Fix You

I had a bit of a melt down last night. 

My kids and I had a nice day.  My son went to football practice, and I colored the tips of my girls' hair with chalk pastels (Thank you Pinterest).

It was beautiful outside, but I was stuck with too much down time.  You know what I mean...I had finished what I wanted to accomplish for the day, and I had been spending a lot of time with my children.  They were beginning to become bored with their Mommy, and needed some down time of their own.

I held off until my husband came home.

I held off until after dinner.

I held off until the kids were nestled in bed.

Then the waterworks began. 

Do I remember what caused my tears?  No.  Did someone say something?  I don't know.  Did I think of or remember something?  No idea?

I was suddenly bawling, snotting all over myself (attractive), and speaking incoherently.

My husband sat next to me: holding my hand, and wiping my unending tears.  Like usual, he didn't know quite what to say.  I mean, who would?  He gently tucked me into bed once I was as settled as I was going to be, and kissed me firmly on the fourhead.

When my husband was in Iraq, we emailed each other everyday, sometimes more than once.  It became our thing to send each other song lyrics: sometimes just as a guessing game, but more often than not, it was to share our feelings.

He sent me an email this morning.  The waterworks began again, but mostly because I was so relieved and thankful that I had been blessed with such an understanding, faithful, and strong husband.  He understand me.  He cares so much.  It helps more than anything.

FIX YOU

When you try your best but you don't succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse

And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

And high up above or down below
When your too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will fix you

-Coldplay

Now that there are only 7 short days left until Mohawk, Little Miss, and BB return to school, I am feeling very nostalgic, just like most parents.  The warm weather that allowed for playing in forest trails, running along the tops of hay bale rows, and playing with friends and cousins is slowly slipping away.

We are all looking forward to school: the kids want to see their friends and meet their new teachers, and I am looking forward a locked-down schedule. 

During my nostalgia, I have also come to a deeply sad conclusion. 

This has been, by far, the worst year of my life. 

Unfortunately, I am not exaggerating.

I know, "Debbie Downer," right?  It's not like I mean to be.

I'd much rather be Glad Gladys, Happy Hilary, Ecstatic Elsie, whatever...I digress...

You know when I mentioned at the beginning of this entry about playing in forest trails, running along the tops of hay bale rows, and playing with friends and cousins?  Um, yeah...

I didn't do any of that.  In fact, I barely watched my children do those fun, summertime activities. 

Yesterday, my husband volunteered to take our two young neices overnight.  I wasn't exactly thrilled (I wanted to grab his testicles and whisper death threats, actually), but I knew that it was our "turn."

Everything was going well.  The kids were outside playing after breakfast when I decided to join them.  I wasn't out there for more than 10 minutes.  I decided that it was all that I could do, but just before I went inside, BB turned to me and innocently said, " Mom!  This is the first time that you've been outside having fun with us."

Holy hell, what a guilt trip.  She didn't mean it as such, of course, but it struck me like a ton of heavy bricks covered with rusted steel spikes tipped in acid.

Okay, so sometime I do tend to exaggerate. 

My bipolar and anxiety disorders have robbed me of joyful times with children.  They have taken away memories that I can never replace.

Not only because I have difficulty pulling myself forward to make these memories, but also because it has been leaving large gaps in my my mind - my memory. 

I have been walking around this week feeling like I have forgotten half of what I did last week. 

I walked into the Little Miss and BB's room and saw that there were two beautfully colored pictures by their beds.  On closer inspection, I saw my name was signed. 

I have no recollection of coloring those pictures.

I asked my husband about it, and his reply was, "Yeah, you colored them the other night.  I thought it was weird, but I didn't say anything.  I figured it was keeping you quiet, so I shouldn't interrupt you."  - ha ha - Good one, shithead...

This morning I asked him what we did last night.  He cocked his head, and said, "You don't remember?  We made out on the couch like teenagers, quickly put the kids to bed, and made love like we hadn't in a long time."  His face flashed disappointment, sadness, and a bit of annoyance, before he composed himself: remembering that I have been upset about the gaps in my memory. 

Holy hell, did I feel like shit.  I mean, seriously.  If he would have said that he forgot the most passionate love-making session that we'd had in months, I would have gouged his eyes out with rusty spoons. 

Just kidding.  Kind of...

Anyway...as the school year approaches, I will do my best to make lots of memories with my children: hoping that I will remember at least a few snippets.

I don't seem to been getting my bipolar/anxiety under control (they take turns), and the meds just keep being added. 

Just hoping something will click soon....

Sleep is elusive

My doctor told me the most important thing in my recover (and in life in general) is to protect your sleep: to guard it as if your life depends on it.

Because it does.

Not getting a good night's sleep can affect every aspect of the following day, whether you notice it right away or not. 

It begins with shoving a pop tart in my kids' mouths on the way out the door, instead of taking the 10 minutes out of the morning it would take to fix them some eggs, bacon, and toast. 

I refuse to apologize for taking that time to enjoy a quick cup of scalding coffee while throwing on some mascara and dragging a tube of lip gloss across my chapped lips. 

After all, that's why there are locks on bathroom doors, right?

I have been wired all afternoon and evening, and even now, after settling down (relatively), the idea of sleep is incredibly elusive.  It might be the lack of sleep, but I swear the sandman, that little fucker, is peeking through my curtains, laughing at me, and doing his little lucifer dance on my annuals.

I can't deny that I am enjoying the quiet, but beyond that quiet is a day full of living that I'm going to have to get through. 

Protect your sleep, guard it with your life.  What happens if I don't even have the energy to do this?

Tired

My mind slowly began forming conscious thought as the cruel morning light seeped through a crack in the drapery.

 It was morning. 

It was another day. 

Another day that I was forced to crawl out from the safety of my strategicly blackened room and face those that depended on me to be normal, to be strong, to be their Mommy, to be a wife.

I hate the thought of wishing my days away; of wanting to hurry throught the weeks, just to get through.  I know in my heart these times are precious.  I should be savoring every second as my children change and grow, even on a daily basis.

Why the fuck is it so hard?

It just want to be left alone.  I just want to be ignored.  It's painful to be included, when I feel like I'm just an anchor being drug along because they can't let me go. 

A burden.

Oh, Christ on the cross, I just want to go back to bed!  It's 8:00am and I know the husband is already gone.  I can hear Little Miss and BB's footsteps: back and forth, back and forth on the upstairs floor.  Relentless. 

I want to scream, "Can't you just sit in front of the TV and zone out for hours like other children?"

However, that would just attract their attention, and I want to be ignored. 

It's now 8:36....9:02....9:17...  Man, I'd better get up because if it gets to be 10:00 and I'm not up, I'd be a real loser.

The clock is ticking for my husband to come, too.  What if I hear his pick-up pull in the driveway and I'm not up?  I'd have to throw off the covers, rush upstairs, pour a cup of coffee and take couple of scalding swigs to make it look like I'd been drinking it all morning, and grab something: laundry, fill the sink with water, soap, and dishes, throw a toilet  bowl cleaner in my hand.

But then he'd walk in and see my dead eyes and the sleep lines on my face.

Goddamn him.  Goddamn him for seeing right through me.  God bless him for seeing right through me. 

When I was in treatment at the Mayo earlier this year, the head of the department gave me the diagnosis of Severe Recurrent Depression with Generalized Anxiety Disorder.  Holy shit, that's a mouthful.  But at least with a "name," it felt like I could move forward. 

Hell, the Head of Psychology at the MAYO CLINIC diagnosed me!  He's got to be the best in the world right?  He's working for me, and he has to be right!  Right?

I left feeling like I was finally on top of this.  I had support there, I made friends there that knew exactly what is was like to suffer, and I had a husband and family that has been supporting me throughout this entire fight.  I was going to be okay, right?  Right?

Then, three days later my brother-in-law lost his leg in a motorcycle accident.  Our lives became consummed with advocating and caring for him.

Then, my grandmother suffered a fall which resulted in a subdermal hematoma (blood on the brain).  She needed brain surgery.  Our lives became consummed with advocating and caring for her.

I am happy to have been a part of their care.  I love my family.  I wouldn't have changed my part in their care. 

But...I lost my path.  I forgot how to care for myself. 

To make matters worse, my Psych. NP has given me a new diagnosis: Bipolar II due to the swings in my emotions. 

What the fuck?  When I think of bipolar, I think of people who go from being depressed and can barely get out of bed (guilty - today, in fact) to staying up all night and painting an intricate mural throughout their entire entryway and organizing their spice rack by size, color, and alphabetically.

I never get that hypomania. 

Shit, at least I'd be getting something done.

The light from the opening in the drapes has shifted so it is now slicing directly toward my face: my eyelids fluttering, my mind willing them to stay closed. 

I could just turn over, pull the covers over my head, and ignore the sunshine trying to rouse me to begin my day. 

It is such a tempting thought.  Then BB comes down and asks where to Kool-Aid is because she and her sister are going to color their hair. 

Well, shit.  Here comes another day.