel like I squandered that freedom and now I am mired here with no hope for ever being free again.
I fantasize about starting my life over in another city with another house, another job, another me.
As I am feeling these things I am also bogged down by guilt and remorse. I have so much to be thankful for. There are many other people in the world with much less. I should be grateful for what I have. I feel like if I don't appreciate these things that they will be taken away from me like some sort of punishment. Then I will really be sorry.
I am getting older. I have a bunch of friends who are assholes and say one thing and do another. My husband is self centered. My house is a mess. I'm hungry and tired. My dog just farted and it smells really bad.
Today is a day for screaming, "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"

Thoughts on Change..Blind Melon Said it Best

You gotta play the song while you read the words
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g4H5vsQM7z8
I dont feel the suns comin out today
Its staying in, its gonna find another way.
As I sit here in this misery, I dont
Think Ill ever see the sun from here.
And oh as I fade away,
Theyll all look at me and say, and theyll say,
Hey look at him! Ill never live that way.
But thats okay
Theyre just afraid to change.
When you feel your life aint worth living
Youve got to stand up and
Take a look around you then a look way up to the sky.
And when your deepest thoughts are broken,
Keep on dreaming boy, cause when you stop dreamin its time to die.
And as we all play parts of tomorrow,
Some ways will work and other ways well play.
But I know we all cant stay here forever,
So I want to write my words on the face of today.
And then theyll paint it
And oh as I fade away,
Theyll all look at me and theyll say,
Hey look at him and where he is these days.
When life is hard, you have to change.

New Year, New Me?

This last year has been life changing without a doubt:
Potty training was battled and the toilet won.
Went from a mother of one to a mother of two.
Started this blog.
The terrible twos ended and the miserable threes began.
Went on Weight Watchers to lose baby weight.
Spent my first few months in two years not being president of our local Mom's Club.
Watched my Aunt and Uncle celebrate 50 years together.
My Mom got engaged to her longtime boyfriend.
Fell into the chasm of PPD/PPOCD and started Zoloft.
Went off Weight Watchers.
Asked God to "come into my heart" as advised by a born again christian friend (nothing happened)
Took up knitting. Again.
Took my son to his first day of preschool.
Finished my first knitting projects (a hat for A and a scarf for me)
Reconnected with the woman who knows me best in the world for the first time in 5 years face to face
Celebrated my first Thanksgiving without certain family members.
Saw my son do his first Christmas program. Miserably I might add (double ear infection).
Celebrated my first Christmas without certain family members.
Read Nephi on the advice of a Mormon friend and asked God to show me the true way (nothing happened)
Found my first husband on facebook and freaked out.
Found S's first wife on facebook and did the same.
Went to bed at 10pm on New Year's Eve (just like last year, although this year my excuse is because of the same person last year she was in my body then instead of out)

Plan for next year:
Lose the baby weight
Teach my daughter to sleep through the night
Take the Pepsi Challenge
Kick my spray paint huffing habit
Learn to love myself
Figure out who the hell I really am
Stop letting dark thoughts rule my life
Use The Secret to get Chris Cornell to impregnate me. Or Dave Grohl. I'm not picky.

'09 is going to rule!

Something to sink your teeth into

My nip.ple, apparently. Ah, the woes of breastfeeding a teething baby. In general breastfeeding this go around has been good (after the 6 week break in period). W is typically very gentle, unlike her brother who would use my nip.ple to bare down while he was pooping during nursing. And that kid pooped while nursing a lot. It wasn't too painful when it was just his gums, but the first time he did it with a sharp baby tooth I needed a stitch on my are.ola. I can just see my male readers cringing at the words nip.ple and are.ola. I am cringing at the sight of those words with periods in them but I am trying to foil the google search from bringing this blog up for those seeking different information. I already attract enough perv attention with the naked child jumping on a trampoline picture.
Speaking of google, I thought I would share some of the search words that people have used to find my blog (and click away hurriedly). I love to envision what they thought when their google search brought up my lovely little blog. I have been meaning to do this for a while.

baby 4am farts gas
baby pain fart
farting 18
Fart seems to be a very popular search word to get people here. Oh, how disappointed they must've been when they saw the goodness that is this blog. Especially the farting 18 person. I wonder if they farted 18 times in a row and were looking to celebrate (or commiserate) or they are 18 and still farting? Either way, congrats!

18 years in the army and counting
18 years movies
18 years.com
asshole 18 years
18 is also very popular in searches. The first three are pretty tame, although 18 years.com sounds like a real blast:
"Like, OMFG, my mom just doesn't understand me. She totally wouldn't let me and my friends drive the minivan to go see the midnight showing of Twilight! I hate her. When I become a vampire she is going to be the first one to go!!!!11!"
The last one makes me wonder if I am getting a glimpse into my future. Because I was a total asshole when I was 18 (see quote above and replace Twilight with Interview with a Vampire). Which means my children will probably end up being super, mega assholes when they are 18. I hate to say it but sometimes my three year old is a little asshole right now. Especially when he tells me I am "chunky like a baby." And that he wants to poop on my head.

stop reading the news
Yeah, I hear ya on that one. I tell myself every day that I am going to do that. Unfortunately, i have a bit of schadenfreude when it comes to celebrities and it keeps me from completely disconnecting from the media. I mean, blogs like this http://gofugyourself.celebuzz.com/ really make life worth living some times.

what can I say on my first therapy appointment
Ugh, I have no help for you on this one. my first therapy appointment was a half an hour of darkness consumed by some panic attacks and obsessive compulsive thinking. Sharing my scariest thought with Dr. m wasn't really cathartic then. I do have to say that she has an excellent poker face. That and that alone was what made me go back for my next appointment.

Zoloft for ppocd
I wish I knew if you were still reading this blog. If so, contact me somehow and we can talk. Zoloft is great. PPOCD is not. I hope you are doing okay.

That is all fo rnow. Happy Winter Solstice and that other "holiday that must not be named."

Oh the weather outside is frightful

The fire inside would be delightful if my three year old hadn't stuck something in the fireplace vent sometime within the last year which starts to smoke every time we turn the fireplace on.
I got my hair dyed and trimmed yesterday. I would post a picture but I am feeling extremely fat and gross today so it is not going to happen. While I was getting my hair done I had a very interesting conversation with my stylist, whom I have known for 5 years now. I told her about my PPD and all of its ugliness and she confessed that she too had experienced something similar in the year following the birth of her son, who is the same age as A. Even down to the same fixation with death. Interestingly enough, she still deals with those thoughts and feelings occasionally. Which was both a comfort and a little frightening.
It was nice to know that other people have thought the same things I have and felt the same way that I do. However, the fact that she still has these thoughts now troubles me greatly. One of my biggest fears is that my life will never get back to normal. That I will always measure everything by my own mortality. Granted, these thoughts are not as persistent as they were when this whole mess started in August. But they are still there.
There are days when I have come to accept the fact that eventually I will die. That I am getting older and that there will be a time when I will no longer exist. I remind myself on those days that I should take each day as a gift. Because that is exactly what it is.
Then there are the days when I mourn the idea that there are so many things I will never see to fruition. That humanity will grow and progress and the earth will spin for eternity and that my time here is small and limited. And those days make me sad and scared. I wish they would go away. I wish I could be like I was before and never think about these things. Even writing this is tough...I feel panic welling up within me and my heart is beating faster.
S and A are in the office playing a computer game together right now. S is instructing him on the finer points of moving his mouse around the screen and A is laughing. The dog is curled up on the couch next to me, warmed by my body heat and sleeping peacefully.
When I look outside, I see the wind blowing leaves off the tree in the backyard and rain is starting to patter the window. I am always amazed at how this tree drops its leaves and becomes completely bare in the winter. When it is cold outside it always seems like the cold will last forever. It is hard to remember the warmth of summer when the wind is whipping your hair around your face in icy blasts.
Sure enough, every spring little buds start to form on the barren limbs. Gradually, the days become warm and warmer still. The daffodils we planted outside start to bloom and preparations begin to celebrate a slew of family birthdays (mine, A's, and now W's). Eventually the tree is covered in beautiful green leaves.
Each season has its purpose. Without the winter rain plants would not have water to grow during the hotter months.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1

I am waiting for my spring to come.

Better living through technology

My lovely husband gave me a very special gift 3 weeks ago. It was something that I had coveted for a long time but never had the money to purchase. I hesitate to ask for expensive gifts now that I stay at home with the kids and do not bring any income. I know that I am doing my part by being with the kids blah, blah, blah but I still have a hard time with it.
S won an I.p.o.d. shuffle in a work raffle and came home and unselfishly gave it to me. After wanting one for so very long I was extremely pleased to say the least.
It sat. Waiting for me to upload something delicious to it. I didn't want to put just any music on it. The music that I chose had to be just right. The pressure was too intense. I was afraid that its inaugural play would be anti-climatic. So it sat some more.
When I go shopping I usually attract extremely chatty people. I am not sure what it is about my countenance but strangers always want to seem to talk to me. Usually I can tolerate it and on most days even enjoy it. In the midst of bad days, however, it is extremely hard for me to even muster what could pass for polite small talk. I want to retreat inside my shell and pretend like the world outside doesn't exist. I get tired of the constant reminders of my faults.
Inspiration struck this morning and thanks to $1.98 worth of i.tu.nes downloads and some mp3 scouring from my laptop my shuffle was ready.
When I got out of the car I put the earphones in. My bubble was complete.
A whole new world opened up to me. Queens of the Stone Age's 3s & 7s lit up the grocery store. Everyone pushing carts seemed to be dancing to the beat. I had the impulse to open and shut the freezer doors in time to the music. I literally floated to the self-checkout. Next, it was on to the liquor store.
Tupac's California Love was banging in my ears as I grabbed an extra large bottle of Tequila Blanco (I know, Snoop's Gin and Juice would've been more appropriate but I wasn't in the mood). Standing in line I noticed a few surreptitious glances in my direction and wondered why until I realized that I had been keeping the beat on the bottle with my fingertips.
My last errand was kitty litter and Z.o.loft at Tar-get. Only JJ Fad's Supersonic would suffice. I was in heaven in my bubble of sound. Blissfully ignored.
I read an article last week about the younger generation relying too much on technology. They are constantly talking on their phones, listening to music, and interfacing with their black.berries. Supposedly they are no longer aware of social niceities. This is the new normal.
After reading the article I was a little sad. I don't like the idea of people pulling away from each other and forgetting to reach out. To remember that we are all here and in this together.
But today I get it. Shutting out the noise from outside and rejoicing a little on the inside was wonderful. Life with a soundtrack was great.
Today I carved out a little peace in a world that is constantly in flux around me. My tapping foot was keeping me grounded.

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. There is nothing better than eating delicious food with your loved ones close by your side. Unfortunately, this Thanksgiving has been tinged by some bad news. My Uncle D. had a stroke on Thanksgiving day and is in the hospital. He and my Aunt J celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary this past August. Me and my little family went to the party at their house right as I started taking the Zoloft for PPD. I was still in the throes of death obsession and seeing all my relatives who have suddenly gotten very old was not very comforting to say the least.
I remember when I came home for Christmas for the first time since I had left for boot camp the previous July. I was startled to see how much my Mom and Dad had aged. When you see them every day you aren't really struck by the difference. But not seeing them for 6 months made the comparison more significant. Whenever I think of these things I am struck by lyrics from one of my favorite Bonnie Raitt Songs entitled Nick of Time:
I see my folks, they're getting old, I watch their bodies change...
I know they see the same in me, And it makes us both feel strange...
No matter how you tell yourself, It's what we all go through...
Those lines are pretty hard to take when they're staring' back at you.
Scared you'll run out of time.
When I was in college the mother of one of my instructors died. She said the worst part for her was the realization that there was now no one "above" her generationally. I think about that a lot too, remembering when I was a child how far away being old seemed. How safe it was knowing that there were older people above you looking out for you and your well being. Eventually, you become the oldest and that realization is startling and scary.
I don't believe in blessings. The word implies that people are bequeathed something wonderful and significant due to no work of their own part. I have begun to believe that my life is truly what I have made it because of the choices I made and path I have chosen. The other things that have helped me...where I was born, who I was born to, etc. are all just dumb luck.
Life is impermanent. What I have learned from PPD that life can not only be terribly scary but also excruciatingly beautiful. Experiencing the lows can only make you appreciate the breathless heights even more. They are not mutually exclusive. Without the terrible things you cannot have the wonderful. Without death you cannot have life.
I am thankful for
my daughter's soft hair that sticks straight up when washed
my son's dark eyes
my husband's warm arms holding me to him
my daughter's hand exploring my face as she nurses
my son's exuberance in all things
the softness of my daughter's skin
my husband's feet touching mine when I get back in bed at night after tending to the baby
Blessing implies that things once bestowed can also just as easily be taken away. I am not blessed with the things I am thankful for. And for that, I am thankful.

Recovery can go fuck itself

I feel like total shit today. Everything A did got on my last nerve (I must have a lot of them). I had to stop myself from taking it out on him (by being snippy, not beating the crap out of him) probably 50 times today.
I am sitting here watching him play Sm ash Brot hers on the W!! and wondering if perhaps I could be a lousier Mom. He is absolutely a wonderful child. He jumps around while he is playing this game like he is actually doing the fight moves himself. He had great behavior while at the store today. As far as time outs went there was nothing really out of the ordinary. I still wasn't happy, though. I felt miserable.
I had a thought pop into my head today. Do I give myself permission to be a total raging bitch because of the PPD? I mean, everyone has bad days. But when we have them we do something to make ourselves feel better because we realize that we need to snap out of it in order to function. I just seem to get lost in it.
Lost in
feeling hopeless about my life
being tired all the time
worrying about when this will all go away
wondering if somehow there is something more I should be doing
being annoyed by everything my children do
This is one of these days where I want to just get in my car and drive away. And of course S is working late tonight so I have no respite in sight.
W has a double ear infection and has been waking up every 1-2 hours all night long for 3 days. I don't know how much longer I can do this.

The Ties That Bind

Dr. M always begins each of our therapy sessions by asking "How are you feeling?"
I usually answer, "Okay." Even when I am not. I think it is just human nature to answer "fine" or "okay" because since no one ever says anything different it is what we have come to expect. We are conditioned to say these things. I have to remind myself every time that I am paying this woman to listen to how I am feeling, especially when I am not fine or okay. Doesn't that seem stupid?

At the end of my first marriage 10 years ago I started seeing my first therapist. Our sessions were so ineffective it was laughable. He continually commented on how attractive I was. I continually dodged his questions about my upbringing because I didn't think I needed therapy. I did, but being 22 at the time and invincible the idea of doing something tedious even if it were for my benefit was inconceivable.

What a difference 10 years makes. Dr. M has brought me more insight into myself than I would've gained alone in the same amount of time. I spend a lot of time during the sessions crying because she has pointed something out to me that is so simple but the cause of so much angst in my life. I definitely had work that I needed to do and probably never would have done if I hadn't gotten PPD. And this may sound strange, but for this and this alone I am so grateful for PPD.

Yes, I just said I am grateful that I got PPD. No matter how torturous this road has been and no matter how much I curse and cry about it I am growing as a person.

Starting to see value in things that seemed unimportant before.

Being forced to take stock of my life and what I have to offer as a person.

Realizing that some relationships I have with my family are not healthy.

That last one is the crux of the issue with me. My whole life I have been seeking the approval of someone. No matter what I did I never did it good enough. I always felt a failure. I am so very harsh on myself all of the time.

I realized two weeks ago that I now am living for another reason...to be present for my children. To do what I can to make their upbringing as healthy and whole as possible. The first way I can do that is to take care of myself. Which means I have a lot of mud to slog through, especially with my relationship with my Mom.

The first step was realizing that I will not always make her happy. And that is okay.
I also need to make decisions that are the best for me, even if she doesn't agree with them. That is okay, too. I am a Mom now and answer to no one except my own family.

What a revelation that was for me.

The first step was to put my foot down about the holidays. No more 3 hour one way trips in the car. W screams the whole way. Not to mention my mom's house is ill equipped for young children (stairs to the loft without a railing, a pool without a fence enclosure, exposed electrical outlets, and a gun she forgets to lock up to name a few things). I have to watch A like a hawk because I am afraid he is going to hurt himself. I never sleep well because she has a f*&$ing rooster that starts crowing at 3 am and dogs that bark all night long outside the window (they roam free on her 30 acre property). The kids get up all night long because her house is too hot in the summer and freezing in the winter due to her refusal to use the a/c and heater. It sucks. I think you get the idea.

So I told S that we weren't going there for Thanksgiving this year. I cannot put on a brave face anymore and consort with relatives that know nothing about me and don't care to know. Especially this year when I feel so raw. In my family there is no such thing as showing weakness. No one is privvy to your troubles, especially other family members.

I knew my Mom would be mad. I called her on Tuesday. She hung up on me while crying. Before hanging up she told me she wasn't angry, just disappointed. But 31 years of being her child helped me read between the lines. She thought I was being selfish.

This from the woman who misses her only grandson's birthday every year because she is vacationing in Cabo.

I am disappointed in her reaction because I expected it.

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. This year, as most, I have much to be thankful for. Including PPD. Because while I fight to keep from succumbing to this illness I break free from the other ties that have held me down for so long.