Quiet

The quiet is overwhelming at times, while he sleeps. You'd think I'd be used to it, since he sleeps so much, but I'm not. Even though he's sleeping, I still worry. I think about all the things that need to be done, or the things I can't do, and I worry.

And then I think about the fact that he might not wake up, and the quiet gets to be too quiet, and I wake him. And he's unhappy. So I try not to do that.

I can hear everything. My own heart pounding in my ears, always being closer to death than to life. I hear my breathing. It's heavier than it should be, but it always has been. I can hear birds and things outside, but I hide inside instead, where it's safe. I don't want to deal with the outside right now.

Things have been okay. They've been quiet. They've been too quiet. I'm wasting away, waiting for the crash.

Breathing

I can hear him breathing in the other room.

The sound is like no other. It fills me with relief, and at the same time, with terror. How on earth did I end up being someone's mother? Why did we think we could do this? And why is he so precious, is it to make me want him even though I am obviously not cut out for this?

I don't trust myself. I am worried that I won't be able to do what's necessary, if the time ever comes, and take care of him. I'm scared. My own breath comes more quickly, trying to quell the panic.

But I love him. I just don't know that that love is enough. I think it is. I hope it is. But the thought that it isn't... that's the worst thought of all.

Out

I'm doing whatever I can lately to stay out of the house.

Tonight, even though I should probably be resting at home and just being normal, I'm actively seeking ways to leave.

I called my Dad, to see if he had plans. For those of you who know me well, you know that this is a pretty desperate sign. But, I don't care. I just want to do something, to go somewhere, to be with people. I feel like, if I'm with people, I can at least ignore that I'm this way for a little while.

That's probably why, when I should be sleeping, I'm chatting, or going to a friend's house at 10 at night. This is almost definitely why I read constantly; I'm not okay with my own thoughts, and the escape is total for me. This is likely related to my resentment of Jack, as the constant anchor that keeps me home.

Do I sound like I've been psychoanalyzed quite enough yet?

My next goal is Monday. That's when I go back to see Tina. I want to make it through the weekend, drop Jack off on Sunday, and have Monday and Tuesday to rest and recoup. Wednesday - Sunday it'll likely be just me and the little guy, so I'm already looking for things we can do to stay sane during that time.


....Anybody happen to be on their way to Texas? I could use the company.

Well that's frustrating...

I saw the therapist today.

My therapist's name is Tina. She's a very sweet Asian girl... well, I say girl. She's not a girl, she's a grown woman, but the way she talks and acts makes her very girlish. Anyway, she's very sweet. She was very understanding. She got my psychologist, Dr. Painintheass (no, it's not his real name, but it is fitting) on the phone as soon as she could, and she talked to me and kept me calm.

And then Dr. Pita called, and he was very upset that I'd stopped taking my medicine. When I tried to explain to him that it wasn't working, he pretty much told me that couldn't be true. Then he told me that I had to follow his directions, and start taking the medicine that didn't work again, or he'd drop my case.


Nice thing to tell someone who's had the kind of week I've had.

So, here I am, looking at the $65 worth of medicine I just bought that I know won't help, and feeling shitty and awful. I ate a mini cupcake, but it didn't make me feel any better. I played with my son, but that really just made me feel worse, because now he's in bed, and I miss him, and at the same time, I want to be as far away from him as possible.

God I'm a bad mom.

I have a 6 hour shift to work tomorrow for this big conference in our department, and I'm just hoping that Sookie Stackhouse and lots of coffee can keep me occupied so I don't get nutty in front of visiting scholars. Then, spring break starts. And that's a battle in and of itself.

A Different Sort of Fight

Last time I blogged, I was worried about genes, about risk, about living long enough to raise my son.

Now I'm much more worried about not wanting to live at all.

I've decided to blog through this. Since I've given up most of my online presence, it's hard to know how many people will know what, so here's this, pieced together from posts and chat and e-mails I've sent.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder some months ago, although that diagnosis may be wrong. It's Thursday. On Monday, I had a mini breakdown. This wasn't the first instance of something bad happening, but it was the first instance wherein I literally felt like I couldn't control my own actions, in any way. How did we get to this place?

I haven't taken my meds in about two months. I guess they were working when I took them, but the effects slowly started wearing off, and even though I was taking them, I felt anxious and depressed, and had these strange mood swings. I stopped taking them. At first it was just, oh, I forgot, take 'em tomorrow, blah blah... but then it became a habit, and then I wasn't taking them at all, and all of the sudden I started feeling things again, and it was this rush of euphoria... And then that passed. And I've been this way for a while. At least a month.

My psychologist is not around right now, and I can't afford to go pick up the refills I have waiting at the pharmacy. My meds are around $65 a month, so it's a big chunk of change for us, even with insurance. Added bonus, the Abilify wasn't doing what it was supposed to anyway, and the depression stuff he had me on makes me antsy. I was supposed to have an appointment Friday, but he got sick and canceled.

My depression and anxiety have built up to a point that they seem insurmountable. It's like being in a deep tunnel under ground, with the walls closing in. I am tense all the time. I have trouble sleeping. I had a panic attack today, after I spent the whole work day crying (yes, crying, at my desk, how fucking embarrassing) and waffling about blowing my conference savings on a plane ticket out of Dodge. I didn't, thankfully.

If I go to the health center, they'll commit me. They can't help me, and my psych will take too long to get back. I am hoping I won't have another day like this soon, but I don't know. I have no idea what is going to happen. If I'm snippy with you, or text you at weird times, or say odd things (like, today I told BFab during a fit of anxiety that I was going to drive to her house tonight... she lives in Vegas)....

I told Bun. I was genuinely concerned it might be too much for him, but he's struggling to understand. He kept turning it around so that it was about him, or about Jack, when it is truly just about me. I can't make him understand. He kept mentioning my "mental cocktail", as if the right amount of drugs would just fix me, and we'd never have any more problems. I just wish he could get it... that I might be this way forever. Broken.


So that's the back story. I have a therapy appointment in half an hour, and I plan to tell all of this to my therapist. I'm scared. I'm nervous. I'm sweating like a pig, and shaking all over. I'm tense. At least I'm not also angry and crying, today.

I will update when I get back.

Check out Simply Atomic

My buddy E (Simply Atomic) is doing a cloth diaper giveaway this week, and has a pretty fabulous blog. You should check it out. :)

Chess

Now I'm

Where I want to be,

And who I want to be,

And doing what I

Always said I would,

And yet I feel

I haven't won at all.


Running for my life,

And never looking back

In case there's someone

Right behind to shoot me down

And say he always knew I'd fall.

When the crazy wheel

Slows down,

Where will I be?

Back where I started.


-Lyrics from "Where I Want to Be" from Chess, The Musical
 
 
Life is at an interesting crossroads. I am moving to a new, old place, to try and start a new, old part of my life.
 
You see, I am moving "home". To a place I have lived before. To a place where I had thought...dare I say, hoped...I'd never live again. It's a place with a lot of history for me, a lot of emotion, and a lot of dead ends. I understand when they say "You can't go home again", because for me, going "home" means going back to a place where I was stymied and broken.
 
For Bun, home is just that: a place to go back to, to rest in, to relax and enjoy yourself after a period of adventuring out in the real world. He has friends there. He has passions there. He feels safe and secure and other assorted nice "s" words there.
 
For me, it's like a big, black pit of death.
 
Okay, well, it's not that bad. But those nice "s" words translate to some not so nice "s" words for me: shitty, stagnant, and super-filled with suck are ones that come to mind.
 
Every time I go home, emotionally, I regress. All the progress I've made is suddenly gone. It's systematic for me. I keep thinking "You are an adult, you are old enough to get the fuck over this!" but...I don't know. I guess I'm not. I'm thinking the emotional crazy of moving to this place is keeping me from packing. Ugh. I need to get started. But, for now, I am just going to freak out a bit and have another glass of wine.