Honestly.

I had ECT this morning. Now, it's this afternoon and I'm recuperating on the couch, watching a movie called "50/50." If you haven't seen it, I'd recommend it-just, maybe not on a day when you're keenly aware of your own illness.

Not too long ago I paused the movie and lurched off the couch and creaked down the hall to the bathroom. The boys had been playing for a bit and somehow I couldn't put it together where they were... Mind you, we live in a three-bedroom apartment. 

Standing in that hallway there was an open door to our bedroom on my right, a closed door ahead of me, and an open door on my left to the bathroom. They weren't in our bedroom or the bathroom and I couldn't remember what was behind the door in front of me.

I couldn't visualize BB's room. I could hear the boys playing and I couldn't imagine where they were. I forgot where his bed was, the blue mini-trampoline by the toy box and his bookshelf. I could hear their voices and had no idea the space they inhabited, the physical plane where they existed, what they could possibly look like behind that door.

My breath caught and the tears came. I stifled sobs and ducked into the bathroom, collapsing onto the floor in the dark. My nose ran. I wiped away tears and tried to keep quiet. Sucking air as I scrambled onto BB's plastic IKEA stool, I swiped at the door until it was mostly closed and slumped against the cabinet.

I was sick. I am sick. 

It's not usual for people to forget what their son's bedroom-a room they're in everyday-looks like. It's not usual for people to be getting IV sticks more than ice cream cones. When I can't remember what I read on the gym whiteboard or any part of the Super Bowl that I watched with the hubs, my gym friend, and our sons... it's not average. It's not a personality trait. It's a side effect. 

I'm sick. I'm sick and there's no cure. I can-I have-achieved remissions. I won't always be experiencing such dramatic side effects. I'm still sick. I'm still hitting up the pharmacy more often than most people visit The Olive Garden or some shit... I mean, you should see my medicine "cabinet." Honestly, I should be upgrading my storage options, 'cuz it's a cluster, I tell ya what.

Honestly. That word. It's a tough one for me. I have a difficult time gauging what's "honest" and what's "dramatic." Maybe that's because sometimes the honest truth is dramatic. Well, I don't want to be dramatic and I want to honest, so not only am I writing this post-I'm sharing some pictures that I've only ever shown to the hubs (well, he's not even seen some of them!).

So. Here goes. Some pictures. And more about my experience of being sick-not that I'm nearly as sick as some people! I know that it could be worse. I just want to be honest about how bad it is. I think a lot of it's about admitting to myself what I'm feeling... I've been opening up to some gym friends lately and it's a little confusing being so "chill" when I'm feeling so bad some days-ANYWAYS. Here goes.

I'm just gonna do it. (might've shared some of these before, just so ya know)

Heading into ECT w/ my hair net.
We put gowns over our street clothes
& cram all our belongings into bright green bags
that they leave at the foot of our bed during treatment.
Sometimes I'm lucky and get the Bair Hugger!

I got a butterfly IV today. Really easy stick too!
Took a picture to taunt the hubby-

Guess it's all about perspective, eh?
He's not one for needles-

Annual blood work does him in.
Kind of lucky that
I'm the "sick" one in that way!

Coming out of ECT.
This seems like my uniform of late-
striped cap, green sweater, Crocs!
It looks like I've been crying, although
I'm usually just misty-eyed post-anesthesia. 

Recovering last week at my parents' w/ BB
eating "yee-gurt" and watching Olympics.

Today.
Hard to see the goop on my temple from treatment-it's there.
Watching a movie about cancer made my cap feel way more "sicky!"
Hurt pretty bad post-treatment today.
Worst in a long time.
Getting a bit better now.

Found this from last month.
I can't remember exactly-I think we went
to the ER. The hubs claimed that he called
ahead and that they "had a room." Later
he admitted that he didn't know, he just told me
so to get me to the hospital.
Smart man.

So, I'm lying on the couch with a mass pillows and extra soft couch blankets (we're "couch blankets" people around here) and posting all these pictures... I feel like I've said something and not enough. Earlier, those sobs, that pain, I really, truly, deeply felt it. Now I feel numbed again. "It's not that bad" again.

Tapped for now.

Thank you. Love and hugs and gratitude and smiles. I'm getting back to "my life" more and more, hopefully that means more blogging. Even if it doesn't quite yet, know that I think of you all!

Bonus pic:

Made it to 29!
First official (29 yrs) bracelet :o)
PS: Good game in the background!

Hi Again

It's been a little over a week now since the hubster got laid off.

It's been rocky and at sometimes suspiciously smooth. A confusing mash of understanding and support jumbled up with grief and misdirected anger.

Already having been in the midst of a recovery period and trying to regain some of the balance I lost during the summer living with my family makes me feel more vulnerable. Not that unemployment at any stage of stability wouldn't be a nuke on anyone's life.

There has been some down swings along with a few upswings. The more problematic symptom has been anger. Outbursts, violence, bickering, and eventually the shame and sadness that usually follow my angry moments.

Thankfully the violence has been limited to slamming my fists on a table, flicking or throwing something (not at anyone or to break anything), and yelling. It's still embarrassing and I know that it stresses Baby Bananaface. The hubs and I aren't used to this level of... angst and expression. Being the types that don't just let things lie means that we struggle to shelve things in order to discuss them in a more appropriate way. Things just erupt wherever and whenever.

Even during these rough times, we know that we are committed to one another and strive to improve. We know things will get there. Baby steps.

The holidays are coming.

My nephew's birthday is Saturday. We haven't heard of any party or anything. Wouldn't be surprised if we weren't invited, or invited last minute with the hope of us not being able to make it sort of thing.

We are going to send him a gift and card in the mail tomorrow, just in case.

The journeys across state for Thanksgiving and Christmas are a little worrying. Expenses and potty training complicate things. Our little commuter car isn't something we like to drive over the pass-let alone put more miles on-and we hate to spend money on a rental right now. We shall see how things work out.


Off to errands and chores.

Thank you for commenting! I'm sorry that I can't respond to everyone lately or read around. I do miss everyone and look forward to catching up more thoroughly soon :o)

Acknowledge, Accept, Engage

Ya might think this will be a political post and it isn't. The truth is that I've been having a rough time and I haven't posted about it because I'm self-conscious about posting too often and/or posting incongruous posts. Well, that's life with mental health diagnoses. I can have glorious moments on family vacation and horrible lows all in the same week-or day.

So here goes.

The Friday before we left for our road trip I had my first full-on panic attack in months. My anxiety had been elevated for weeks and I think the pre-departure stress put me in a very vulnerable position.

The class that day was probably around triple the usual size because of an altered schedule that week. We were doing an exercise that involved many people dropping barbells almost in unison. That first round put me over. The tears came on, my body began shaking, my heart rate sky rocketed, and a flush came over me beyond my workout glow.

I grabbed my water bottle and purse, bounding into the front room to haphazardly open my emergency pill container that dangles from my wallet at all times. Between the shakes and my restrictive weightlifting wrist bands it was quite a task! After popping my pill I ran cold water over my hands and face before grabbing some frozen sponges and taking some time to walk around outside to calm myself. A friendly childcare/office lady talked with me during this time and helped me calm down as well.

Yesterday, I had to run out of a workout again.

I haven't been able to manage my anxiety the last several weeks and injuries preventing me from engaging in my workouts as I'd like have been quite upsetting. With the elevated anxiety I wasn't able to think straight and ask my coach for help scaling, instead I panicked when the workout began and subsequently walked out before a full blown panic attack struck.

I collapsed on the grass in the sun outside the gym and cried.

My coach hollered from the warehouse door to see if I was okay and I told him it was anxiety and that I'd be fine.

Later, after the workout, he asked if I wanted to talk about it. I started crying and shrugged my shoulders. He asked if the anxiety just "cropped up" and I told him that it had been a problem for a while. This time, it was more than anxiety though, the suicidal impulses have returned. I told him that I had some mental health diagnoses that involve anxiety and chronic suicidality. That these disorders require me to work out frequently at a certain intensity or things can get dangerous for me. My injuries have been gumming that up.

He thanked me for talking to him and I thanked him as well. A couple other folks inquired as to my well being and wished me well.

I love the support I've received there. It does freak me out that I'm experiencing such intense symptoms where I feel most safe. I can understand it, sure, I'm just concerned that I can't even relax at my relaxing place.



I'm very scared. The dips are persisting longer than they have in a long time. I've had suicidal episodes since moving here, they were acute though. This is a different animal. A slippier animal.

The hubs has pushed things into high gear looking for alternate housing. I've been trying to avoid my family as much as possible. I still need to pull out my DBT book and focus on really working some skills...

My brain is slow yet my thoughts are fast.

My body is weary yet I can't relax.

I have to acknowledge this isn't just a little dip. I've had a few intense episodes since the move and this isn't that. It's been a slow, sneaky descent. I find it more difficult to recognize the dark logic as my disease and I'm starting to romanticize suicidal ideations.

I feel like I'm walking a very dangerous line. I feel desperate. I am afraid. And I'm crying at the drop of hat-more and more in public and when driving (not exactly safe).

Moving here was a bad, bad idea. I came in with the best intentions, trying to tamp down the fear and focus on meeting the challenge, but I have to retreat.

Over and over I think, "my family is killing me," and it haunts me. I feel guilt. I feel anger. I don't think they mean to and yet a sense of victimization overwhelms me. It isn't fair. Why me? So many other people have it so much worse... It's so messy. It's so hurtful. They aren't safe. This can't be malicious, you can't hold them accountable for ignorance... I feel like they would be offended and confused to hear this and yet I can't deny it. I don't want to hurt them, I don't want to blame them (though it is so hard to delineate between fact and blame for me)... but a cut needs to be made. I need to excise this threat.

Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain for staying, pain for leaving.

I suppose my brain chemistry at the moment doesn't help either.



Hope this isn't too incoherent. Thanks for being here, from vacation to crisis :o)

One of those "anger release" exercises...

WARNING: EXTREMELY LONG POST!

Seriously, it's really long.

If you have to pee, pee now.

So... I had intended to do a different anger releasing writing project and instead I found myself "gifted" with a new starting point today. I ended up mixing some of my previous complaints with the newer ones. It might be a little confusing-somehow in my process I blended multiple members of  my family into one. No matter. The process is the important part. 


DISCLAIMER: I tried to embrace my anger. I tried to fan the flames. I tried to dig up compacted rage. As intentional as this is, I am still quite uncomfortable with expressing my anger. I don't know if such phrases are effective. I don't know if it's rational or justified or something I can stand by... I'm trying not to judge myself and I hope you can withhold judgment as well :o) I don't like saying mean things. I empathize and I see both sides so much that I struggle to even own thoughts like these let alone express them on paper, screen, or out loud!

DISCLAIMER PS: The hubby has encouraged me to embrace a "go fuck yourself" mentality. Instead of being hurt and trying to figure out what's wrong with me or how to be good enough, reject the hurtful opinion. Think or say "go fuck yourself" instead of throwing myself under the bus or putting myself at risk for relapse. I don't have to analyze every comment... I can let it go. Push it away. So, I tried to embrace that. In real life I don't really say, "go fuck yourself." Ever. Very weird feelings... Anywho. Just sayin.


Here we go. Somehow an offhand comment set my off...



Maybe you thought it was a compliment today when you said I should be on that show, "American Grit." The thing is, when the host describes the show as a place for people "all who either have lost their grit or never had it" I don't take that as a compliment. 



A) How the fuck can you think that I don't have grit? Do you have that little appreciation for what I've survived? 


It's puzzling to me that you have never seemed to grasp my mental health issues. It's been over 15 years since my symptoms surfaced and yet it seems like you still struggle to acknowledge my disease. I mention something relating to my mental health and I'm greeted with a "deer in the headlights" stare. My husband says that he has given up on trying to explain that this type of illness can't be "cured," that it's part of my body chemistry and brain structure. Do you really think I'm not trying hard enough to "fix it?" Do you think that I'm lazy?

Maybe you don't appreciate the years of my childhood and young adulthood spent in quiet desperation. The years of self-harming and isolation. You pegged me as "the Eeyore of the family." Why does my mental illness define my personality? 

Maybe you didn't notice my instability. You didn't notice my disease sending me into months of darkness or jerking me into weeks of elation. Years of feeling like I couldn't be trusted with my own life; whether that meant wanting to kill myself or being aware that I was too starry-eyed to make responsible decisions. I was impulsive and unstable and trying to figure out a solution all on my own... I suppose these deep-rooted feelings of rejection and abandonment have grown from multiple seeds, I'm sure this is one of them though. You didn't know what to do, I get it, maybe if it felt like you tried I wouldn't feel this angry. I wouldn't feel this heartbroken. You turned away from me and fed my self-disgust. 


And what of the last couple years? Do you appreciate the fact that I spent months barely able to care for myself or my infant son? What about the period of time that I couldn't be trusted alone with my son? Surely you remember the weeks in the hospital. I'm told you visited. I know that you helped drive me to ECT treatments. Do you know how many times the hubster drove me? or drove BB north to daycare then drove south to work then drove west to see me in the psych ward before rushing back to BB and caring for our son throughout the evening-multiple wakings in the night-before waking early to do it again all on his own? (Hubby comment: he only got one speeding ticket!)

Do you see the scars we carry? The scars that bind us? That time broke trust and built trust. I couldn't be trusted with my life or with my son's life. He saved us. Why does the hubby ask so openly and abruptly if I'm safe? if I'm suicidal? if I feel out of control? because dozens and dozens of times I've been in danger. He's been rescuing me. That was our norm and we've made it through. We've made it through and are making a new normal from scratch. Your jokes and teasing about his protectiveness and adherence to routine aren't just annoying, they're insulting.

How can you imply that I don't have grit? Over a year of life-threatening postpartum depression, over a dozen medications tried to stem the crisis, over three weeks in the hospital, over thirty ECT treatments... I'm still here. I laid on a bed and waited for my last breath to try and spare my husband and son a lifetime of trying to save a life I thought wasn't worth saving-mine. My husband ripped that plastic bag off my face and saved my life that afternoon and despite having close to no resolve left, somehow I kept fighting. For him. For my son. And a little for me.

How much more grit do I have to have before I can believe you think I'm enough?

I can't count on that anymore. I can't wait to sense some change in you. I can't play these pussy-footing games of allusion and corroding criticism. I may have started my life in this game with your dangerous rules. I won't finish my life at your game. You can call me sensitive, you can tease me and imply that I'm weak, you can make me feel like I'm flawed beyond salvaging-and then you can go fuck yourselves. Just because you don't seem to realize the damage you cause doesn't mean you are devoid of responsibility. 

I don't need your apologies. I don't need you. I don't need more grit.




B) Do you have that little appreciation for how much I do everyday to try and avert relapse and continue to survive? What kind of grit does that take?


You give the impression that the most important aspect of my exercise regimen in my weight loss and being fit. Maybe all your comments about me "being in the best shape of your life" or "a sliver of what you used to be" are intended to be compliments. In reality? It feels like weight added back onto my shoulders. I feel pressure to lose more weight. To lift heavier weight. To tone more parts of my body and fit in smaller clothes and eliminate rolls and embody some image that you, society, and the shadowed part of me have deemed worthy of pride. 

It's not healthy.

My mental state is more important than the state of my ass. I exercise every day to try and maintain my mood stability or actively battle back anxiety and depression. I go to the gym despite my social anxiety, despite feeling inept and insufficient, despite feeling like an outcast and poser. I go to the gym and try to push myself hard enough to be able to push back the disease I will live with for the rest of my life.

It doesn't really matter how much I can lift. The kind of strength I need most can't be provided by regular exercise.


You tease me for my "OCD" while loading the dishwasher or trying to keep the refrigerator organized. Okay, that's not how you do things. Fine. I do it different and for a damn good reason. 

I'm not OCD-which is a  clinical disorder and not something to be joked about-I am sick. I am sick in such a way that I have to avoid any extra stress whenever possible. I am sick in such a way that I have to be mindful throughout my day about big and little choices-from doing dishes or taking medication. 

I am sick in such a way that unloading the dishes and finding several of them dirty because the machine was overloaded or loaded ineffectively can be unduly upsetting. I'm sick in such a way that having sharp knives scattered throughout the other silverware instead of contained in their own section can increase my impulses to self-harm. 

As for a disorganized and sometimes unsanitary fridge or a cabinet stuffed with mismatched Tupperware? If I'm having a bad day, opening a door and being confronted by these things can send me into a panic or distress me in a way that contributes to a depressive episode. Not to mention feeling the criticism and rejection from you verbal teasing in each carelessly placed item. And seriously-why would you want to put your fruits right by (or on) your raw meat!? 


I have to live this way to live. It's working for me and that's what matters-at least to me, my husband, and our son. Don't think that I resent it-it is a lot of work and it's also the greatest sense of stability that I've ever had in my life. My mental state may fluctuate and get dangerous from time-to-time; dinner will always be at 6:00 PM. The silverware will always be sorted and easily accessible. The yoghurt will always be on the same shelf. Baby Bananaface will always have a set bedtime. That stability, having something I can count on, gives me comfort and confidence that I didn't have before. It helps me cope, it helps me thrive.

You want to live in a hurricane made by your own hand? Go ahead. You want to swallow your feelings and eat your loneliness? Go ahead. You want to bury yourself in cheap trinkets in lieu hearing "I love you?" Fine. I'm sick of trying to satiate the needs you don't claim responsibility for or even acknowledge. I'm not interested in maintaining this legacy of delusion and self-imposed suffering. I take this heritage and try to set it aside day-after-day for my own good and for my husband and for my son.

Y'all can sit in your burning building on your own. I'm leaving.




Whew. I tried NOT to edit much. I tried NOT to hold back or censor. I'm sure that this isn't everything though. I have a hard time handling anger. I think this was a step in the right direction though.

What does this mean for the real relationship with me family? I have no clue. I do think that I can't expect them to change or expend too much of my energy fighting to change things. I have to take care of myself in other ways first and that takes a lot of my time and energy. I think it's all right to simply accept things and accept that I don't have to fix it. I can move on and live the best life that I can without making everything neat and perfect.

CONGRATS if you read this entire post.

 You have eyes of steel ;o)

Happy/Sad Days

Last week I got to graduate from my DBT therapy. Wednesday the 1st was my last group night and Tuesday the 7th was my last individual meeting. I can still contact my therapist if I need help or need a random session. Still, it was a goodbye rather than a "see ya later."

Saying goodbye to my classmates was more emotional than I expected. I knew that I would cry, I just didn't expect to be sniffling and stuttering and seal-barking hardcore crying like I was!


For DBT graduation we each hold a seashell and share our thoughts and goodbyes to each graduate before they get to hold the shell and give their goodbyes to the class. I started crying while people gave me their goodbyes and when I started into mine the dam really broke. Before I even addressed the class I gave them all individual cards and handed the instructor my bin of "special prizes" for the weeks when they get double homework or when they get to play Jeopardy for module reviews. It was a good feeling.

I got so many great compliments. People spoke about how different I am now compared to when I first started. I don't slump and mumble anymore. My shoulders are back and I'm a beaming light and I take up the whole room with my laugh-it was so sweet. They talk about how supportive and friendly I am. How hard I've worked at the skills. How different class will be without me.

My therapists each called me a "community maker." That meant a lot to me. For so long I've battled loneliness and felt so isolated. Now I initiate conversations with acquaintances and strangers. I reach out and don't worry about reciprocation. I'm not paralyzed by fear anymore. I'm me. Take it or leave it.


My individual therapist also talked about how much has changed over the past year. How she was really worried about me being able to do DBT with my history of ECT. When I started DBT I was still doing ECT. She said that they'd never encountered anyone who had done ECT that could effectively learn DBT-until me. She called me an anomaly. Special. It was magical. I felt like a diamond. It meant so much to have someone point out just how much I've battled through. How I've beat the odds.

I'm a success story. I want to stay a success story. One day a time.


We have done so much trying to get me back to good since Baby Bananaface was born. Medications, therapies, inpatient, outpatient, ECT, TMS, DBT, exercise. The medications have been a part of my recovery, sure, though I really feel like the DBT and my gym routine are what saved me.

For my birthday I got to share my thanks with my gym instructors and last week I got to share my thanks with my DBT community. I'm so happy that I'm in a place where I can share like that as well as acknowledge how far I've come.


Whew. So many emotions! Anywho. That happened. :o)

My Birthday! (yep, it's a long post)

My birthday was yesterday and went pretty dang well, I must say. It was a busy day, but a happy day!


I started off my day at the gym, like usual. I took a class from one of the instructors I had given a card to and was a little anxious about what her reaction might be. She wished me happy birthday and then later on in class she sidled up to me and said, "By the way, your card was amazing."

She went on to say that her son saw the picture I drew and said it was so good they should frame it. She mentioned how much it meant to her and how sweet it was of me. We chatted a bit more and I felt really good and relieved that my card had been well received!

At the end of class she came up to me again and handed me an envelope. "I totally had this before you even gave me your card, I swear!" I opened it and saw a lot of writing so I decided to wait and read it in my car.

The message was so sweet. She mentioned how happy she was for me and how she was so proud of all the progress I've made and just amazed at how far I've come and what I've been through (I had shared my story with her before, so she knows about the whole twisted tale). She went on to say that she hoped I had a wonderful birthday and that she hopes to be around for my next birthday to see just how far I go this year.



I went home and relaxed a bit. Took a bit of extra time to pick out a "nice" outfit, do my hair, even put on makeup! I had class that afternoon and right before I worked up my courage to write a Facebook post that I had been contemplating... It included a selfie and blurb about what this birthday means to me as well as a thank you to any friends, family, providers, instructors, etc. that I hadn't thanked yet. It was a bit scary but felt so good (since then it has been well received so I feel relieved and encouraged!).

I picked up Baby Bananaface and we headed to the hubster's office. I had picked up chocolates as a Valentine's Day surprise and haphazardly hid them around his office (I also hid some around his morning routine route, he had to find 14 little individually wrapped chocolates all together).

We continued on south and met my parents, my sister, and my nephew for dinner. My brother couldn't make it but it did send along a card and that meant a lot to me. I made sure to say a formal thanks to my family for all that they've done to help me make it to my birthday. My mom and I cried but it was a good cry!

One of the highlights of the dinner was playing Soundball while we waited for the check. It is a game I learned at DBT and entails throwing an invisible ball to random people in the group-but that's not all. Before someone throws the ball, they have to repeat the sound that the person throwing it to them made up. Then they have to make up their own silly sound for the next person to repeat.

Things got serious. Lemme tell ya! We were laughing til we had tears in our eyes! Some of the noises were quite challenging and odd. By the end of it we weren't even doing the ball-throwing motion, but including our own random movements for the next person to mimic along with the goofy sounds! It was really fun and I really enjoyed myself.



The hubster and I a rather interesting conversation on the way home from dinner. My mom had made a comment at dinner that I'm "a completely different person" now and it made me wonder, who am I really? What was I before if not myself?

The hubby, as usual, seemed to have an answer without even needing time to mull it over.

He said something along the lines of, "I think you were repressed before. It was more than just the depression and anxiety being out of control. You weren't able to be yourself, your true self, for a long time."

This stirred my mental pot further. I was confused and concerned about how bubbly and energetic and social I've been. Maybe my birthday thank yous mission and cards were creepy or over-dramatic. I wondered aloud, "What if this isn't really me and I'm actually hypomanic right now?"

"Ahh. Well that's a good point. I think, though, that if you were hypomanic you'd be having sleep issues. You'd be more focused on big to-do lists and pursuing lots of projects and overextending yourself. You would have lost focus on what's important, what's healthy."

"So maybe, I'm not being hypomanic, I'm just not quite comfortable with me being... me yet? Like it's still unfamiliar and feels unsafe? That would make sense." I smiled and then frowned with further concerns. "But wait, if I wasn't me before, why would you have married me? Was I just depressed and awful all the time? How could you know the real me if I wasn't the real me?"

He laughed and smirked in his special way, patting me on the leg. "Because the good times were amazing. When we met, you were doing well. You'd talk about fun little chats and moments with the customers at the bank you worked at all the time. You gave me notes and doodles and little surprises. Sure, when the bad times came you were different, but I always knew the good side-the real you-that was underneath. It's been there all along."



It's all still confusing and a bit "who's on first" to me, but that chat felt really good and helped clear a lot of things up. I've still got a ways to go when it comes to accepting myself and building the confidence that will help me maintain my stability and life a successfully happy and healthy life, but I'm headed in the right direction. Day-by-day I'll get there.

It makes me cry thinking about how long he's been there for me. Recognizing and appreciating just how much he's helped me through, how he's stood by side and believed through it all that we'd find the real me through all that darkness. His faith and strength and resolve is stunning.

He's taught me so much about what love really is and I look forward to learning even more together. I really can't ask for anything more. He is my hero and so much more than I ever imagined a husband could be. Nobody's perfect, but I think we're perfect together and that's all that matters.


Thank you for all the birthday wishes :o)

Happy Valentines Day everybody :o)

Bumpy and Confusing

No, I'm not talking about a skin condition! I'm talking about a few of my days this week being bumpy and confusing.

It all started out with a bit of snit between me and the hubby. He was hangry and I was feeling confrontational. It was a little fun arguing (we don't do that very often) but it was also out of my comfort zone. It's difficult for me to argue without taking things personally and exacerbating insecurities. We worked through things but I was left shaken and off balance.

The next day was rough for me. I started noticing my mood sliding and negative self talk flaring up. The hubs and I talked more and tried to work through it but I was down. No question about it. The confusing part? I was down without being bottomed out. It was a feeling bad without feeling suicidal, hopeless, or having the urges to harm myself-it was a more normal down. I had a bad day without having a crisis!

In a way it was good to be able to just feel bad and not feel in crisis, but it was definitely odd and confusing for me. I took things a bit easier and tried to simply experience the emotions without overthinking and worrying about a relapse. It was tough, a little scary, but I made it.

I remembered to use my DBT skills along the way. Even reached out to a gym instructor to help battle back some of the negative self talk I was experiencing. (I was beating myself up for my chunky legs and not having perfect form or working the right muscle groups 100% of the time-classic Hannah hating on Hannah/perfectionism stuff)  It really helped hearing that I'm doing a good job and it was also really helpful to connect with someone instead of feeding feelings of not belonging and isolating like I was inclined to do.

So here I am Friday after a few rough days feeling like I'm coming outta the woods with a new victory to add to my books. I can have bad days without it being a crisis, or dangerous. I can experience emotions without things getting out of control! It's okay to take it easy sometimes and let things work out.

I can.

Booyeah!


In other news, it's been way cold and icy here. I'm over all the windshield scraping and slick parking lots! We don't usually have this many days below freezing and it's getting old! It's not normal for 40 degrees to feel warm, at least in our neighborhood.


Wishing everyone a happy and pleasantly warm weekend :o)

Sunday Review/Happy Monday!

Yesterday was the 15th anniversary of 9/11 and even though I had been thinking of the event all week, I honestly forgot about it that morning until halfway through my walk with Fio.

It was a beautiful morning and I found myself feeling so grateful that I could be taking a peaceful walk without fearing for my life, even swapping content "good morning" greetings with my neighbors. We're just about strangers to each other but we're also countrymen with an undeniable link and that's so important to remember.

The radio station I happened to have on played the anthem on the hour all day and the hubs and I both really appreciated it (even got a little teary!) despite not being in love with the version they selected... but Whitney Houston's take on the anthem grew on us during the day I think.

I always end up feeling very grateful even though there are also many dark feelings like fear and anger that come along with these anniversaries.

Speaking of anniversaries, Sunday also happened to mark 5 months since I attempted to take my life. I still feel like I'm "sick" and frustrated to still be striving for some undefined "all better" or sense of feeling good enough (but really, even when I'm "healthy" I'm not sure if I've ever been able to maintain a sense of feeling good enough). I think that's a really complicated aspect of my mental health, but someday I hope to be at peace with myself and really, truly accepting my best as good enough.

All that said, I think I've made a lot of changes and my baby steps are adding up to many positive shifts in my health and my life. I still have hard days and I still wonder if I can hold it all together, but more and more I find myself believing in my own strength and appreciating the little things that I'm able to do now that I just couldn't manage those several months back-even simple things like getting out of the condo, feeding myself, and doing chores.

We didn't do anything specific to commemorate the date but the hubs and I were both contemplative and able to appreciate our family hike and time together a little more than usual :o)

Here are some fun pictures from the trail: a cool frog I spotted, a family selfie, and some goofy pics. Also, another selfie from story time at home that night.

Many emotions and ups and downs but overall a good day.

So far, my Monday is going well. I was feeling well enough to cancel the ECT appointment I made "just in case" last week. There were a few pretty bad days last week that made us think I might need a treatment to get the suicidal thoughts to subside, but I think I'm transitioning out of the darkness-at least I'm working hard to try and make that happen!

Anyways, the ECT staff and TMS staff have been very helpful and supportive and I'm so glad to have them as part of my treatment. It's amazing how such wonderful people manage to be in some of the darkest spots of life and brighten things up no matter how bad things get.

Happy Monday all!

I can't decide...

I have noticed a lack of pictures on my phone as far as Baby Bananaface is concerned and so tonight I took the opportunity to snap some photos while he was looking particularly relaxed and cute. Unfortunately, I cannot decide which photo I like best... Perhaps y'all can help me decide? They are each just a little different but all have smiles and Bubba chillaxing in his diaper with his afternoon milk and binky :o)

Vote for your favorite in the comments!

#1

#2

#3

I also cannot decide exactly what I'm so anxious about this afternoon/evening, but unfortunately I am anxious. I think it has something to do with the plans I have with my mom and sister tomorrow to go to a festival that we used to go to with my Aunt Sally. Having a pending activity/plans that violate my routine gets me anxious and I think the memories stirred up around Aunt Sally and my continued grieving is also mixed up into the mess of emotions.

I've been able to cope pretty well without meds so far, a little bit of an angry outburst and some discomfort but overall I've been using my DBT skills and taking care of myself pretty well, but boy howdy, these geysers of emotion erupt from time to time and give me little frights! It's usually a geyser of fear or anxiety but sometimes it's just extreme sadness or sensitivity and the sensation stops me in my steps, takes my breath away, and gives me a healthy dose of fear and doubt about whether or not I can handle the emotion or potential panic attack. Thankfully telling myself that these are feelings or thoughts and that they will pass has helped and I haven't succumbed to any panic attacks or losing myself in grief or other intense emotions today, but it's uncomfortable and draining.

Anyways. That's part of what's going on with me while I cope with these symptoms tonight. Been having a lot of days and nights like this lately and thought I'd give you a little glimpse!

In other news, we had a cloudy, rainy day here in the Pacific Northwest and it was lovely. I got to sip some coffee, watch the clouds, and read out on the porch and even enjoyed walking through some rain showers. A lot of people have been excited about the hot weather we've had this spring and early summer so far but I have savored this cooler bout much more than any of those record breaking heat wave days.



Hoping all you blogging buddies are well and sending affection and happiness. Thanks for reading and commenting. I really appreciate this internet community and refuge, especially on these challenging days :o)

Okay, That's Quite Enough Now...

Had ECT earlier today. The hubby dropped me off and my dad met me there and afterward we went out for lunch (we both have a thing for Port of Subs' #5 smoky cheddar, turkey, and ham sub and I have a thing for McMenamins' salted-caramel hazelnut tart and wouldn't ya know it right down the street from my condo we have both those restaurants so we were able to have exactly what we wanted for our main course and dessert! They served some killer coffee and just as I predicted, Dad really enjoyed the dessert as well-he has a thing for caramel and hazelnut.) Anyways, that's all fine and dandy, but my memory has been a bit troublesome this afternoon.

The doctors and nurses have been asking me if my memory has been giving me grief and I have been replying that it's a little rough right after treatment but I bounce back pretty quickly and it's not too bad overall. Well today, things were really rough afterward. I was more disoriented and struggled to recall memories more than ever before. Whether it was telling the recovery nurse what day it was or picking up what my dad was alluding to going on next weekend (BB's birthday) I was having a tough time. Even now, as I sit in my living room looking at BB's giant elephant stuffie I had a struggled to remember where the hell we got the thing (Ikea) and at lunch throughout our conversation I had a tough time recalling memories and stories that Dad brought up.

Basically, I'm getting more concerned and upset about my memory troubles and thinking that I'm getting to the point where I need to take a break from ECT. I'm not sure if I've quite got to the point where I've maxed out my benefit but I think I've got to the point where I need to lay off the zaps for a while. I can't remember exactly how many sessions I've had but I think I'm to the point where the docs have people take a break because they seem to getting concerned about my... noggin.

So that's going on and I'm also a little upset because I totally forgot that the hubster is in school online right now and I haven't asked how he's doing or offered any support, so I feel pretty shitty about myself as a wife at the moment.  I'm feeling better about myself as a mother since I've been playing and cuddling and changing Baby Bananaface more lately as my mood has improved with treatment (yay) and even as a pet-mom I've been more friendly as things have improved.

Oh, did I mention that I forgot to get the hubby a Valentine's Day card? More negative points in the wife category! Although we've been screwing around more so he's not totally getting the short stick lately....

Anyways. I'm feeling scared, disoriented, upset, and forgetful and although I want my mood to improve a little bit more I'm coming to accept that it's time to take a break soon.

In other news, I'm hoping to read more WEP stories soon and there is also something going on with one of my friends from inpatient; one of the guys texted me earlier letting me know that one of the girls is in another inpatient unit around our neck of the woods. I was already planning on contacting her to talk about DBT since I have an intake appointment for a DBT group next week and she's been through a DBT skills course but now I'm even more motivated to catch up with her and find out how she's doing.

So that's some of what's going on with me... and now I'm going to mix up some hummingbird sauce and get back to watching some "Brisco County Jr.". Kind of an obscure, short-lived TV show from the 90s but one of my favorites. As a little girl I had a crush on Bruce Campbell and he was also in this series called "Burn Notice" more recently that the hubby and I enjoyed watching together. He also did those... uh, what are they called... (memory struggles, give me a moment to Google) Evil Dead flicks. I'm not as into those because I'm not really into scary/creepy/ooky stuff but I understand that they are quite popular and have a cult following.

Anyways, off to do my hummingbird sauce! Hope that everyone is doing well, I can't remember if I've kept up with my blogging buddies' blogs lately or not but I'll certainly be trying to catch up when I get the time :) just know that you're on my mind even if I can't recall so!

Memories

Tonight was my aunt's memorial. It is remarkable how surreal it felt despite the many years I've been preparing for her departure. Knowing she would leave us prematurely didn't prepare me for being in her home, being surrounded by family and friends and memories but no aunt.

Being fresh out of the hospital myself I was feeling pretty raw. It's not typical in my family to be blubbery but I couldn't help it and thankfully I wasn't alone; my cousin, uncle, and mom were all emotional too. Good riddance. I am glad we could all appreciate the impact my aunt had in our lives, I'm glad it wasn't minimized. That happens a bit too much in my family.

Somehow the memorial brought up a lot of emotions regarding my hospitalization and depression, my frustrations surrounding being sick and struggling in my own life; feelings of shame and concern about getting my life in order and being there for my husband and son and family. Somehow the horror of my depression, the potential of my suicide, was only revealed in the shadow of my aunt's death and weighed upon me this evening.

The hubs reassured me that I'm doing all the right things; ECT, therapy, medication, hospitalization, we're looking into NAMI support groups, childcare. It's a bit overwhelming, I feel like I'm a bit outmatched but I also see his point, I can only do so much at a time, all the right things still take time to fall into place.

In the mean time, I must be kind and gentle with myself. I'm still in the midst of intensive ECT treatment and adjusting to life outside the hospital again... Life's twists and turns, I tell ya.

Here and....

Queer. That's a good word for it. I don't feel sick/crazy and yet part of me, somehow I know that I'm sick/crazy. It's a queer feeling. A powerless feeling yet threatening, like if the dark side gets to powerful suddenly I'll be a suicidal raptor no one can catch.

Even that paragraph was flippin' queer as hell---and they ain't even changed my drugs or nuthin.

So that's a taste of where I'm at.

Talked with the doctor today and there is a newer drug option or the ECT option or the TMS option.

Talked with the hubs and BB (well, ya know, he crawled all over the conversation) and we decided this time ECT is where we need to go with treatment.

It's a bit scary. The procedure, a little bit, but the possibility of success and the pressure of having a life to live is scary too. I am in a place where I've given up, I'm all out not all in, the possibility of taking back responsibility for a broken life when I've been prepared to hand it over like an expired credit card...

Lots of confused feelings.

Funny food note (cuz that's what I do when I'm in a hospital) I ordered angel food cake with raspberry sauce and got a teensy container of raspberry sauce. I guess I circled the sauce part but not the cake? It was pretty funny seeing the conspicuous space for the cake part on my tray. I think someone was feeling crabby down in food services! No cake for Hannah!

Jello tomorrow. Orange. :)



Thanks for reading as I figure this out.

Actually, Really Slippery Stuff (long post about a hike gone wrong)

So the hike.

It started out in glorious fashion. The rain misting and then falling heavily til big glops fell from our hoods and hat brims, the trail coursing with run off between the massive sopping trees alternately covered in lichen and moss and fungi or stripped clear and beaten smooth with rain water. It was lovely. I was hopeful, energized, curious, and motivated to make a new summit.

We hit the first section of talus and found ourselves exposed to the wicked winds of the higher elevations. The hubby had been using an umbrella to shield Baby Bananaface from the rain but it now half-flipped out and became useless. Fearing the upcoming exposure and wind further up the trail, the hubster said he didn't think we could go on. I really wanted to. I hadn't summited a new peak in years and he had told me I could this. We decided to split up.

***Yes. I know, bad idea. We were very much aware of this after the fact, with the hubster regretting his decision to give me his watch and set me loose almost immediately as he hiked down and back to the car***

The first part of my solo hike went pretty well. The trail through the next talus slopes were hard to discern but I found my course and kept a decent pace. I enjoyed the wet, rocky section with orange tinted sand and rock, streams of water flowing over my yellow stone road. I felt good, I felt like I was going to make the summit and achieve something. It would be an analogy for my life, some sort of example I could live by as I practiced setting boundaries and taking care of myself.  I rearranged my hood under my waterproof hat borrowed from the hubs and cinched the strap tight to my jawbone to combat the wind and went forth into the harsher elements, accepting the challenge.

Along the way I met other hikers. One nice lady told me there would be a little ice and snow near the top, I thanked her for the heads up. Another told me to make sure I shut the door on the lookout tower and do not open the shutters. I reassured him that I would make sure it was shut and took comfort in the fact that he seemed to think I could make it.

It wasn't long before I encountered snow and thought of the woman's words-I must be getting close to the top! Little did I know that first small patches of snow and ice would be quickly replaced by large swathes of snow and a pathway of wet, icy snow and then packed icy snow each speckled with sharp rocks and large boulders. I hate hiking on snow period but without gloves, sticks, or microspikes? I should've turned back. I should've turned back so many times....

Instead, I kept going. I was stubborn. I wanted it. The hubs said I could make it. He said, "turn back at 1:00 pm," so I should make it by then. The man told me to shut the tower door, the women told me of the snow, I should be able to do this. I scrambled forward.

After half an hour of climbing over rocks, snow, boulders, and ice, with my bare hands in my pockets as often as I could balance or scramble without them, my once-waterproof jacket sopping and cold, the wind blowing up the side of the mountain in a fierce fashion I had never witnessed before, I found myself on a snowy trail, reentering the forest but still exposed to the wind. A bright orange trail sign bore a brown and white sticker of a watch tower and an arrow, another sticker with a large letter "P" for parking with an arrow pointing back down the mountain. It was 1:30 pm.

I hadn't made it. I couldn't make it. My hands were a bright shade of pink, my body so cold the wind hit me like someone had thrown razor blades into the gusts. I knew that the summit must be close but I couldn't go on. I fumbled with my pack, even colder with it off my back, grabbed two of the snack bars and hurriedly replaced my pack. I ate one of the chilled bars as quickly as I could, pocketed the other. I would eat it when I hit the spot I had split up with the hubs I decided, a benchmark to motivate me.

Getting back down the mountain was horrible. I was disappointed that I hadn't summited, embarrassed that I hadn't handled the situation with more wisdom I didn't have, and angry at my husband for misleading me about the trail. I could barely contain the emotional strain but descending tore me apart. Going down in a state of hypothermia wasn't just cold, it hurt. Not to mention the missteps and falls resulting from my diminished mental and physical state. I slipped on snow and caught myself as I fell down boulders, I slipped on a boulder farther down and found myself in a stream of water, soaking through my jacket, pants, and boots; I trudged, slid, and fell down the mountain without fanfare, I was beaten down in so many ways I didn't see faces when people passed, only boots.

***Another stupid moment, I didn't ask for help, I think I was too ashamed and uncertain of what anyone could do for me, but gloves certainly would've helped. Thankfully I'm not suffering any long term injuries as far as I can tell****

My left knee began bothering me pretty quickly once I began my descent. After a particularly unhappy fall I thumped my right elbow pretty hard and gave myself a goose egg on my right hand, that was when the "something extra" kicked in and the pain started to fade.

The pain faded but my legs were quivering and dragging. I fell again and upon standing found a triangle shaped rock near where I had fallen. I grabbed it. I stood it up on it's bottom like a Christmas tree. Then I took of my pack, shoved it in a pocket, and took it. I never do that. I know there are rules for collecting things but I did not familiarize myself with them, I never took anything. Until now. It was my rock and I did not feel it's weight at all. I slogged on.

When I reached the first talus slope where I had separated from the hubster and baby I promptly ate my second snack. By this time my pockets were so wet from the rain sliding from my sleeves it was difficult to get my hands warm though I had a wool cap in my left pocket that helped a bit. I began to worry about my baby, thinking about how he hadn't eaten and I abandoned the chant of "step lift up" (or something like that, I cannot recall the original version) reminding me to lift my feet so I didn't become entangled in rocks or trip for a single word, his name.

By the time I reached the last portion of the trail I was canted forward and dragging my wobbly legs down the trail as fast as I could, splashing through any mud or water without caring how much got into my boots or on my legs as I was already soaked through and toting standing water in my boots.

When I made it to the car the hubs was jovial, obviously not comprehending my troubled state. I told him I just wanted to nurse, and I peeled off my pack and jacket and sopping shirts. Baby was hungry and even though my pants wet his pants and socks, he didn't care. The hubs noticed my vacant stare and slack face, he felt my pants and boots and realized how wet I was. He asked if I wanted my boots and socks off and the bottom portion of my pants and I said yes.

I ended up in my wet, now shorts-sized hiking pants and a button up hiking shirt I had left in the care to change into. My bra had been so wet I couldn't keep it on and I didn't care who in the parking lot saw what. A few minutes later we had driven down the road and the hubs looked over at me. My arms were crossed, my shoulders slumped, my legs smashed together and my knees drawn up in as attempt at a fetal position. I still stared, I didn't talk much. He touched my leg and my arm and they were cold. He pulled over and cranked the heater, unbuckling both our seat belts as he gathered his dry waterproof shell, fleece, and my fleece. I put on his fleece, he wrapped mine around my legs, and laid the shell over the top of my lap.

I was still cold for quite some time, nearly the entire drive from the trail head to Lake Stevens, my toes burning from the car's heater before my core felt warm again.

But eventually I warmed enough to started talking. My voice wavered and tears came to my eyes as I described the hike. I had felt so helpless. And then I remembered the anger at my husband. Why were we even on this trail? You couldn't have made it with the baby at all! The conditions... what I was wearing, we weren't prepared. You sent me... Why? I can't believe it was a mistake. How could you do that? I was mad and heartbroken.

There had been an incident before when the hubs picked a hike for us to go on as a couple. I was excited and ready to try a new trail but it didn't take long to realize it was beyond my skill level. I felt ashamed, betrayed, heartbroken... and this made me feel all those things again but it was so much worse being out there by myself. It felt like a major break in the trust between us. Like more and more we are less partners and more roommates doing our own thing. I miss understanding and accommodation, caring and comfort, finding something that will please both of us and building happy memories instead of traumatic ones. It's bad enough being depressed, but then these feelings? Jeesh.

So... I know this is long but I hope it gives a taste of what I went through and what it meant to me. That hike was supposed to be a great achievement, something to encourage in me in working toward a healthier, happier me, but instead it turned into a horrible analogy of all the worse parts of me; putting my well being last, pushing myself too far, straining to achieve unrealistic expectations, not being kind to myself. It is embarrassing but too important not to share.

Failure happens.

***The hubs told me later that he immediately realized how woefully unprepared we were after our separation. He did not have a pack, any water, nothing and he realized that we did not have proper layers of clothes and he also realized how bad the weather could be further up after observing the weather down below. Initially, when I had approached the car he had asked if I had summited and said he wasn't sure if he should be proud or concerned. Awkward!****

Forcing It

This week I've been getting up late, peeling myself out of bed very much against my will. I've also been staying active at the gym and on the trail but I'm not feeling the usual "up" feeling post-workout. It's disappointing. I'm usually someone that gets a little cheer from being active and now I feel like one of those "I have to workout but I hate it" types. I think it's the depression rather than some huge alteration of my personality.

The sadness has been lurking just beneath the surface again. I'm peeved at these medications that don't seem to be doing much for me yet make my limbs feel antsy and upset my stomach unless I eat a hearty snack at pill time which isn't fun since I have no appetite of late and have been forcing myself to eat. 

I've upped therapy to two visits a week, starting next week. For homework I'm supposed to be tapping into my anger and free writing to try and exorcise some of the tension and sadness that's been haunting me.

I'm struggling. I've been conditioned to hide my feelings, never to let loose, and now I desperately need to let loose these emotions that are turning rancid and eating me alive.

While I figure out how to force myself to express those feelings, I'm drinking some peppermint tea and popping an Ativan to try and conquer the nausea that has settled in-I think it's from anxiety over expressing my anger. Ugh.

Put me back in labor with B.B. instead of birthing these emotions! 

Sad that I didn't get out Wednesday this week, instead I went to couples therapy. Not exactly fun. We have an appointment this upcoming Wednesday too, but I think I can fit in an outing in the morning. 

The hubs and I have been in survival mode and some days we don't seem to talk at all unless it's "business." Since therapy we've played cards and consciously attempted to talk. It felt good. Still feels like we're both in our own worlds barely keeping afloat. 

Turned on the heaters first time, it's getting chilly but not unbearable yet, we just turn on the heaters for a little bit.

I'm babbling in blog form! Back to my tea. Happy Friday to everyone. 

Teeth, Tears, Milk, and Poop

I'm still bobbing around the sad end of my mood spectrum. I've been very low energy this week which hasn't worked out so well with Baby Bananaface's surge in activity and decline in naps. Still haven't captured his two new bottom teeth on film, dang hard!

Not only is his crawling, climbing, banging, cruising, and drooling his way all over the house with a new fervor-but he's pooping like he's on overdrive. Maybe it's a growth spurt, I don't know. I'm so caught up in dragging myself through the day that I can't objectively view much of anything lately. All I know is I feel overwhelmed and exhausted quite often and he just doesn't seem to stop (at least not as often as he once did).

Hard fought nap, a damn hard fought nap.

Talking to my psychiatrist and my therapist I think it's time to change our breastfeeding routine. It's taking too much outta me (in more than milky ways), I feel too much pressure, I stress about supply too much, I can't get up and pump at night when I need to rest... something has got to give.

I'm seeing the lactation consultant again Monday to discuss options... I wanted to exclusively breastfeed to 9 months or longer, but now I don't think that's reasonable. I'm not well and I need to make life easier for myself. Pretty hard with my perfectionist tendencies to let something like that go, but I can see how parenthood will present this situation to me many times-ideally I wanted this and realistically with my child/life/situation I ended up doing this.



In somewhat better news I started the new drug, lithium. I'm taking 300 mg each night until Monday, when I'll start taking 600 mg for five more days and then we'll take a blood level. The plan is to get the lithium up to a therapeutic dose and then back the Seroquel off. Doc is hoping that with an effective mood stabilizer I won't need the sleep aid effect of the Seroquel or the anti-anxiety med Ativan as often or at all. Seems like pie in the sky stuff to me, but she's the doc and I trust that she knows what to expect of treatment better than I.


On a side note, donating blood Wednesday made me feel good about myself but didn't help with my exhaustion.


On another side note, I had my mother up yesterday (successful visit overall despite my fatigue and some quiet spells) and she only spoke obtusely about my aunt's situation. Today I saw my dad for brekkie down south and he and I spoke about it openly.

We're on a very similar page: saw this coming, just didn't know when, it sucks, the transition will happen, grief etc., then life goes on. It felt good to talk about it with someone that not only had my view but balances the matter of fact feelings with the deep, gooey feelings pretty well. We both felt a little callous for thinking "well, ya smoke and live that way for that long and this is what happens, I never expected her to go peacefully, it sucks, but that's the reality" but realizing we weren't the only person thinking or feeling that way was helpful and also made it easier to express the harder, sadder feelings that are more difficult to access when you can be honest about your experience first and foremost.

He made the simple comment, "She was a good aunt," and it made me remember all the good times when I was younger. She was my favorite aunt, Aunt Sally, the only aunt I felt I really had. She was fun. Then, as I got older, I got more sensitive to her smoking and the deception about my cousin really rankled me. Years of asking her to quit smoking, to be healthier... I finally gave up. It was too sad watching her kill herself like that. I distanced. I withdrew. I used to visit so often and now I can't remember how long it's been. I know that being in her house makes my eyes water and my throat hurt. Sitting near her in a restaurant makes my nose burn. She doesn't go out much and we don't keep in contact so she hasn't met B.B. and I haven't seen her since I was preggers. It's sad. But I don't want to make myself feel worse or responsible... Maybe I will try to arrange a meeting somewhere outside her house where I feel safe bringing B.B. .... Anyways...

Oh, the downlow: she has stage 4 cancer. What type, unsure, just that it's everywhere-lungs, kidneys, lymph nodes, and they've done radiation and are doing chemo trying to shrink it enough to be somewhat operable but as-is it's inoperable. I think the hub's said my mom said it was a 6-12 month outlook scenario (he asked her point blank what was going on and she responded but she has a hard time talking about it with me, I think she's afraid of overloading me). I just don't understand how it got that bad without them knowing, she's had cancer scares before so I would've thought she was being surveilled pretty regular but I guess not. Maybe it was just a fast-mover?

Anyways.

So.

I'm here. I'm moving along. Trying not to get swamped as I paddle my leaky boat through these rough waters, making repairs as I go.

Bless my birds... this northern flicker made quite a mess this morning.

Monday Missives #8

Another in my series of never-to-be-sent therapeutic letters....

Dear Chemicals,

Yes, you chemicals up in my head and down in my gut. All the conspiratorial bunch that have colluded to make my mood so unstable of late, this missive is for you.

I don't know if you were inspired by the challenges in my life to possibly "up the ante" and throw me a curve ball on top of new parenthood and all that, or if you simply woke up one day and decided to screw around a bit, but I'm really ready for this melee to cease. I'm ready for an upward swing.

I'm ready to have my concentration back, my memory at a better level, to have my thoughts free of the vivid imaginings of hurting myself and my child, free from the desperate wishes to miraculously start a new life at the drop of a hat. I'm ready to be busy again, to have things that I want to do, goals to achieve, adventures to explore, to laugh and to play and to work.

I'm ready to leave the sleepy anchored feeling behind that keeps me in bed longer than I need to be. I'm ready to leave behind the nauseated feelings from the horrible anxiety you produce. I'm ready to be a contributing member in my marriage instead of feeling like my husband is a single parent. I'm ready to have a life again. To be a mom again.

I'm trying to tame you but it would be so much easier if you just got in line, if you were nice for a bit. Please? These drugs that I'm taking to curb your force over my life don't seem to be doing much. I'm terrified of moving to something different yet afraid of staying on them and making no progress.

I feel so helpless, at your mercy, at the mercy of these prescription drugs, at the mercy of those who tolerate my sick self. It seems that one push and I'll finally topple for good, yet I always seem to remain perched here, in turmoil, at the edge of disaster. 

I can't understand you, you dastardly chemicals. It seems so self-defeating what you do, and yet you do it over and over, not to just to me but thousands of other victims in bodies all around the world. It makes no sense. Is this really just a cruel game of no winners?

I'm so tired of this wicked game. I can't forfeit. I can't seem to win. We're locked in a stalemate and I can only hold on and hope I get the upper hand soon.

In the meantime, screw you chemicals. You're just plain mean.

Hating how you make me hate me,
Hannah

Farewells, A Letter

A slightly different Monday Missive today...

I sit here in my corner room. The room that I was shocked and scared to find myself in a little over a week ago. Tonight the room isn't a bare-walled holding pen with locked cabinets but my room. The scuffs on the wall, the sticky patches on the floor are familiar. The sounds of my slippers wresting from the adhesive effect and clapping back down on the linoleum my own personal theme song. The simple room calms and comforts me. I am safe here now.

My name on the whiteboard seemed so securely emblazoned and yet I know it will be easily whisked away from its compatriots. I feel tears of joy and sadness welling up as I think of leaving my friends behind. I am so grateful for their companionship, their insight, their understanding and support. I wish that I could ease their pains, accelerate their journey, somehow make my graduation our graduation so that we may all leave together. 

But our paths part here and while I am sad to go I am hopeful for all of us. I have seen such beautiful things among all our darkest feelings and most tragic memories. We have shared such tender moments, reaching out to help each other despite our own immense burdens. That is something remarkable. Not every unit will experience such grace or kindness on any given day, let alone for as many days as we have shared and I commend those special souls for contributing to such a marvelous healing atmosphere.

Somehow we have created a magical equation where immense sadness plus more sadness equals hope. Part of that has been the wonderful relationship and supportive peer community we have forged and another large part is the amazing staff here at 2 East. All the hard work they have poured into this program and all the care they take in coaxing wellness back into our lives is as sneakily effective as it is beautiful. This culture of caring is not universal and it is not a fluke. Well done. I never thought that having my vitals taken would become therapeutic!

I leave with a lighter heart, a good dose of fear, and a rekindled sense of hope but I also leave with tears in my eyes and a deep, deep gratitude for all those that have helped me on my path to recovery. From fleeting smiles to life affirming and life altering conversations, I have experienced a level of respect, care, and consideration that I had never conceived of before. 

To my special friends and the staff of 2 East, thank you. Thank you and best of luck. I must give myself credit for hanging in with the program and letting the magic happen but I also appreciate the special effect that such a wonderful group of people added to this experience. Not every unit can do what we did here. I may have been able to recover at some other unit with some other people, but I know that I would not have felt as good as quickly if it had not been for all of you.

Keep on fighting the good fight.

Be well,

Hannah 

It's Official-Today Sucked (mostly)

The hubs and I have declared this a "Fuck This Friday" Friday. What a sucky day. Well, a sucky day with an okay ending?

I had a good 45 minutes this morning. Baby Bananaface and I kicked things off pretty well, I even got halfway through some yoga before he needed a diaper and the dog needed brekkie. Just as I was resuming my "crescent lunge" series the doorbell rang.

*Ding dong-it's life, here to put you off course*

Maintenance. Leaks. Pipes. Whatever. No notice from landlord. Cue the anxiety. My day spiraled even as I found myself thinking, "this could set me off down a path I don't need to go, but I don't need to go there." Well my awareness didn't help much when B.B. put up a fight at his by-then-delayed nap and drove me off the crumbling edge of sanity I had left. I got super angry at B.B., super angry at the hubs, no eating, no drinking, just surviving, diaper changes, and reading my romance novel to distract myself until the hubs got home.

He had had his own shitty day at work with a disappointing meeting about his summer bonus and stupid bureaucratic shit about his so-called promotion. I had written him a note and left it in his wallet for him to find this morning-I love these, so handy-and that helped but the angry, incoherent texts from me that morning/afternoon kinda sent a mixed message....

After he got home and took over on baby duty I spent a couple hours relaxing, especially enjoying the rainstorm (with thunder and lightning!) that intensified around 3:30 PM. I slipped on my fluffy pink robe, purple velvety slippers, grabbed a puzzle book and lounged on our balcony with the rain whispering on my ankles. Oh! And Fio (on the injured roster with a gimp leg) sat in my lap. It was lovely. Refreshing. Refocusing. The puzzle I did even had baby's name in it (a very rare thing considering his name!). So I reset a bit. Showered and we went for retail therapy.

On the way to the mall (I mean, in the turn lane right before the parking lot) some idiot (wo)man-child spun out their lowered BMW and nearly crashed into us. It was so close that the bumper they had shredded on the curb brushed our front right side. She was such a fucking idiot. I don't know how the hell she managed to lose control in that section of the road but we thought for sure it would be Baby's first accident, she was coming right at us after swinging all over the two lanes beside us. Ugh.

Other than that rather shocking shit-cherry on our shit day sundae we had a good time at the mall (for being in a mall) and found some good deals and nice just-because things... The hubs picked out some fused glass earrings for me, I found some nursing-friendly dresses on the cheap, and we got B.B. some things, including this onesie that had me crying in the back of the Gap Kids...

Oh, Universe, how I wish for him to stay him a well-oiled happy machine.

Now some late night brownies and Star Trek.