Ice is Better Than Steel

The ice maker was broken...or jammed...or something. I had to find a way to fix it, because the alternative was a sharp blade...and ice is better than steel.

I've come a long way.

Alone With My Sadness

In about thirty minutes, I have to be a mom. I will have to pull myself together and be the caring and attentive mother that my children need.

...but for now, I can just feel my sadness. I can just be downhearted and low. Behind my closed doors, I can be as gloomy as I feel without ruining anyone's joy. For now, I can close my eyes and feel hopelessness without having to find a way out of it. For now, I can sit on the floor and feel depression engulf me without having to do anything about it.

Back After Some Techncal Difficulties

So much for writing every day. It turns out that on Thanksgiving night, my internet, television and telephone service (I get them all through the same company) went out. After spending more hours than I care to on the cell phone with the cable company, it was determined that a technician would need to come out to fix the problem...next Wednesday night!

After I had succumbed to my involuntarily unplugged world, the internet mysteriously reappeared tonight! After I had already drunk a glass of port. I am not really in a condition to write. I am too sleepy from the wine and can't really formulate coherent thoughts. I just wanted to write...to string words together...to connect again.

Thanksgiving went better than expected. It turned out, company was what I needed.

My eyes are closing. I was not expecting to write tonight...but it sure feels good to be in my safe place again.

Are They Coming Now?

When my nephew's mother asked me what I was doing for Thanksgiving this year, I replied that I would probably cook and she and my nephew were certainly welcome. I make Thanksgiving dinner every year, so it was easy for me to say that. She said that if she didn't travel to see her mother, they would come over. Now, I am praying that she goes to see her mother.

Weeks ago, my next-door neighbor offered to come over with a bottle of wine when her daughter is in town for Thanksgiving. I happened to move next door to the parents of one of my son's close friends during high school. When she proposed this visit, I was quite open to it, as I wanted to spend time with the young lady as well as catch up a little bit with her mother. Today when I got home, she approached me to make concrete plans for this weekend. I almost panicked!

The truth is that I have a house full of boxes and am in no position to host or entertain anybody! Who in their right mind would ask somebody who moved less than two months ago to receive them in your home? The truth is that I would have preferred for my nephew's mother to have asked me to have Thanksgiving at her place...but really, I would rather she just go to see her mother, so I don't have to even try.

And my neighbor...oh my god...how do I even act normal? I haven't seen her kid since 2006. Seriously, what I wish is for these people to just scoop me up and tell me that it's OK to rest. I don't feel like I have anything to give to them right now.

Self-Care

I don't have much to say, but I decided that I would write every day until the next time that I see my therapist. It's not that I have a need to broadcast anything of importance or even to offload anything. It's just self-care. I have a need to write.

I'm going down, I know, and I won't see him until after Thanksgiving week - December 1st to be precise. Until then, I have to do the best that I can to keep myself afloat. The first thing I did was to call and make an appointment to see him. I needed to know that there was a specific date that I need to make it to. Having this appointment on the calendar lets me know that I need to hang on...but not indefinitely.

Next, I needed to figure out what would help me hang on until that date. In the past, writing has helped me get out of my head. I can scream, I can cry, I can get it all out of my head when I write. I also know that sometimes, in the past, I have been too depressed to even write. I have felt unable to reach out of my darkness, unable to put the hurting into words. I thought maybe if I just told myself to write every day, no matter how little or much I have to say, maybe even if I fell that low, I would still write, I would still reach out...just out of habit. It would just be part of going through the motions

I chose to write in this blog rather than in a private journal, because I also need to feel a connection. Once it begins, I tend to feed my depression with isolation. I don't want to do that. Writing in this blog means that sometimes people will read and leave comments. When they do, I know that I am not alone, and it feels like having a branch to hold on to.

So this is it, these are my steps toward self-care. I cannot believe that it is me writing this. I have come a long way. I have been here before, but like I wrote at the end of this post, I stand on different ground now.

What if I Popped a Pill?

As I doled out antidepressants of all types today at work (Zoloft for this one, Prozac for that one, Pristiq for him and Effexor for her), I considered...I entertained...I imagined that I could possibly also use one of these medications. There's even a super high dose one that you only have to take once a week!

I am tired and tired of fighting. It has been a turbulent couple of years, and it ain't even over yet.. I can use some help. Maybe, I just need something to get me through the rest of the fight, because I don't feel like I have the energy. Yet, by even admitting this, I feel defeated...as if making it without medication is winning some kind of fight...as if taking medication is losing. Yes, this is I, the pharmacist, the keeper of the drugs, the giver of the pills who feels this way.

I wondered today if life wouldn't be just a little bit easier if I took a little Zoloft, if I wouldn't have more energy with Prozac.

...or maybe I should just deal with my shit.

Insiduous Depression

Depression can really sneak up on you sometimes. Like when you are just trying to live your life, trying to keep up with the kids' schedules as well as your own. You are just doing all the musts and what-nots, and you talk to your kids. You respond to their questions, you give them directions...but they keep telling you that they can't hear you, they keep telling you to stop mumbling. You realize that you've been speaking at a level audible only to yourself and are keenly aware that you barely have the energy to project and repeat yourself. You're tired, you tell yourself, you should get more sleep...this has been going on for weeks.

Then, you drive fifty-five miles to a work location and realize that you've missed your exit and you're half and hour away from your destination. You will be late, and you want to cry. In fact, you try to cry, but you can't. You wonder where in the world your head was for twenty-five minutes!

You get to work...late...and are ready to burst into tears at any given moment. The entire shift, you want to leave...you want to sit somewhere quiet and private and cry it all out. You know it's coming, you feel yourself slowly falling...slipping, knowing you can't stop yourself...and you know that you're depressed.

Please, Nobody Read This

Tonight, I feel the need to bash myself, to harm myself, to punish and hate myself. I tried to counteract this with a cup of ice for my wrists and a warm bubble bath for the rest of my body.

Those worked to curb the urges, but the feelings still remain...so I'm writing...in order to understand.

For the first time in the history of this blog, I hope that no one reads this post, because I am going to be as candid as possible so that I can understand.

I can't unwrap myself from the from the feeling that I am bad, that I have done bad things, and that I should be punished. I am nauseated by the things I do in order to "keep the peace".

I don't always feel this way, but tonight I am feeling pretty dragging-in-the-gutter worthless. Somewhere out there, there is a higher part of my mind telling me that this is not true...of course it isn't true, but that's not the point. Right now, I can't reconcile that higher knowledge with the deep down gut slime that I feel inside.

Please, nobody read this.

I want to be on the floor hurting and punishing myself for being such a slime. Ughh. I'm not a slime, but why do I feel like one?

This isn't working. I still feel shitty, and tomorrow I will probably regret publishing this post. Please, nobody read this.

I Need to Talk

I've been sort of keeping it safe during therapy lately. I guess I've been afraid to have a really emotionally heavy session and then come home and feel like curling up into a ball. I have been overwhelmed with the responsibilities and work that my recent move has brought on, and I suppose I feel like I can't afford to come home and fall apart...so I keep it safe...but I need to talk.

Last night, as I struggled to fall asleep, I decided that I needed to at least write about the things that I need to talk about. Perhaps seeing the words on the screen, on the blog, will help me to stop hiding from them.

This is what I need to talk about:

1. My older brother is probably going to be in town for Christmas to visit his son. He will probably want to/expect to/assume he can stay at my house. I need help.
2. Why am I dragging my feet on replying to my lawyer's email? It's time.
3. Those damned fears. Just when I think I have them figured out, I get caught off guard by another trigger. This time it was the water. Normally, it's the darkness. It was daytime when I drove across the low bridge where the water came up incredibly close to the bridge. The lake was like glass that morning, and the view of the trees in their fall bloom was stunning...Yet, I panicked. Out of nowhere, I found myself tightly gripping the steering wheel and alternating between a flashback to a swampy place of my childhood and the gorgeous scenery where I truly was. In order to bring myself back as I drove across the bridge, I told myself to look at the gorgeous view. It was the kind that I would normally marvel at and take in. It's time for EMDR again.

I Can Never Go Back

He thought that we would stay married while living separately. I assured him that I had no plans of getting back together and intended to proceed with the divorce. Now he's back to not speaking to me...as if.

I can't even keep writing this post. It's exhausting. I'm just fighting the feeling that I've done something wrong. I haven't. I know that it would be wrong to ever go back with him again. It would be like walking into my death. So there is no other place to go, except to proceed with what I've already started.

I can never go back.