Recap, part 2

Left off with my move to Omaha in October 2014.  I moved in to the basement at my mom and step dad's house.  It was planned to be temporary but, to date, I'm still here.  It's not perfect but it works.  Since I've moved here, I've seen the kids about every three months or so.  We text and talk on the phone as well as email and FaceTime chat often.   But here's a loose timeline of some big events:

*October 2014:  I see two different band performances in Lincoln and get to spend time with K.

*December 1, 2014: I start a job, the first I've worked in over 10 years.

*December 2014: Kids come to Omaha for Christmas/Yule with me and my family.

*January 3, 2015: K has first attempt of taking her life.  Hospitalized.

*January 16, 2015:  Visit kids in Kearney.

*Late May 2015: K has suicidal thoughts but doesn't act on them.  Hospitalized.

*Early June 2015: Visit kids in Kearney.

*August 30, 2015: K has second attempt of taking her life.  Hospitalized

*September 2, 2015:  Divorce hearing.  Finalized roughly 60 days later.

*September 26, 2015: Visit kids in Kearney

*December 20, 2015:  Kids come to Omaha for Christmas/Yule with me and my family.

*January 12-13, 2016:  K loses her life when ex-husband's home destroyed by a fire.  He, his girlfriend (TB), and her son escape, unharmed.

*January 16, 2016:  We bury my 16 year old daughter.

*January 30, 2016:  Z leaves for a semester in Ireland.

So yeah...crazy shit and lots of changes.  The loss of K is still surreal and to raw to handle. I'm probably going to let this blog sit for a bit as I continue to handle her death.

Z and his general well-being are of utmost importance to me at this point.  I'm so worried about him and, even though I'm glad he went to Ireland to fulfill his dream, I worry that he's without his support network.  Mama Bear is definitely in overdrive lately and all I want to do is cuddle him close and protect him from anything and everything that could hurt him in any way.

I am also doing my best to take care of myself - mentally, physically, and emotionally.

Recap, part 1

Obviously there has been a huge gap between my last posts and now.  So much has happened, and I'm not just talking everyday things.  There have been some GINORMOUS life events.  In hopes of recapping, here's a short, but sweet, timeline of events.  I'm sure I will expand upon some of them at a later date.

*July 7, 2014 - My husband and I found out we did not get custody of the kids.  However, Z was emancipated.

*July 12, 2014 - My husband cheats on me with TB.

*July 25, 2014 - The kids' last day at our house after summer visitation.  My husband informs me he doesn't see his future including me.  We talk and he agrees to work on our marriage.

*July 27, 2014 - My husband cheats again with TB before coming home to me to have family time with the kids.  He's affectionate with me.

*July 28-August 12, 2014 - Lots of talking with the husband.  Find out he's developing feelings for someone but it's not been physical.  We agree we shouldn't be husband and wife but have no plans to divorce.  We will still be family for the kids.  Lots of compromising on my part but I want to do everything I can to keep my family, even though, in hindsight, "my family" didn't really include my husband any longer.

*August 13, 2014 - The truth comes out about the physical relationship.

*August 13-September 1, 2014 - We fine tune what our relationship now looks like.  He agrees to help me stay in our home until K graduates from high school (May 2017) and we will share visitation time together with the children.  We move Z into college to begin his Freshman year.  Other than that, he will continue his relationship with his girlfriend TB, living with her in another town.

*September 2, 2014 - After time with TB, he comes home to change everything and take away all he'd promised me.  He gives me until the end of the year to figure out how I can support myself and the household.  If I cannot do that, he will kick me out.  I fly into a rage and do something I will regret for the rest of my life.  He then gives me until the end of the month.  Realizing I cannot make that happen, my mom and stepfather agree to let me move in with them - in a different city 180 miles from my home.

*October 4, 2014 - I move to Omaha.

I will continue this at a later date.  It's a good place to stop since the coming changes deal less and less with the dissolution of my marriage and focuses on my family of three - me, Z, and K.  

Born crazy

I'm spending the next week in Omaha with my family so this is a super appropriate picture. 

I want to make it clear that I'm not blaming my parents in any way for my depression.  Well, maybe my dad a little since it runs in his family and if there is some sort of gene that carries depression then he would be a likely culprit.  Besides, the type of depression I have isn't caused my some external force. 

Anyway, I arrived on Friday and have been having a pretty relaxing time so far.  I came here to help my mom go through some things since she and my step dad (who I am now calling Dado which is a combination between Dad and his name) are trying to downsize some.  Some of what we will be going through will be mine - dolls and stuff from my childhood plus my baby book, christening outfit and other items a mother saves for her baby.  The rest of the stuff we will be going through will be items my mother will try to pawn off on me.  There's a good chance she will use some guilt tactics, mostly in fun, but I'm worried that I may not take it in that manner.  I just hope that if I react poorly, I can explain to her why in a way that she can understand.

I'm staying here until noon-ish on Tuesday.  Then I head to my dad's house to stay with him and his wife until Friday.

*insert daunting and potentially scary music here*

Don't get me wrong, I have had many wonderful visits with my father.  Most of the time he is very good-natured and jovial.  But, when things go boom, the damage is epic. 

The atmosphere is not overly relaxing.  It's tense and all about the outside appearance - clean house, nice clothes, perfection.  It is so not me.  This will be the longest time I have spent with my dad in a while.  Usually when we are in Omaha, the time is split between my two sets of parents, sometimes between my two sets of current parents and my step mom.  So no one really gets a lot of time.  And even if they do get a lot of time, it's a weekend trip where we arrive late-ish Friday and leave shortly after lunch on Sunday. 

I'm going to hope for the best but rehearse through my coping mechanisms in order to prepare for the worst.

Like drowning

 

Right now, I'm drowning.  My soul hurts.  I am done on every level - emotional, physical, mental, and spiritual.  

I am downing because someone I love passed away.  Her void is felt already.  Her passing leaves my step father without any parents.  My heart is breaking for him.  I don't know how to console him.  Words simply do not come.  All I can do is offer to help out as best I can, to transport my brother, to be the charming hostess at the wake.  To remind him that I love him.  And that I am here.

I am downing because a child decided to end her own life. The child - this 19 year old child - was once like a daughter to me.  But then her mother and I dissolved our friendship.  I checked with the family to see if it would be okay for me to attend her funeral.  Her mother said she would be uncomfortable with me there.  So I will respect her wishes and not attend.  My heart is breaking.  The last interaction I had with this child was very positive.  But, out of respect, which is the same respect I showed by asking in the first place, I will honor the wishes of her mother.  I don't need to attend a funeral to pay my respects and honor the life of this child.  I do wish I could go though.

I'm downing because I am stressed.  So much is going on and I have so very little control over much of it.  I'm not good when I don't have some bit of control.  I have a ritual that I will be leading this coming weekend.  It's on finding and utilizing your inner peace.  Do you have any idea how difficult it is to write about peace when you feel none?  Seriously, fuck peace and just let me get through the day without losing it and let me get through the night without waking in a cold sweat, on the edge of a panic attack, and with the looming night terrors still swimming in my brain.

I am downing because I'm tired and when I'm tired, I find it even more difficult to hold myself together.  I don't know how to deal with the sleepiness AND depression or stress or anxiety.  When I'm tired, I just do my best to get through the day and tackle the one most important task of that moment.

I'm downing.  And I wish it was literal instead of figurative.*

*I am not going to kill myself or attempt to harm myself in any way.  No worries. 

Week 2

I've been Wellbutrin free for 2 weeks.  I'm still not feeling much of a difference one way or the other so I'm really not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing...or maybe a nothing.  As I'm mentioned, I have no clue how long it will take for the Wellbutrin to be completely out of my system so I don't exactly have a timeline to base my responses, or lack thereof, to the change.  I shall just keep trucking and tracking and go from there.

This past weekend, my hubby and I had planned to make a quick trip to Omaha to pick up some furniture from my dad and stop by to visit with my mom.  We ended up not going at all.  My husband hadn't been feeling all that well and after a crazy long shift at work on Saturday, he was wiped out.  I also wasn't feeling all that great (allergies or a cold like my husband had) plus my anxiety issues were flaring up.  I hate that we didn't go but it was best for us to stay home and rest so we could both feel better. 

My sleep schedule has been all sorts of wonky.  Since I've not been feeling so great, I've been sleeping a little more than normal.  I've also been dealing with many sleepless nights which result in sleeping too much during the day.  It's a vicious cycle that is difficult to end.  I did get to sleep around midnight last night and was up just before 5:00 am.  I didn't get enough sleep or the sleep I need to be doing well, but I'm going to attempt to stay up all day with the hopes of resetting my schedule.  The hope is that I'll be able to go to bed tonight at a normal time and wake the following day at a normal time. 

In one week, Li will be moving to another state.  I'm going to miss her so incredibly much and am dreading the day.  She is one of my best friends and we have this weird bond that I have never felt with other friends.  I really don't know how to describe it in a way that would make sense and be accurate.  I know we will still be in contact and have even planned a get together, but I'm going to miss knowing that I cannot see her at the drop of a hat.  I'm going to miss her hugs the most.

All of the above are contributing to my overall feeling of blah.  I'm feeling a bit anxious and a bit weepy.  I'm a little impatient, rather moody, and just...nothing.  I don't like feeling this way but it is much better than the highly negative way I could be experiencing at the moment. 

When your loved one is depressed

Found this great letter on the blog "Little bits and pieces."  I've done a bit of editing to make it more me.  I am strongly considering printing this off and giving it to my loved ones.  It isn't perfect, but it does explain a lot to someone who doesn't have depression. 

Dear Loved One:

Being a parent/spouse/boyfriend or girlfriend/friend to someone who deals with mental health issues such as the ones I have (major depressive disorder, general anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, and ADD) is never easy. Being a part of my life means taking on a different type of responsibility that would normally come with fully healthy person. If the illness came on after we met, that can come as a big surprise and create a lot of extra stress because of your lack of experience dealing with it.

I want you to know that love you. I am also extremely depressed, anxious and going through a bad time right now. You have a big effect on how I will deal with my illness. I would like to share with you some things you should know about, so we can fight together to help me get better.

1. Love doesn’t cure all. You may wish that just because we have a good relationship that I should be happy all the time. But no, love is not enough.
2. As a caretaker, your priority is to take care of yourself first. If you are exhausted, overly stressed or aren’t taking care of your own basic needs, you won’t be able to help take care of mine. Be strong in this and I’ll thank you later.
3. Don’t do what you think I need. Ask me and I will tell you the best I can. I don’t give a shit if there are dishes in the sink or laundry needs to be put away. Yes, it is nice that you do that, but I would rather you wouldn’t roll your eyes at me when I cry and make sure that I don’t forget to take my meds.
4. Do NOT, under any circumstances — even as a joke — tell me to just get over it. This is a complicated illness brought on by faulty brain chemistry and years of abuse. I want to get better a million times more than you do. Trust that with support, I will do my very best each and every day to improve.
5. Don’t ever forget that each day may be different. Yesterday, I may have gotten a bit manic and cleaned/organized for hours. It may take me another two weeks before I can do that again.
6. If I say I need alone time, please, please, please — do not take it personally. Most of what I need to do to get better is internal. If I don’t get enough time to withdraw into myself and figure things out, then it will take me that much longer to cycle back out again. And if we have kids, help me to hide it from them and try to get them out of the house when I am unable to do that.
7. Do not ask me how long it will take before I am better again. I have no freaking idea.
8. If you need to vent how hard it is, go ahead. It will be okay. Venting is different from anger though. Find your own support system and ways to deal with those negative feelings. Don’t bury them. You may even want your own therapist for a while to help you deal with what I am going through.
9. Each episode of depression is different. One time, it may be helpful to veg on the couch and watch a bunch of romantic comedies so I laugh a lot. Other times, I may get hyper-focused on a computer game or in reading or in another hobby. At my worst, I may need to sit in my room, alone, in the dark, rocking back and forth crying. I might want to try all of these things. Make gentle suggestions, but if I let you know it isn’t helping, please listen. And don’t take it personally.
10. You are going to feel helpless. You love me and it will drive you crazy that you can’t fix me. It’s a horrible feeling and I can’t take that away from you. But, I can tell you that even though you might think you aren’t doing a lot, if you are following the above advice — you are doing more than you can imagine. Thank you so much for reading.

Love from Me

Christmas with the family 2012, part 3

(If you are interested, you can catch up by first reading part one and then part two.)
 
We got up the next day (Sunday) and started getting ready.  At one point during the week, I mentioned to my dad that we would try to be to his house, if we stayed the night with my mom, between 9:00 am and 10:00 am.  At 9:01 he called.

I didn't answer.

He left a voicemail and I checked it.  He was just wondering when we were coming over.  I did eventually call him back but it was probably an hour later. 

We got packed up and I sent my husband and the kids over to my dad's house.  I was going to ride with my step dad, brother and sister-in-law since my step dad wasn't completely sure where my had lived.  He knew the general area and I could have given him the address but really didn't want to deal with a potential travel issue like we had the day before. 

Me and my people arrived at my dad's house but my hubby and the kids weren't there yet.  I had jokingly mentioned that it was funny that they were going to have to go over first and he replied that maybe they'd hide out a bit first.  I wasn't happy and the anxiety level rose. 

Since it was cold and snowing, I tried to get my sister-in-law into the house quickly but the safety feature on her new wheelchair made it impossible to do so on my own. My brother went to help and we almost dumped her.  Luckily, my step dad helped out and we were successful. 

After we got them in and settled and I did a quick meet and greet to my dad, his wife and the doggies, I headed outside to call my hubby.  Apparently they had gone to get gasoline for the van and were on their way.  I asked them to hurry because I was building into a panic and my Ativan was in the car with them.

Once they arrived, everything seemed to run smoothly.  There weren't any arguments or even minor disagreements.  We ate lunch and then moved on to the gift portion of the day.  After we were visiting and I mentioned that it would be really nice to have our holiday celebration in Kearney.  We had talked about doing that this year but with my sister graduating from college, it just wasn't feasible. 

When it seemed like things were wrapping up, I checked the clock and realized that if we left soon, we could still visit with my husband's mom when we stopped in York and make it home in time to pick up the dogs from the doggie hotel. Hugs and goodbyes and we were out. 

Hit York and picked up the car from my mother-in-law.  I took off while my husband and the kids visited with my mother-in-law.I drove - again - by myself, on the interstate.  And I did good!!!

Got home.  Got the dogs.  Got everything back inside and unpacked. Finally, I could relax.

It was a hectic and stressful weekend but I survived.  We all did.  It wasn't perfect but I got to see my family.  My little sister crossed off another milestone in her life.  We were able to give gifts and receive them.  There was laughter and tears with not all the tears being those out of anger or stress or from being upset.

It struck me as familiar

I follow a few blogs that I connect with in regards to my depression and anxiety.  One of them is Anxiety Adventures.

About a week ago, I read an entry that spoke to me on so many levels.  I need to really sit down and dissect my thoughts to it so I can see how they fit into my tangled brain. 

Here are the points (italicized and bold) that really gave me some aha moments:

Downtime is tough for me, as I often fall into the isolation rabbit hole and get kidnapped by anxiety and depression. It’s difficult to predict how I’ll react to downtime -

• Should I try to keep busy and avoid thinking too much?
• Will making plans but failing to keep them cause a shame spiral?
• Will having no plans cause a shame spiral?
• Will no plans keep me relaxed so I feel able to interact with the world?
• Does the answer lie somewhere in between?

For me, I want to say that the answer is somewhere in between.  I don't know where quite yet.

I also really like the term "shame spiral" because I can relate to it and it is such an accurate and descriptive term.  For those of you who've never experienced a shame spiral, here's what mine are like:

1. For whatever reason, I feel as though I've failed.  This can be not completing something I'd intended to do or simply not doing anything.  It can be any type of failure, no matter how big or small.
2. I will overly focus on and obsess about said failure and get worked up.  There will probably be tears and there will definitely be a great deal of negative thoughts of general worthlessness.  There might even be a panic attack.
3. By the time I've hit this part, there is a strong chance that I will be completely useless for the remainder of the day which will only further perpetuate the shame spiral.
4. Bonus round - I might even carry the shame on for multiple days or start reliving past failures and have more shame spirals form. 

Herein lies the trouble, my mind waffles on whether these plans are mandatory, wanted, needed, or time-fillers.

I both love and hate making plans.  Plans are good because I can then actually plan them.  I know what to expect and what is expected of me.  I am prepared for the event/outing/whatever.

However, plans are commitments and promises.   And I really hate breaking commitments and promises.  This means that if I freak out or have an issue and cannot participate in said plan.  That means I've failed and BAM - shame spiral.

(I do want to mention that most of my close friends as well as my husband and the kids understand that this can happen.  While they still may be hurt or disappointed, they are supportive and understanding of me.  My extended-immediate family (parents and siblings) is getting better at it, perhaps due to my blog.) 

Spinning about my head is the recurring thought that I need to maximize my time off. I need to have fun. I need to be productive. I need to have interesting stories to tell once real-life resumes. I need to recommit to my life and find fulfilling activities. I need to be a functioning, contributing member of society.

This starts a potentially vicious cycle of:

1. Plans/objectives
2. Failure
3. Shame spiral
4. Deep depressive episode
5. Isolation from my life
6. Recover period

Of course it can go well and does rather often.  It is when it doesn't go well that I suffer.

I feel like I'm setting myself up for failure but I need to start to realize that I may also be setting myself up for success.  In a perfect/better world, I would just try my best.  I would try my best and actually be content with what I was able to achieve and focus on the achievement instead of the failure.  Sometimes I might not achieve much of anything and that is okay.  I would wade in to the shallow water first instead of just cannon-balling into the deep end.  I would be realistic with my own personal expectations. 

Realistically, I’ll get anxious about failing to accomplish anything that I won’t actually try, then half-heartedly convince myself that I didn’t try so I didn’t fail. 

Really need to stop that one and come to an acceptance that failure is an okay and human thing.  By not beating myself up over a failure that is really quite minor in the big scheme of things, I can hopefully avoid going any further and the "2.  Failure" step I mentioned above. It is just so difficult to do since I've been berating myself over my moments that are unsuccessful. 

Embracing failure as a learning experience would also be helpful.  If I was able to look back on the failure and dissect it so I could figure out what pushed that moment or event over into the failure zone.  This would allow me to avoid those triggers or come up with ways to cope with them.

Christmas with the family 2012, part 2

(If you missed part one, you can read it here.)

Me, my husband, the kids, my brother and his wife have all arrived at my mom and step dad's house for the extended family Christmas celebration.  They'd played a few games, had some snacks and drank some alcohol before we arrived.  Most everyone was in a good mood.

I made the rounds telling people hello and engaging in some brief small talk.  K had to finish her homework, so she headed downstairs to complete it.  It was our agreement since she hadn't wanted to work on it earlier.

The anxiety was lessening but I still felt as though I was teetering on the edge of a breakdown.  Definitely not a fun place to be.  I then had an interaction with my mother that pushed me over the edge.  I don't know if it was because I was really upset by what she said or if it was just that proverbial straw the broke the camels back.

My mom informed me we were getting ready to play another game.  She told me I was in charge of rounding up our immediate family which meant her, my step dad, my husband, the kids, my brother and his wife.  Mom said we needed to wait for my sister-in-law to be done with something - I think she was using the bathroom.  I mentioned that K was finishing her homework and it would be nice to wait for her.  Mom just made some flippant remark that K would just have to miss it.

I think I responded with the "whatever" remark that is so deadly and vague before excusing myself to get some air in the garage.  My eyes were tearing up and tears were threatening to fall but I made it out before that could happen.  My husband was close on my heels and I filled him in.  I was upset/angry/pissed because, to me, my mom was willing to wait for my sister-in-law but not my step daughter.  It was unfair and me, being a mama bear, did not like her cubs getting shafted on the fun.

After talking it out with my husband, getting some fresh air and calming down, I returned to the inside.  I do remember my mom mentioning that she hadn't meant her statement to sound as bitchy as it probably did but I cannot remember if that was before or after I went into the garage. 

The rest of the extended family Christmas seemed to go well.  There were games and food.  We chatted a great deal and shared a lot of laughs.  Once that wound down and the extended family had left, we had our immediate family Christmas.  It was very low-key and relaxing.

Oh, as the extended family part was winding down, my dad called.  We had planned to spend the night at his house but only if we were going to be done at my mom's house at a reasonable time and if he and his wife would still be awake.  It was getting late so I said we would just stay at mom's again.  He was bummed but I told him we'd be over mid-morning on Sunday.

The night finished off and we headed to bed.

And with that, I will sign off.  The final part will be up soonish.

(It's up and you can read it here.)

Christmas with the family 2012, part 1

At least two of my past posts (Bah humbug and Struggling) dealt with what I like to call the weekend from hell or the hectic weekend.  For the weekend from hell, we (me, my husband and the two kids) drive two and a half hours to Omaha on Friday.  On Saturday we celebrate the holidays with my mom's siblings, their children and my grandfather and his girlfriend.  Later that evening, we have our smaller family Christmas with my mom, my step dad, my brother and his wife and me and my family.  Sunday we head to my dad's house for a meal and gifts with my father, his wife, my brother and his wife, my sister and then me and my family.  This all must be accomplished by 2:00 pm so we can be home in time to pick up the dogs from the doggie hotel (Sunday pickups are between 5:00 and 5:30 pm) and return the kids to their mother's house by 6:00 pm.  Hectic!

Add to that I have issues riding in the car for long periods of time.  I get incredibly freaked out and sometimes bump up into a panic attack.  Let's also include that I sometimes have problems in crowds even if I know everyone and/or are related to them.  In addition, there is a certain amount of anxiety involved when I need to don the daughter/granddaughter/niece/cousin persona.

This year there was some added stress since we were also going to go to my sister's college graduation...on Saturday morning.  She's was graduating from the largest college in Nebraska so there were lots of people and a lot of things I didn't have control over.  I wasn't going to miss her getting her college diploma so not going was simply not an option.

(I'm not even going to get into the stress and anxiety that built up during the week prior.)

So, everything on Friday seemed to go just fine.  No major snags and I did really well riding in the van on the way there.  I did take an Ativan prior to the trip and once during.

Saturday things started off okay until I went to take a shower and realized I brought the wrong shirt to go under my vest.  Quick search revealed a Walmart on the way so we were going to leave just a bit earlier and all would be fine.  We got to Lincoln with very little problem.  As we were heading to the location of her graduation we got off track.  Pulled up driving directions on my phone and we were back on track and going just fine.

When we arrived, the lines were HUGE and the parking areas were filling.  My husband and I got a bit snappish with each other.  I had taken an Ativan prior to the trip and was very temped to take another but knew I might need my remaining two later on in the day.  After all, it was only 9:00 am. 

After being directed to a parking lot, I switched into my other shirt and we began the jaunt to the center.  We arrived and spotted my brother, sister-in-law and father rather quickly.  We were lucky to find some seats just behind them.

The ceremony was long and I got a little weepy but the panic didn't set in.  Afterwards, we found my sister and since we had some time to kill, we headed to my sister's apartment.  She rode with us so it was easy.  She was also going to ride with us to her reception site.  Time at her apartment and the ride to the reception went beautifully.  We arrived and I was able to see my step mom for the first time in probably three and a half years.  We chatted some and vowed to stay in touch better down the road. 

The reception continued and was going very well until we were getting ready to leave.  Since my dad had to bring my brother and sister-in-law over to my mom's house, we were trying to come up with the best plan on how to make that happen since he didn't know where their house was located.  I had mentioned giving him directions or just meeting at his house back in Omaha, but he said we could just follow each other.  I said we could do that but would need to meet up with each other since we were parked in different areas.  My dad started explaining things to me and I just lost it.

I couldn't deal with the information and being responsible for it.  Hell, I wasn't even the one driving.  I told him to talk to my husband and walked out.  I needed a break and some air. Apparently my father and husband worked it out so we all took off to our vehicles.  We had a little problem with ours (the sliding door wouldn't open) so it took us a bit longer to reach the meetup area.  When we did arrive, my father was nowhere to be found.  We drove a little bit, looking for him.  No luck.  So I called him and he didn't answer.  I called my brother.  No answer.  I called my sister-in-law and our luck ran out.  My husband kept asking me what we should do and I kept getting more and more anxious and upset.

I've learned that when I'm already having issues (depressed or dealing with anxiety), making decisions is something I am incapable of doing.  I figure it is because I'm already dealing with so much shit going on in my head that anything else just pushes me completely over the edge.  This was one of those times.

Eventually I told him to just pull over until we could reach my dad.  We did after some time and I thought we were figured out.  Nope.  So we talked on the phone again.  We still weren't on the same page.  I was done so I told him we should just head back to Omaha and meet at his house.  He agreed.

Once on the interstate, my husband decided he needed something to drink so he suggested we stop at one of the towns and meet my dad there.  Called dad and he thought that sounded like a great plan so we met at a gas station.  Once everyone did their thing, we went to leave and my dad, instead of following us, took the lead.  Are you kidding me?

My husband was feeling just as frustrated as I was so we just let it be.  We caught up to them right before the exit to my father's house.  And my father took it!  My husband asked me what we should do and I told him to just keep driving.  Immediately, my phone rang and it was my dad.  He said he messed up and they would get right back on the interstate.  They did and we were on the phone and off it for the ride to my mom's house.

I was so glad to get there.  I tried not to let my frustration and anger show to my dad and I know he felt some tension but not all of it.  We hugged it out and I told him we would talk later.

Part two will be up soon.  Just writing this I've just about worked up into the emotions I was feeling that day.  Not cool.

(Part two can be read here and part 3 here.)

Bah humbug

I desperately wish I was able to explain what it feels like to be me and be in my head.  I try to put it into words and have made some strides towards a decent explanation and/or description but there is still just so many different facets that need further exploration and definition.  I want to do this so people understand me and my issues better.  Ultimately, I want those I care about most to know my triggers and problems so they can avoid them whenever possible and help me through the rough patches without me having to go completely insane first.  I don't do well with asking for help and wish that some people would just realize that I need it at specific times.

This coming weekend is crazy.  (Read this blog entry if you want to know a bit more about the crazy.)  I'm stressed and feeling exceptionally overwhelmed.  I also feel like I'm not getting help from my husband.  Of course, I haven't asked for much help, but the things I have requested of him haven't been completed.  My parents are also putting stress on me.  I don't think they realize it nor have I told them. 

Generally, I love this time of year.  I love the traditions, the food, the general sense of joy and love.  I get to see family members I only see occasionally and spend some real time catching up.  There is fun and games and happiness.  Happiness is the best part. 

But to get there, you have to deal with the planning, the shopping, the baking, the cooking, the cleaning, the stressing, the obsessing.  You might have to travel so you have to pack and make arrangements for someone to care for your pets.  Perhaps you book flights and hotels and rental cars. Selecting the right gifts, staying within a budget, getting time off work only adds to the stress.  All of this planning is what pushes me to the edge. 

Me, the hubby and kids don't make it out of town very often.  Between jobs, money, pets and life, it is difficult to arrange time to visit our families for a weekend.  But when we are able to do that, I struggle to make the most of our time.  We try to make it fair and see our families equally.  But someone always gets their feelings hurt or feels like they are being tossed aside in favor of the other parent.  And then they tell me about it and I feel guilty and hurt. 

It's like I'm unable to do anything right.

I don't enjoy the time I get to spend with my family.  It isn't fun for me because I'm too worried about making sure I do my part and make the most of the event and spend equal time with everyone.  I try to make sure that my husband and kids are having a good time and that their needs are being met.  I neglect myself and what I want.  I do what is expected of me and fill the set role for that moment.  I try to be the loving daughter and doting granddaughter.  The fun cousin and caring niece have to show up as well.  Let's not forget super-wife and the non-evil stepmother roles as well. 

I'm fully aware I put a great deal of this on myself but I don't know how to NOT let it get to me.  Maybe I'll figure it out someday.  Maybe I'll get through the weekend without being a bitch to someone (more than likely my husband) or having a crying jag. 

But I need to get a move on.  I still need to pack, wrap gifts, load the car, take the dogs to be boarded, print off driving directions, get my sister a graduation gift, straighten the house, possibly do a load or two of laundry and what seems like a zillion other things.  I also need to shower and continue to try and get over this cold.  Easy peasy, right?

Struggling

This week is very busy and hectic for me because we are heading out of town for the weekend.  This isn't some leisurely trip.  It is the weekend of craziness.  We will celebrate Christmas with my mom's side of the family, my mom and step dad, and then my dad and his wife.  My sister is also graduating from college.  With the exception of the graduation, we do this every year.  I know I will be stressed and on edge and I also know that we will get through it.

However, I didn't anticipate getting sick.

I have a horrible cold - aches and pains, cough, raw throat, itchy ears, fever, chills and just general unpleasantness.  There is so much I need to get done this week but I know I need to take care of myself and get better.

Sigh.

So I'm trying.  Been drinking hot tea and sleeping a great deal.  This all started on Sunday and today, I don't feel better but I also don't feel worse.  I will take that as a win.  As of tomorrow, I will need to start getting stuff together.  I will still baby myself to a certain extent but my obligations must come first.

Here's to make it through this week and the weekend to come with no major issues or breakdowns.

Freaking out...continued

So I'm sending the link today.  I'm late but I'm doing it.  This is what I'm sending my select audience:

I'm finally to a place where I want to share my blog with a select few people.  Congrats on winning the prize.

I want you to know that you are under no obligation to read it - now or in the future, you don't have to comment on the posts, you don't need to tell me you are reading it or not, you don't need to follow it...basically, it is your call what to do with this information.

I will, however, welcome comments and questions - both on the blog and in person.  I would love it if you read it and follow it.  I am sending you the link because you are someone I honor, cherish and respect.  I also trust you.

My blog focuses on my on-going battle with depression and other forms of mental illness.  I'm not always the best at expressing myself vocally and feel much more competent and comfortable with the written word.  If you choose to read my blog, you will understand me a bit better...or at least that is my hope.

Enjoy it, or not...remember this is your call.  Soon I hope to share my blog with more people.  But until I'm ready for that, you are my audience.  Thank you.

Love,
Shanda

I'm sending this to my husband, sister, mother, step father, Lo and Li.  

Deep breath...and...send... 

Exploring a suspicion

A little over a week ago, I had this feeling that maybe, just maybe, I haven't really either wanted to get better or wasn't ready to get better in the past.  This was a very scary thought for me because it has been about eight years since I've been fully "better."  In that time, my husband has been the only one working to support our family.  I did have a few babysitting stints that maybe covered our grocery bill but still, I haven't really been contributing financially to our household. 

I've revisited the thought a few times since and even talked to Li about it.  My biggest fear was that my husband would be pissed when I told him.  I know that our relationship is strong and secure so I wasn't worried that this confession would cause some massive damage to our marriage.  Honestly, I wouldn't blame him if he was pissed.  But I knew I needed to tell him about it but also really wanted to explore it for myself first.  There was no point in bringing it up if it wasn't necessary.

But yesterday morning, I just spit it out.  I told him and he actually took it really well.  As Li had mentioned, he even suspected it a little bit.  We talked it out some and I feel much better about it.  I'm still not sure if it is a true statement or not and I will continue to explore it further but knowing that my husband supports me and seems to understand makes it all the easier for me to take an honest look at those feelings.  It also frees me to be accepting that it could be true since I know I have him on my side.

One thought that my husband and I have explored in the past is that when I had my big break in 2004, that it was bigger than others because for the first time in a long time, I was in a safe environment where I knew I was cared for and would be taken care of.   I'm not saying my parents and step parents weren't there for me, but I was on my own when the first breakdown occurred.  My parents were supportive and did help out but it wasn't the same as what I have with my husband.  His love for me...that unconditional and beautiful love...allowed me to be safe in losing it without fear of doing it on my own.  Yes, I needed to deal with the issues but I have a live-in support system.

So perhaps I've been just reveling in that for the past several years.  Maybe this was my time of healing and letting someone take care of me on just about ever level.  If this suspicion is real and accurate or not, I may never know.  But I also don't know that I do need to know.  I'm committed to my recovery and to getting my life back on track.  I'm not going to let my fears stop me.  I'm stronger and much better prepared for the battle ahead and I owe a great deal of that strength to the love and support I've received from my husband.

The price of happiness

As I've mentioned, I do not have health insurance currently so all of the doctor's fees, tests, blood work and medications come out-of-pocket.  Thankfully, my meds are rather cheap in comparison to some of the horror stories I've heard.

This is mostly for my own record but if you are unaware, here is what I am paying, full price, at Walmart.

Sertraline (generic form of Zoloft) 100 mg tablet --$19.72 for thirty tablets
Lorazepam (generic form of Ativan) 0.5 mg tablet -- $16.84 for sixty tablets

If my history is any indication, the Lorazepam will last me at least six months, if not more.

This is a huge relief for me.  The anxiety and depression that comes from worrying about just how the hell I can afford to see my doctor and take my medication is enormous.  It's a nasty, viscious cycle.  We need money so I can go to the doctor and fill my prescriptions.  I need my prescriptions so I can be balanced and stable.  I need to be balanced and stable so I can find and keep a job.  I need a job so I can have money so I can go to the doctor and fill my prescriptions...

UGH!

Luckily, my parents are helping bridge the financial gap by offering assistance as I need it until I can get a job and start covering the costs completely on my own.  I'm so grateful for them.  

Keep swimming

I'm drowning.

Seriously.

I feel as though I'm drowning and there is no lifeguard on duty, no life preserver in sight.

About two months ago, I made the conscious decision to return to anti-depressants.  I've been off them for over a year and it is just getting to be too much for me to handle without help.  However, I do not have health insurance, I do not work and my husband and I are on a tight budget.  So I turned to my parents for help and they were glad to do so.  That was a huge relief.

Once the monetary help arrived, I needed to psych myself up to actually make an appointment with the doctor.  That took approximately ten days.  The wait, for my scheduled appointment, was three weeks.  I've been just trying to keep afloat ever since.

I'm not saying my depression has gotten worse since the appointment was made, or since I reached out to my parents for help.  But I did let down some of my guards knowing that I was gong to be able to get some help.

Now I don't remember how to build them back up.

My appointment is one week from today.

I can make it.

I have to make it.

HISTORY: The bi-polar diagnosis

*I first mention the bi-polar diagnosis in a post I intended to devote only to medications.  This post is a continuation/clarification of that original post, which you can read here. 

In my post on anti-depressants, I talk about Dr. R giving me the diagnosis of bi-polar instead of just depression.   When I first heard the term, I was terrified but in some ways, it made sense.  The cycling, the highs and lows...these were hallmarks of bi-polar disorder.  But was I?

I'd been wearing my depression diagnosis for seven years at that point and we were getting pretty comfortable with each other.  This was something different.  This was something new.  This was something I knew very little about and couldn't wrap my brain around it.

I freaked out.

Upon arriving at the pharmacy with my new prescriptions, this time to include Lithium for my bi-polar disorder, I called my mom.  I was in tears and scared.  I don't know why I was scared but this was new and different and I needed to talk to someone.  Since my husband was at work, mom won the lottery.

When I told her about this new diagnosis, her comment made me angry.  She told me that I wasn't bi-polar.  When I asked her how she knew, she said "I know you and know that you aren't bi-polar."  She doesn't know me.  She knows what I choose to let her see.  She knows what I let her know, nothing more.  She is not in my head and she doesn't walk in my shoes.  It wasn't for her to decide.  I know she was probably reacting as a mother and not wanting this for her daughter.  I understand that now but, in that moment, I was pissed off that she made the statement. 

I was on the Lithium for a while but it made me a bit of a zombie and I was someone that was unrecognizable.  My husband was especially concerned.  After discussion, I was weaned off the Lithium and Dr. R changed my diagnosis back to depression.  I don't remember what reasons he gave for the change in diagnosis.

After this (mis?)diagnosis, I did further research into bi-polar disorder.  I am much better informed.  Do I think I'm bi-polar?  I'm not sure.  If I am bi-polar, I would have bi-polar disorder II, which is where the mania episodes are less intense.  I would also often be in the mixed state where the mania and depressive states overlap.  I'm not a doctor so until one tells me otherwise, I will keep my depression diagnosis and work towards maintaining my mental health.

HISTORY: Leave it to the professionals

*I first mention counseling in a post I intended to devote only to medications.  This post is a continuation/clarification of that original post, which you can read here. 

Here's the scoop:

To start with a bit of history, I should share that I've seen various counselors over the span of my life.  When I was 9 and my parents divorced, we all went to see a counselor.  It was a wonderful experience that helped me a great deal.  I saw her off and on for several sessions.  I do not remember/know how long I saw her but she was an amazing therapist.

The next counselor I was forced to see was shortly after my brother's accident.  It was a so-so experience.  I was able to vent my anger and worry but didn't get much out of it.  I was 14 and only went a handful of times...maybe only once but I cannot really remember.  My mom and dad probably tried to get me to go more but I did not.

In college I spoke with a counselor a few times for random issues.  It didn't feel right and I definitely did not click with him.

In early 2002, I started having issues again and went to see a psychiatrist, Dr. M.  So, the counselor I saw in association with Dr. M is the whole reason for writing this post.  She was a piece of work.  Our first visit went okay.  It was the first visit type of conversation where she was feeling me out and I was trying to be cooperative, honest and open.  I got an assignment to create a "pain list."  I was to write down everything bad that had ever happened to me, anything that had caused me emotional pain.  So I worked on it.  And worked on it.  And worked on it some more.  I was getting more and more depressed as I compiled this list.

On visit number two, I shared my list with her.  She actually had the nerve to question why something I had written on my "pain list" was there.  Why would that cause me pain?  The audacity of this woman!  But I shrugged it off.  Maybe she was right.  Was it really that big of a deal?  Should it have caused me pain?  Honestly, if I would have been at a better place at that time, I would have realized that I had every right to have whatever I wanted on my list and that everything on that list was valid TO ME.

The third visit was even worse.  The woman talked more than she listened.  And this talking wasn't offering me sage advice or introducing me to new coping mechanisms.  No.  She was talking about herself and telling me about her problems.  Seriously?!?!?! 

I was done.  I wasn't going to pay a person who wasn't doing the job I was paying for.  I wasn't going to sit there and have my feelings negated.  I wasn't going to play counselor to the counselor.

I never went back to her.

Years later I had a preliminary meeting with a different counselor since it was suggested that counseling might help me.  It didn't go well but it also didn't go poorly.  I haven't gone again and don't know that I ever will.  Counseling just isn't for me, or at least it hasn't been for me since that first magical time.  However, if I could find the right counselor and clicked with him/her, then I would definitely give it a try. 

HISTORY: Pinpointing the beginning

When I look back on when my depression started, I could honestly pick any number of moments that life had pretty much gone to shit and I was more than just feeling "blue."  I'm not going to go into said shit moments because everyone has them and I get disgusted when it becomes a pissing contest of sorts to one-up someone about who has had more terrible things happen to them.  It's quite sad really.

Back on track...I am pretty sure I know when it started or at least when it started fucking up my life. It was my last semester in college - 1997.  I was terrified of graduating and leaving the comfy environment I had carved for myself.  Seriously, my life was a pretty cool dream.  I had wonderful friends, was in several leadership roles in various clubs, doing well in my classes, and was taking courses I loved.

I had just changed my major by dropping the teaching aspect of my degree.  Yes, that was a huge thing but I knew what I wanted to do instead and had a plan in place of how to make that happen.  I'd found my passion and knew what I wanted to do with my life.

Before long, sleeping all day and skipping classes (more than typical) became the norm.  I was slacking on my responsibilities with the internship I'd designed that would also relay directly into what I wanted to do with my future.  When I say slacking, I mean avoiding and simply not showing up.  It wasn't that I didn't care because I did.  It was that I just couldn't do it.  I didn't understand why at the time and I didn't realize that I needed to ask for help.  It just was.  Perhaps friends, professors, co-workers, and even me blamed it on senior-itis or partying too much.  Maybe I hid it well enough to not cause worry.  I honestly don't know.

Things got better and then got worse.  Damn the roller coaster.  I had a few interviews but nothing in my dream career was panning out.  I wasn't ready to go to grad school and didn't want to go home.

I ended up moving in with my father, step mother and little sister for the summer after graduation.  It was meant to be a temporary thing as I searched for jobs and tried to get my post-college life on track.  I started calling in to my job and wasn't making payments on my car or keeping up on the insurance.  I knew what I was doing was wrong and would most certainly get me into trouble but it was as though I was helpless to make myself be responsible.

After a few months, I moved in with my mother and step father.  Mom helped me get back on track with the bills...at least those she knew about...and I found two jobs and I really enjoyed them.  I ended up living with my parents for almost a year before being on my feet enough to get my own apartment in September of 1998.

Finally, I felt like a grown up and in control of my own life.  All continued to go well until October 1999.

To pick up a bit of extra money, I cleaned my parents' house on a weekly basis.  I hate cleaning but the extra money was nice.  One day, I just wasn't feeling "right."  My mom got home early and was less than enthused about the job I had done cleaning the house and let me know.  I was upset and hurt and maybe even a bit angry so, in a huff, I left to drive the ten miles back home.

I started driving my car off the road more than once on that drive.

Somehow, I managed to make it home safely.  When I entered my apartment, my beautiful cat Pacey came to greet me as was his way.  I kicked at him and screamed before crumbling to the floor, bursting into tears, and, having a panic attack.  I wanted to die.  Life wasn't worth it anymore.  Nothing was right.  I didn't want to go on.  This was not the first time I considered taking my own life.  This was also not the first time that I took actual steps to end my life. (Although I have had thoughts of wanting to die since then, I have never again taken any action towards doing so.)

 A nervous breakdown?  That's what I called it and if it wasn't, I sure as hell hope that I never have one.

It took every ounce of my being to pull myself together enough to call my mom.  She's amazing.  She was probably just as scared as I was but she remained calm and talked to me.  After I convinced her, and myself, that I wasn't going to kill myself, we made a plan.  I would call the doctor and make an appointment for the next day.  And I did.

I met with Dr. E the following day.  He is a general practitioner.  After listening to me relay the events of the past 24 hours and convincing him I wasn't a suicide risk, he agreed that I did indeed have a break of some sort.  He suspected clinical depression was the cause and prescribed me my first anti-depressant - Prozac - and the dance began.

So, why a blog now?

I'm starting this blog as a form of therapy for myself because:

Two days ago, I had a huge epiphany.  My life was out of control and I didn't even really recognize myself anymore.  My depression had become who I was.  I didn't like it.  Not one little bit.

She finally let go of her fake smile...
Tears rolled down her face and she whispered, 

"I'm sick of this..."

So I did something that is very difficult for me...I asked for help.  I knew this battle was not something I could do on my own.  I needed support, now more than ever, from my husband.  Because I do not have any form of health insurance, I needed support from my parents - emotional and financial.  In time I will ask for additional support from my closest of friends and family members.

Those that I asked for help said they would be there for me.  This was an immense relief and I felt myself actually feel hope for the first time in a long while.

If found this shortly after I had this epiphany and it nailed what I've so long put off doing.

I need to take care of this and I am very confident that I can, especially with the help of my supporters.  But even if those supporters were gone tomorrow, or no longer able to help me in any way, I am still going to fight.  I'm done with depression running and ruining my life.  I want it back and I want to find my happy.

I know this means I will need to stay on my medication even when I'm feeling "good" again.  I know this means I need to take better care of myself.  I know this means I might have to seek further professional help.  But knowing this is half the battle.

So this blog is for me.  It's for me to keep a record of my progress or lack thereof.  It is for me to express myself, especially since I often find it difficult to feel like I can do an accurate job of conveying my thoughts and emotions through speaking.  It is for me to backtrack and record what I can remember from my battle thus far.  I will eventually share it with those I love, especially my supporters, but don't care if they want to read it or not.  And if they do read it, it is up to them if they wish to talk about it more or ask for clarification.