Crisis? Am I in Crisis?

Webster’s Dictionary defines crisis as:

 

  • a :  the turning point for better or worse in an acute disease or feverb :  a paroxysmal attack of pain, distress, or disordered functionc :  an emotionally significant event or radical change of status in a person’s life a midlife crisis

  • 2 :  the decisive moment (as in a literary plot) The crisis of the play occurs in Act 3.

  • 3a :  an unstable or crucial time or state of affairs in which a decisive change is impending; especially :  one with the distinct possibility of a highly undesirable outcome a financial crisis the nation’s energy crisisb :  a situation that has reached a critical phase the environmental crisis the unemployment crisis

I guess maybe I am in a crisis.  I had a med appointment yesterday.  She increased my anti depressant. Left my anti-anxiety meds alone- for now.  But the crux of the appointment is that I am not getting better. Each time I go into her office I cry. I talk about how useless I feel.  How inferior I am. I gave her what I wrote here yesterday.  She read it without emotion (that I could tell anyway) put it on her desk and looked at me thoughtfully. I don’t remember what happened next in the conversation, the old me would, the me that was not medicated to mask the anxiety.  That girl would remember every minute detail of the conversation, every nuance, every raised eyebrow or change in voice inflection. But this me doesn’t.  This me is still hypervigilent but the thoughts are different, the way my brain holds information is different.

Not long after that she mentioned that she wanted to open up a dialogue about a crisis stabilization unit.  She says we aren’t there yet, but she wanted to start the talk.  Because I’m not getting better. If I am honest I am sadder and sadder by the day.

At first all I could think was “I really am crazy enough for the loony bin”… but then it didn’t sound so bad, 3-4 days without little people needing me, without anyone asking anything of me, a place to hide, a place to be alone and sleep, and cry and just be alone….

Today I am nostalgic.  Thinking about things, and people from my childhood- mostly my sister.  Until my husband came along and rescued me, she held me together.  She thinks that I was the one that shaped her, but she doesn’t know that she kept me going.  I had to be there, to protect her, to teach her, to love her in the absence of parents capable of giving us those things.

Im sad because I feel like a burden, to those around me.  To my friends who offer to bring me meals, or words of encouragement, or love. To my husband who has to watch his wife, who used to be strong, in control, kept the house running, fall apart into a shell of who she used to be.

I don’t know if I am truly in “crisis”.  I think most days I am safe, I can’t hurt myself too badly, because my kids need me, my husband needs me, my sister says her life doesn’t work without me. But sometimes….. in the darkness inside…. I wonder if they all wouldn’t really be better off…..

 

 

 

What are you looking for?

Im often asked what my goal is, what I want…. Here’s what I want

I want to stop feeling. (Period, I could end there, but I won’t)….

Feeling sad

Feeling mad

Feeling bitter

Feeling resentful

Feeling  sorrow-filled

I want to stop feeling pity for myself

Feeling irritable

Feeling aggravated

Feeling slothlike

I want to stop FEELING.

I don’t want to feel happy because in order to feel the sweetness of happy, you have to feel the bitter sting of sad/mad etc.

Sometimes I miss the “old me”.  The me that was so anxious she was always busy, she got shit done, and baked a cake too.  Sure, she was irritable and demanding, wanted everything perfect on her time table, but she didn’t have time to “feel” anything real.

I want to be numb.  I don’t want to be sad. I don’t want to be down.  I want to feel nothing at all.  I am tired of worrying about my husband’s health.  I am tired of worrying about my kids’ schoolwork, my kids’ future, how much I am screwing them up.  Tired of worrying I will be like my mother – emotionally distant.  Or like my father bitter, angry, using my children for emotional support, emotionally abusive.

I am tired of being poor.

I am tired of being fat.

I am tired of everything hurting- especially my hip.

I am tired of my hands being so numb I can’t drive or knit, or hold a book for very long.

I want to just go to sleep…. And sleep until it all goes away…..

I just want to have a good cry sometimes, but I am afraid if I start to cry I will never stop. I look in the mirror (when I have to) and I don’t see the masterpiece that God made me, I see a sad, scared little girl.  Unloved, unwanted, ugly, fat and pitiful.

Written 2/28/1

 

 

 

Sadness that overwhelms

Some days you are just sad. Sometimes you can pinpoint what is causing you to feel sadness.  Sometimes you cant.

Today, I am sad.  So sad that my heart actually hurts. Some of the sadness I know comes from circumstances that are going on in my life. My husband is sick.  With what we still aren’t sure, it’s been going on for three years. He’s not the man I married, with energy, zest for life, positivity leaking from his every pore.  He’s tired, he’s sore, he’s angry and bitter. And now he has a severe herniated disk. We aren’t sure what this means for his job- he’s a small business owner and only employee as a mechanic. We aren’t sure what this means for his future.

Today my dad gets the 2nd part of his leg amputation.  An amputation that could have been avoided with better choices over the past 18 years.  He could have managed his diabetes better, he could have avoided diabetes in the first place. But he didn’t.

I am less than 2 months from the age he was when he was diagnosed.  I am overweight– no obese–. 4 years ago, I lost close to 100 pounds.  I was 35, I saw 39 coming and I wasn’t going to let history repeat itself for the 3rd generation. But here I am 46 days from turning 39, and 218 pounds. My fasting glucose this morning was 114. I am prediabetic. And only I can stop it. Diet and exercise.  But last year I hurt my hip, and though an MRI shows a tear in the cartilidge of my hip, and 2 doctors concur it needs fixing the surgeon who would be the one to fix it thinks the MRI was overread. I can’t work out it hurts to exist let alone pivot, lift and flex.  My hands and arms are constantly numb.  Not just when I write, type or knit, but while I eat my breakfast, while I drive, while I exist.

As a Christian I am supposed to remember all this is a refining, the process of sanctification.  That all things are working together for my good.  But I am a bad Christian.  I want this pain gone.  I want to drown the pain with food, with my medications.  I want to feel NOTHING.  I want to sleep.  Sometimes I want to go to sleep and never wake up.

I still think about hurting myself.  I still wonder if those around me would be better off without my crazy in their life. Would I be better off if my father hadn’t been in my life? If he had walked away and not let his scars from childhood scar me? Sometimes I really think that yes, I would have. Maybe I wouldn’t hate myself so much.  Maybe I would have more self worth.  Maybe I would understand God’s love for me. Maybe I would understand that it’s unconditional not dependent on a set of things that I have to do, or not do. I want to feel that peace of Him in my heart.  I want to know that it’ll all work out, that I am free.   That I am no longer a prisoner to myself, because of Him. But I don’t know how to find that. How do I let go? How do I let Him pick me up, carry me, and take my burden and pain? How?…..

No schedule to this…

I don’t know how often I will post here.  There are days I feel like I can barely breathe in and out, let alone put into words the things that I’m feeling, the things that are happening to me. 

When I was a little girl I could often be heard saying “let’s pretend”… it’s a good thing because I spend much of my life pretending.  Pretending I’m ok.  Pretending I’m not hurting.  Pretending I’m not thinking about hurting myself. Pretending I don’t feel like my family would be better off without me.  

After some talking with hubby we came to the conclusion I’ve been depressed for about three years.  Three years and I didn’t even realize it. I had been pretending so well I had faked it even to myself.  

What sort of role model am I to my children?  I’m so tired of pretending.  I’m not ok.  I’m not happy.  I’m sad. I think about hurting myself almost everyday.  I think about how much better off my children and husband would be with a mentally healthy mother and wife.

The email from my mother that I discussed last time – here’s what she said 

You were never diagnosed with hyperactivity .I was trying to restrict preservatives because I thought you were on the hyperactive side.(Bit of honey was my candy of choice for you) BUT I was never sure what you had been fed or how consistent your schedule was due to my working evenings. You were not defiant as I remember You were very sensitive and easily reasoned with however your father had little tolerance for childhood behavior as well as a lack of understanding in the need for schedules. This presented a challenge as it seemed to keep things stirred up.Mrs. R never reported any behaviors at nursery or kindergarden nor did any school teachers. (EXCEPT the one who complained you lick your lips to much).You had a tendency to hoard stuff, you did steal a lollypop at the store but other than that you were not a behavior issue. What I saw was a lack of consistent supervision and I don’t feel that some of the movies and places your father would take you was appropriate for a child.Some mental health issues are hereditary and some are parent or self inflicted.

She went on to talk about our family history with mental health issues but that’s their story to tell or not.  Suffice to say there are is a lot of history there.  

So she doesn’t think it’s “my fault”.  But I can’t help but think I’m dragging my entire family into this pit that I’m in.  At first I was trying to claw my way out – but now I’m sitting at the bottom of the pit rocking back and forth hoping I can get through the day. 

First blog post

I’m writing this on a Sunday morning, curtains drawn closed because I can’t stand the light.  It hurts. I’m sad today.  So sad it feels like the waves of the ocean are just bringing more and more sadness upon me.  The weight of the world sitting on my chest as I try to breathe in and out, to make it through today.

I started my morning by being woken up to the Big One and the Little One arguing.  I knew my day was already going to go badly.  I tried to cover myself back up and find a peaceful sleep, but I knew it wouldn’t come.  It rarely does without some pharmaceutical help.

So I got up.  I calmed the children and they decided to go outside to explore the woods behind our house.  Something I knew could end in disaster because they are like oil and water those two…. except in some ways so much alike, if they could only see it.

As they were outside I settled myself in my chair with coffee and Sally Clarkson’s new book “Different”.  A collaboration between her and her son a Nathan and their story of raising a child with abbreviated diagnoses after his name…. just like my kid…. kids…. I read the introduction, and a couple pages into the first chapter and my head was spinning.  Maybe this isn’t the right time to read this book.  Maybe it’s all too raw. My son has been diagnosed for years, but we are just starting the process on my daughter, and it was only last month that I received (finally) my diagnoses.

It prompted an email to my mom.  Pleading with her to tell me what I was like as a child.  Tell me was I obstinate, was I non-compliant, was I “bad”.  I already knew I was hyperactive… but maybe, just maybe it’s not all my fault.  Maybe passing my genes on to my children didn’t do all this…. maybe just maybe some of the guilt will lessen? Maybe some of this sadness I carry like Marley’s chains in Dickens’ A Christmas Carol will subside?

I wait patiently for her reply.  But I also wait with fear and trepidation, because in my heart I know, how can it be anything else but…. all.my.fault?

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