This is my first year participating in the A to Z Challenge and selecting a theme posed a challenge nearly as taxing as the posts themselves, but the theme I choose is Gratitude: The Things That Keep Me Alive.
If you are a regular reader, you will already know that I happen to have Bipolar II disorder and that I welcomed my first child in February 2015. Motherhood set off a major battle with postpartum depression and anxiety, transforming my life into a journey of much joy and delight but also pain and confusion.
I decided to gear my theme toward helping me reclaim my health and happiness, and since the hubs has let me know (very plainly) that I have an issue with "depressive logic" I thought utilizing a theme of gratitude would help me retrain my brain to work in a more helpful, positive way.
Each of my posts will try to be A) Positive B) Related to postpartum or the life I'm trying to reclaim C) Frank and illustrative as it relates to the experience of PPD, BPD, motherhood and my life in general.
While I'm trying to be positive, I'm not a candy coating type and I may very well drop an f-bomb or two, just fair warning. I have the suspicion that expressing gratitude may function with a comparative aspect on occasion though I will refrain from "I'm grateful for blankety blank because blankety blank is so freakin' blankety blank, f-bomb this and that." That's just not what I'm going for here. :o)
Not sure where this challenge will take me, but I'm launching this voyage the best way I know how!
Really related to this article and if there are any other bipolar ladies in the pregnancy arena they might appreciate it too?
My pregnancy went pretty well, no meds or major issues that I recall, but this postpartum. Sheesh. If only I'd been better prepared. If that would've even helped! I'm not sure!
I'm back on the inside. Same hospital as last summer and I believe the same room my friend and fellow blogger had (odd and funny).
Thursday night my mood dipped and by Sunday I had a plan, notes, date, method and was researching for a shopping list. It was bad. The hubs caught on since I got super calm and happy all of a sudden and after we talked I emailed the psychiatrist and therapist.
Instead of driving to therapy I walked the hour walk. Turns out it worked out to not have an extra car because my therapist is mandated to report when she feels someone is a threat to themselves or others and she had the hubs pick me up and take me to the ER.
Treatment plan up in the air, meet with doc tomorrow and want to talk with my psychiatrist too. I have heard ECT which is scary. I don't feel like it's that bad but everyone around me seems to think so.
I think my brain is in kill mode and I can't fully process everything. Right now I think my family would be better off without me and it just seems obvious! (as I suppose the hubs and my docs and my friends would say it's obvious that that's wrong!)
Having to leave the family bed when your child is cosleeping with your husband because thoughts of smothering the baby intentionally are stalking you mind.
Although I must say I slept pretty well on the couch.
Feeling slightly better. We'll see if I can stay outta the rut. Yesterday was bad.
Today I visited my psychiatrist. It felt like more of the same and I answered her questions but didn't care much about "the plan." I think the plan is going up on the lamictal and seeing if that works but her questions about my well being made me so sad I didn't even bother listening. It's all written up on a sheet she prints out before I leave anyways.
I was primed to be brought down into the depths because Tuesday the hubs started "Ferberizing" Baby Bananaface behind my back while I was out at yoga (it's like cry it out). The next night he sent me out for groceries around the baby's bedtime to avoid me hearing the crying but I came back (it took over an hour for him to get to bed) and heard it.
It made me sick to my stomach. Not just the crying, the betrayal and subjugation by my husband. I was sick to my stomach and mad as hell and muted. I feel like a non-entity. What do I matter if my opinions are ignored my feelings are meaningless and my well being is conditional upon others' convenience?
So it was no surprise that today was a dark day for me. I spent most of my afternoon in bed, lying in misery with my eyes shut or dozing (bonus) and for a brief moment or two writing down specific ways I could kill myself without much hassle.
The darkness was comfortable today. I cried a little as my thoughts descended into blackness but then was relieved at the comfort of ending my struggle. I was so disappointed and mad and frustrated with my husband I no longer cared how he found my body (in what state) and I felt so distanced from Baby Bananaface I simply had to think about him getting a new, better mother and I was so relieved.
I am curious if I die before a certain time if it would count as a postpartum death or if it would be Bipolar II? Do they even mark such things? Or is it simply suicide-yadda yadda? That would seem awfully short sighted, but who knows with the government?
Been thinking about calling a hotline and just don't know what I would say. I won't talk to the hubby beyond functional words and I refused dinner.... SIGH Guess it's my meds, Cream of Wheat, and Golden Girls. Maybe I'll shake it up with King of the Hill.
Losing the battle today, we'll see about tomorrow.
I am sipping sage tea twice a day, skipping nursing sessions and swapping in bottles, sometimes using my pump and using bottles instead of boobs, learning how to cuddle and feed with a bottle; little by little making the shift to a nursing free existence.
It's sad. It's thrilling. It's confusing.
My heart aches as I think of my son never returning to my breast and alternately, I rejoice at the prospect of having my body back; no more engorgement, no more leaking, no more nursing, no quibbling over my bra or shirt choice in the morning.
It was a rough decision for me and it's still one that I have to recommit to every so often because I'm not sure if it is the right thing to do, only time will tell.
Nursing in the hospital, just about to touch hands and reconnect.
It feels like a relief so far, which is encouraging and the biggest part of why I decided weaning was the way to go: I needed relief. I have become so reduced by my illness that I don't feel as if I do much at all but nonetheless I am overwhelmed. Cutting out breastfeeding will hopefully help relieve some stress and pressure from my life, I think just making the decision to wean has done some of that.
Not every session, but lately quite frequently nursing has been very frustrating. I get angry and feel trapped, think about other things I could be doing or other, darker thoughts. Every so often it's the beautiful, wondrous, peaceful thing that it once was and that is what I grieve. But the prospect of releasing myself from the tortuous sessions and anxieties over supply and engorgement and growth spurts and biting, that feels like such a gift, a gift to give myself.... and hopefully if my health improves, then a gift in turn for my family.
He was so "little" here...
So much grieving in my life lately. Funny, grief seems like when they send you home with your baby. You can't believe there aren't instructions or a course to qualify as a parent or rules, it just is. That's grief. No rules, no directions, no qualifications, you just have to grapple with it. But boy, I want to learn more about this grief monster!
In other news, my period is on and I'm a raging sugerhund. Chocolate beware, I'm on yer trail. Oh, and cookies... lotso cookies.
I was minimizing the other day and trying to tell myself that I was feeling better than I really am which is probably part of what motivated me to post this to Facebook:
For whatever reason, Christmas gets me thinking about what I'm grateful for more than Thanksgiving and, sadly, this year it has me thinking about what is weighing on my soul as well.
It's not just the attacks on Planned Parenthood, plane crashes, terrorism, refugees, and climate change... it's more personal things; grief and illness that became far worse than expected and the challenges of new motherhood as well as the growing pains of late twenty-hood as well.
I know this is supposed to be "the happiest season of all" but for those of you that aren't totally feeling that this year, I hear you. I see you. I acknowledge that this time of year can open our hearts to great joy but can also open our hearts to great grief and other intense, sad emotions. That's okay.
Whether you are feeling lonely, angry, sad, grief or loss, frustrated, hopeless, depressed (yes, that's different than sad), suicidal or any other "bad" feelings, know that you are not alone-I am not alone, there are people all over the world that share our experience and validate our experiences even without ever meeting or knowing of us.
Enjoy the holidays as best you can and don't feel bad for feeling bad. If you can, try to jot down some things that you are grateful for, it can really help, and if that doesn't, jot down what's pissing you off-that can really help too!
Feel better soon, be kind to yourself, and know that someone is wishing the best for you right as you read these words.
---
I could've gone on and though it is a decent length I don't think it's terribly long. I'm not sure how it will be received and I don't care. I am proud of myself for being genuine and not sticking to the "happy things only, it's Facebook" unspoken rule.
In other news, it's been a hard day. Last night my sadness came back (I think I overworked myself with ornaments) and today I was not in the mood to be a mother at all. When Baby Bananaface woke mid-nap and I couldn't get him back down I started losing it. I left him crying in his crib for the longest I ever had and sat in the dining room sobbing and wanting to kill him.
I've grown resentful of him in a way, of motherhood. I enjoy breastfeeding less and less, think of all the things I'd rather be doing more and more. It makes me feel worse than I already do, and I don't need that at all. Books I want to read, organizing and cleaning around the house that I have wanted to accomplish, places I want to go-they all glare at me, grind and grate on me.
Something has to change but I feel powerless to make that happen. I'm sad, I'm mad, and I'm sick of the battle... sick of pretending I'm okay enough to get by when I just want to quit and run away.
Baby Bananaface got himself into his toy box today all on his own, and enjoyed it, yes he did!
He had just got his second foot in there...
Then he plunked down and started fishing toys out
and I got a BREAK!
And yes, we do babyproof with boxes from Costco at the moment :) Now to see if he gets himself out!
In other news, therapy was good, blowout was terrible this morning-I'm talking the worst yet, shit on the carpet, all over, cue the tub, "Why me?!" nasty. Reminds me of Birdie's blowout tales! Except this one was brown-green. Ugh. Told the hubby I need flowers today.
It's a "we'll see where this goes" type of day. A shitty start for sure but I'm not writing it off yet.
I had a difficult time waking up and then when I finally had I realized that lying in bed this morning I had thought BB was dead, and I sort of didn't care. I usually panic and think he's dead pretty often but this time a bigger part of me hoped it were so, just so I could be relieved from duty.
I told the hubs about this and also how I had wanted to hurt the baby (I brought him out to his dad when those thoughts happened) and we decided that BB was too sick to go to daycare for the day. I was crestfallen. The hubs asked if I wanted him to stay home in that way that means he wants to go to work and my mood plummeted deeper.
Long story short I told him "fuck off" at least half a dozen times and told him that if he gave me my tweezers back he could go to work. He didn't give me my tweezers back, but he gave me another pair of angled tweezers from his confiscated collection and my heart broke a little more again. He knows what I do with tweezers. He knew I was in a bad place. It was like he chose work over me. I understand he's gotta make a living but it was crushing.
I ended up scratching myself in a waffle pattern on my left forearm in front of him. He just watched and talked. Even afterward waffling about going to work or not. At that point I didn't care anymore. Fuck him. I started laundry and a dinner in the Crock-Pot, aiming for the day that I had planned out in my mind had I been childfree.
In the end, he ended up staying home. Citing a sinking feeling in his gut. I didn't care. I have mostly been ignoring him and the baby.
Fuck. My life's a mess.
In other news, I am now the proud owner of a little jug of stool softener tablets. When I opened the bottle I laughed and smiled. They are cute as far as pills go.
I figure you can make just about any pill two-colored like that but the fact that they did it for stool softeners just tickles me! Maybe there is something to it that I don't know, some insider story, but as is, they reminded me of candy canes (it being the season) and that cheered me.
Speaking of seasonal cheer, Baby Bananaface encountered his first Santa Sunday. It was hilarious! Our little attention hound turned chicken and it was precious.
So. I'm plugging along. Don't think my meds are worth shit, don't want to take them, will talk to my psych about it Friday.
Haven't been wearing my wedding ring for over a week (or my other regular ring). Part of it is the fact that they are loosey goosey, part of it is that my hands are horribly dried out and not having rings on makes lotioning up easier, and part of it is that I don't feel like they mean what they used to mean. It is troubling. This depression is some of the worst of my life.
Angry. Sad. Weary. I'm so mixed up in bad ways just giving up and doing whatever I damn well please is the only relief. As such, I'm gonna go sketch as I damn well please. Screw dwelling on this shit!
Okay, all the exclamations are uncalled for as it was actually a quiet peaceful day.
The highlight was going for a drive with the hubs while Baby Bananaface slept in the backseat. We drove out to his childhood home and neighborhood and he gave me a tour of his old schools, church, and hangouts. It was nice to see where he grew up. I love imagining my love as a young man and having the images to go with his stories is lovely for my visually minded self.
We stopped at a local park where the hubs swore remnants of an old internment camp were, but the signs claimed it was simply a military prison. We were unconvinced and a little confused but used the opportunity to take some pictures of me and BB on our special "9 months in/9 months out" anniversary.
Broke out the mittens for the 1st time!
It was frigid, BB's nose went red like mine though you can't see it here.
At the prison park (or whatever) I saw these cool leaves and had to take a snap or two! They were nearly pure white and looked frozen, well they probably were. They felt fake, not crispy/cold like I expected.
After BB woke up we headed back into town and hit up Barnes & Noble at the local mall. Walked the mall a bit but it was crowded and we were hungry so we bailed for noodles/pho and then back home. No major shopping, nothing extravagant bought, no stampedes.
The hubs with his candid shooting again. I said, "I look like I'm gonna kick your ass," and he said, "Yeah, that's how you usually look." D'oh.
Looking at it now I think: Huh, I look pale. Whoa, that's saying something!
I include this video for many reasons. So many reasons I cannot quite spit them all out on cue, but a big reason is because my sister and mother and I have a long history of regimented Christmas-mania.
Only recently I have begun to count myself out of their obsession, having gained some healthier perspective and developed my own traditions, but back in the hey-day the holidays would begin only after Thanksgiving, Christmas decorations would have to be over the top and painstakingly positioned and agonized over before being rearranged and then put back again, many baked goods would be made, gifts wrapped as perfectly as possible, and a variety of Christmas movies watched at least once but sometimes many, many times throughout the season. All ethereal rules that were created and enforced without speaking.
Now, don't think that my mother is a decorating maven or any sort of Martha Stewart or Betty Crocker. The perfectionism is on the part of me and my sister, birthed out of the unending comparison and competition between siblings in my family. The love/hate relationship between the sisters in White Christmas? Not quite us, we have barely a teaspoon of love, hardly any fun or speaking terms, no support, but the deceit and feigned affection, manipulation and competition-yes, we have more than enough.
It's been that way a very long time. I remember horrible fights-physical and verbal-between us as youths and very often thinking that I did not want to have a sister, or that if my parents divorced she would be guaranteed to go with Mom so I could go with Dad and get away from her! We shared rooms off and on throughout our time at home and usually fought so horribly we would be again separated (eg. setting out tacks beside each other's bed or outside the bathroom when we got up in the middle of the night-yep, blood was drawn). Some normal sibling sisterly stuff, other, not so much.
I was the oldest, my brother was 18 months younger and the middle child, and my sister was 4 years younger, and the baby. My mother was the baby in her family, my dad was second oldest and then oldest when his favorite sister died unexpectedly a little over a decade ago. I know it's pretty natural and expected to have parents make exceptions or "baby the baby" and this happened in my family, no doubt, but it was almost always mom doing it and my sister and my dad-whew, cats and dogs in an oil and water arena.
What I believe is not normal, is the fact that my sister is still treated with kid gloves and my mother has told other adults (her friends or relatives, couches, teachers) that "you need to stop doing A because it makes (my sister) feel B" or procuring "playdates" of sort for my twenty-something sister.
All this micromanagement is complicated by the fact that quite a few people believe that my sister may be some type of Bipolar or have a personality disorder, at the very least anxiety problems. She's a powder keg with a very sensitive fuse and my mother runs interference for her (quite possibly always will) but on the flip side she will say horribly cruel and offensive things, straight-up lie, or manipulate people and if things turn on her (as they quite often do) cries and plays the victim or invokes protection and approval from my mother.
For me, as a sensitive person and one that with a low tolerance for sarcasm and meanness, my sister is a caustic, risky game of Roulette. I never know what I'm going to get and often I get burned. The very few times that I felt genuinely connected and that she was speaking honestly with me the interactions were quickly overturned and categorized as deft deceptions.
One highly relevant example would be when my sister came to meet my son. It was two weeks after the birth and she came for visit and fawned over our gorgeous baby. I can't remember much of the visit except for an odd off-hand conversation about what a bastard child was (related to something off Facebook) and as you all know that became quite topical.... anyways. It seemed like a great visit, I thought, "maybe she will be a good aunt."
Not quite two weeks later she was back again, supposedly visiting with my mother and coming to help me out since I was barely a month postpartum. No. They showed up with her new boyfriend and neglected to bring us food as we requested, chatted about themselves for 45 minutes while our stomachs rumbled and then proceeded to make me get up and go to the bedroom where my sister dramatically sat me down and told me she was pregnant. I held my cool for 5 minutes (they promptly left to fetch said promised meal at that point, ya know, since their business was done) and then I sobbed. The insensitivity of their visit appalled me, the dismissal I felt, the threat to my baby-dethroned at a month old! That's some of what I felt....
My postpartum depression issues set in after my sister passed twenty weeks. My psychiatrist would say it's a coincidence but my therapist says it's linked. I had been waiting for her to "lose the baby" that wasn't there or "I'm not really pregnant" like she had joked dozens of times before but no such luck. Our children would be 8 or 8 1/2 months apart and the stage set for a lifetime of comparison.
Comparison, that dirty word that had torn apart my childhood and left me with a torn patchwork quilt of a family. My mother loves to call that ragged quilt a marvelously crafted masterpiece, but whatever she call it, it leaves me shivering.
As I knew mom with a pregnant sister I became a convenient source for her dramatized questions or tales of woe (AKA common symptoms) or, as happened during our trip to Leavenworth, the magical elixir to her breakdown after her baby moved around too much (I told her eating half a cheese pizza and then a couple root beer floats before lying down was gonna set any baby up to kick ribs and sent her for a walk, the sobs stopped and she shuffled out, I wasn't buying the drama, so she stopped selling).
I have had dips in my mood around landmarks in her pregnancy: the baby shower I ended up in the hospital, her due date I went down to a terrible low involving self-harming, finding out about the birth was okay initially and then a bad day to finish. I'm working now on getting those feelings out and then trying to separate the issues with my mother and my sister and the baby.
And on that note, I'm not a terribly cold auntie, I sent an outfit and a card over for the little one... but I must say, the feelings and thoughts that came up with that were "she doesn't deserve this much" and a poisonous sense of superiority and resentment. As I said, separating feelings is on the docket!
It's still raw for me. The pregnancy and all those hurt feelings. In my family, relationships aren't healthy, things get taken personally more than they get completely ignored and her getting pregnant just as I had my baby.... it feels like a personal attack, another move in the comparison game, and yet another disappointment in my sister whom has berated, deceived, lied, hurt, and confused me for as long as I can recall. I don't think I know her that well at all.
What does the future hold for us as sisters? I have no clue but I do know that right now I am keeping my bruised and battered self as far away as I can and as hard as it is for me to own my own feelings or opinions, I feel really justified in that decision. Now THAT is saying something!
I don't understand all these ins and outs, but this is what I know for now.
That'll do Me, that'll do.
---
Other "sisterly" posts include Monday Missives #1 and #7
We've seen blowouts but today was the first "real poo" diaper mudslide, melted chocolate, "oh dear God, give me another wipe" blowout.
True to form, Baby Bananaface was totally chill and reserved despite the massive load between his legs. He'd crammed poop up the front and nearly out the back and so thick it was solid brown front, sides, and back. Even as the hubs and I were gagging on the stench of processed prunes, carrots, rice cereal, formula, and breast milk, we were pretty impressed and proud of him.
In other news, today was a rough day but a good day to some degree.
I got my hair done early this morning and from there went north to a La Leche League meeting (cue trouble). I was afraid to try the valet parking and ended up parking in the "same olde parking garage" which would've been fine but I was already 15 minutes late and found myself driving to the next to last level (aaahhh!) and then I got confused and a bit lost trying to find my way to the right building and got teary despite a lovely lady helping me out. By the time I got to the right place and the friendly security guard asked me if I was all right I lost it (AKA box of tissues, multiple wads, racking sobs at the security desk lost it). Eventually I made it to the meeting, red eyed and shaking. I changed the babe off to the side and then kept mostly to myself, avoiding eye contact and shadowing B.B. as he crawled everywhere. I chimed in a bit at the end but was mostly fragile and embarrassed. Nobody inquired and pressured and we went from there to a drive thru for lunch and from there to therapy back south.
Therapy went pretty well, a few tears but not a totally breakdown. We talked about schedules and for my family's sake getting a schedule figured out and stuck to. We've been pretty "free and wild" as far as following baby's lead but the hubs and I need a bit more.... nurturing (?) carved out for ourselves, individually and as a couple, so .... schedule. Tough thing for me, but gonna try to work on it.
Went to a restorative yoga class this evening. Quite late for my schedule but I was very glad that I went (invited by a friend).
Heard on the radio about a Danish zoo doing a live dissection for school kids. Apparently it's causing a fuss (just not in Denmark) and I found myself sort of disgusted but supportive. I guess I'd like to be the kind of person that supports that sort of science-y sensibility full bore but I'm not sure I'll ever have a stomach for dissections. I got queasy cutting up a worm in biology class. Yes, we did dissect worms and yes, I really did get queasy. Seriously.
Egh. To bed with me. Again, so tired, so through with my day!
Today was exhausting. Draining. Wringing. Like a stinky wet kitchen rag.
Drove south for my psychiatrist appointment this morning. Baby Bananaface was crawling and poking and gumming all over the place, running me ragged. I cried and fessed up to all my sadness and skepticism. My doctor was supportive and helpful, a touch of encouragement but not enough to overwhelm me. I really like her. We're gonna do lab work Monday for my first lithium check then probably move up the dose from there.
She was also helpful in recommending some couples therapists through the Lytle Center. I don't think the hubs and I are in the shit but I definitely think we've been in survival mode for far too long, keeping things from each other because we know that we're both tapped out and falling out of our normal mode of communication and frequent bonding.... it's getting lonely and frustrating. I feel like I'm disappointing him by not being better yet and not being up to motherhood and wifedom. I'm so heartbroken over it I have a hard time talking about it-enter therapy.
So. After a few tissues I hit the road and headed back north. Stopped by Chick-fil-a for the second time this week (the hub's hasn't gotten to go and is a little jealous, it's a new restaurant for western WA). Ate in my car while the baby napped. Got home and slugged around, played around, then napped and nursed until my second appointment for the day.
Got the babe, drove the 7ish minutes to my ND and got my thyroid results. Still hypo. Still outta whack. Changing dose and medication again. Back to levothyroxine, trying 100 mcg. I like this ND, my usual one is out on maternity leave, but her talking about childcare and support networks was a little much for me today. The idea of finding a babysitter or a daycare is beyond me and frustrating (our previous foray has fizzled and we're back to family only). I do think her idea of therapy twice a week is a good one. The hubs thinks I should try someone at Lytle, I just don't like the idea of driving that far and paying for parking....
Anyways. That is some of the nuts and bolts of my day. Just add more crying, some back aches, head aches, slack face and confusion. Baby Bananaface was good, but exhausting. He's so go-go-go....
To bed with me. I'm done. No plans for tomorrow. I'm torn between a trek and a day home with hot brews and laundry. Maybe a mix? But for now, the pillows. Oh! Sweet pillows!
I love Brene Brown. She is a hero of mine and I'm sad to say I haven't read her past two books because of this damned funk I've been in (read depression).
But I happened across her on the interbutts and found this post that really spoke to me.
I hope to read "Daring Greatly" and "Rising Strong" soon.
In other news, I saw the lactation consultant this morning and she recommended formula for the night feedings, laying off the pumping and letting my boobs regulate to just nursing during the day. It's a weight off my shoulders, a little mourning in my heart, but overall I think the right direction for my family right now.
Once I walked just off the pavement
The local park slash water reclamation site
Wasn't prepared for such a horde of teens
To walk beside each other I dove into the rough
I slipped on dog shit
Feel flat on my back with the breath kicked out of my lungs
Tears came but they weren't sure why
Was I sad? Was I hurt? Was I-
laughing?
I laughed. My embarrassment blended
With a cheerful flush of belly laughs and
deep sucked breaths
A boy fell in love with me that day,
in just that moment.
He told me weeks later.
The girl he was with, she would never have laughed
Somehow I was a girl worth wanting
When I slipped in that shit.
I was loveable.
Today was a different sort of walk. The air was perfectly chilled, the sun warm between gusts of chilly autumn wind but my walk wasn't pleasant. My limbs were heavy and lurching, my eyes cast down, my brain in shadows. I cried. I sobbed. I gasped for air and understanding.
I told my husband how the bad thoughts were back, how I didn't think I would see our son learn to ride a bike like the cheerful children that passed us on the path. I told him how angry I was at my family. That I felt as if they had saddled me with so many problems, claimed to want to help me, and then disappeared and disappointed me like so many times before. I told him it felt like I was back in the blackness that I was dwelling in before inpatient. That this past month was just a distraction, not his so-called progress.
I could hear the falsehoods, the stain of depression on my words, but I had to say them, because part of me believes it all. A big part of me. It feels those horrible things, they become true in my hijacked mind. I have to let them out or they will kill me. Hell, it feels as if all those terrible thoughts will kill me even when I shed light on them.
I am hurting. Hurting like I've hurt so many times before. Wishing for a reprieve. Wishing for a different life, reality, existence. I can't see the way out, but I'm told there is one. I just have to wait until the wind shifts and it is revealed to me again. When my heart can look up and out again, and is ready to see, and the winds are right, I will find my way out. Once and again. And again.
Ugh. It's hot chocolate o'clock. Less thinking, more being.
Wishing everyone happier Sundays than mine has been so far. And good grief, let's hope the Hawks win.
I'm reclined in bed with my faithful heating pad cranked to "sizzle," my belly full of gingerbread with caramel sauce and a half-a-cup of half-caf coffee drizzled on top. Definitely an emotional eating moment, but tis officially fall and I'll call it celebration.
We went into the trip saying that we weren't "attacking" Disneyland, that we were gonna be "casual" about it. I'm not quite sure we achieved "chillaxedness" since we pushed ourselves as far as we could and then some.
The hubs soldiered on with dual blisters between the balls of his feet and his toes, my dad pressed through knee troubles, my mom kept on going despite exhaustion, menopausal surprise bleeding, and I soldiered on through aching legs and troublesome mental trembles. We were all worse for wear but we got a lot done:
Photopass shots at the gate, Walt statue, castle, Matterhorn, Big Thunder Railroad, Haunted Mansion (see below for some-my apologies for crappy cellphone pics of a pic quality)
Rode Space Mountain, Big Thunder Mountain, Tower of Terror, Ariel's, Snow White's, Pinnochio's, Storybook Canal, Star Tours (somewhat by accident), It's a Small World, Buzz's, Tiki Room, Monster's Inc., Splash Mountain, Grizzly River Run, and the rest of the group rode additional rides or went for second or thirds on favorites. I was bummed Pirates was down, but oh well.
Watched shows Aladdin, Fantasmic, Fireworks, Paint the Night Parade.
Shopped, of course, everywhere. Baby got a Mickey stuffie, a 24 mos sized t-shirt to grow into, a fairy tales Disney storybook, and the hubs got a t-shirt and we both got pins for our lanyard (that we forgot at home, oops!) and I got new PJ pants. A bit more shopping than we usually do but we were prepared so it was okay.
Diaper blowouts at Blue Bayou and outside Monster's Inc. ride.
Ate at Blue Bayou, Ralph Brennan's, Roscoe's Chicken & Waffles, got corn dogs at the little red wagon on Main Street, indulged in ice cream and housemade chocolate treats, Dole pineapple whip floats, Bubba Gump.
We took a few good breaks but for the most part we were going, going, going and always at a charging pace. Even when we were exhausted there was always someone going back to the parks for more. The hubs and I spent one evening at Magic Kingdom and my folks spent the other two evenings back in the parks. It was exhausting and super stimulating. I don't know how else to do Disney and I don't think anyone else did either. We always attack it and take as much as we can, I'm not sure what "casual" looks like!
In the midst of all the going there were a few times I took breaks for wellness' sake and I enjoyed that down time just as much as the going, going time. I think a hot shower, hot pad, cozy bed, and a good book will always be high on my list of enjoyable things.
Speaking of enjoyable, I did struggle to enjoy much of the trip and that was frustrating and sad but I didn't let it ruin things. I threw up my arms and yelled on the rides because that's what I know you're supposed to do but some of the time I just felt like slumping into a corner and letting my face fall slack.
Oh, and the flights each went wonderfully. Had a spare seat, a few diaper changes each way, nursing at 40,000' and all was well.
It wasn't the trip we had planned, coming off an inpatient and outpatient treatment and barely having our life in order, me blunted by depression and meds, haunted by anxiety, and the hubs exhausted from working, parenting, and spousing himself all over-but overall it was a success.
We survived Disneyland 2015. Now the anxious waiting to see if we brought home any incubating viruses.... ;) Anytime I'm on a plane I feel like I'm playing Russian roulette with cold and flu!
Happy Fall everyone. Glorious autumn has returned to me, and I am so delighted and falling in love all over again. Well, ya know, when I'm not feeling shitastic, anxious, and depressed ;p
OH and as far the 60th anniversary stuff, the fireworks were AMAZING, the evening parade was fabulous, the decor and special energy was enjoyable but I think the fall themed special stuff was nearly as special.... I'm curious to experience Disney at Christmastime now since I so enjoyed the fall spirit. Seeing the characters in special costumes and the little variations on the decor and treats was so cheerful.... Maybe I'm just easily pleased? Whatever! It was cute :)
I haven't been posting lately and I'm not quite sure why. Probably in part because I've been busy doing self care and getting to bed and making it to outpatient-it's very helpful but pretty tiring. I also feel like I've been lacking inspiration.
Sure, stuff comes up in group and I'm working on changing habits and patterns at home, but for some reason translating that into blogging has been tougher. I'm not sure if maybe my meds are kicking in and changing my status quo in unexpected ways or if I'm simply tired and something had to give. Either way, less posts have been posted or even attempted.
So. I'm doing pretty well. Less and less suicidal thoughts/flashes and self harming urges and I'm able to do more self care and take better care of myself. I'm still struggling with the eating enough and feeding myself when I'm hungry but overall I've been improving.
I've been quite worried about my mood taking a sharp upswing last week and fearing the bottom dropping out. It hasn't happened and I've been able to maintain an even keel for a few days, but the worry is becoming worse and worse. My shoulders ache, my thoughts aren't quite blatantly running away but in a subconscious way I feel the hum of anxiety in my mind.
The babe has been crawling (full crawl, belly up style now) and cruising along the level change between our living room and dining area, more babbling and his grip has improved-so much growth. In the negative we've had some fall out from my mastitis meds. The antibiotics affected his gut flora and he started getting diarrhea-not full on but enough to get major diaper rash and cause discomfort. We've got him taking probiotics and we're coating him with Vaseline and A&D waiting for things to calm down. I've still got a few days left of antibiotics.
My supply seems to be coming up again, which is good, but I am worried about keeping the freezer stash up.
Tired. Gonna laze around a bit. Maybe a lovely hot beverage.... REST is on my menu.
Today was my first day at outpatient. I cried more than I would've liked. My boob is still flushed and infected and painful and plugged. I used to pump 5-6 1/2 oz outta Righty and now I'm struggling to get 3 oz.
At outpatient we went to the botanical gardens on the "Wednesday Outing" today and I was so weak and tired I only made it to the first rock garden. I hadn't been able to pump and eat my lunch during the allotted time so I plunked down in the shade and ate my lunch and watched a svelte slug chug up the side of a rock face. I felt defeated, hopeless, weary. I wasn't interested in trying anymore. I didn't see any light at the end of the tunnel.
Now, after doing a compress on Righty, talking with my uncle on the phone, taking a hot bath with a luscious shea bath bomb, talking to Mom on the phone and finding out she and Dad can help out with childcare (it was actually a very good phone call where I felt like I had the stage and got to share my feelings and BONUS we get reinforcements!) and then icing Righty and checking in with my blogosphere... now I'm feeling a little hope. Not quite a light at the end of the tunnel but maybe a flickering, half-obscured, murky glow. Seems to take a lot more to squeeze out a bit of hope than it used to, maybe that's just how bad today was.
Today. Oy. I'm exhausted, I'm in pain and I am not looking forward to getting up early tomorrow to haul my ass down to Bellevue for outpatient (yep, I'm in, had my intake marathon appointment today).
So those aches I thought were my anxiety hangover yesterday? They only got worse. Last night was awful, tossing and turning with my heating pad on all night fighting chills and aches. This morning and all day I've had some of the worst headaches of my life.
I thought flu. Great. How am I supposed to do outpatient with the flu?
Then I noticed my boob was horribly tender.
Aha! Mastitis!
It's sucks butt. I have never felt my body so achy so fast, even worse than the swine flu. And to boot I have a huge new bottle of pills to take 4x a day for 10 days that may or may not give me or the babe diarrhea. Whoopee! Just what I need to spice up life, right? Pills pills pills. At least I should feel better. I'm just so wore out with all this "get better" stuff on top of "get better" stuff, need more "just be" and "I'm actually good right now."
Yeah. I was sure a happy camper at urgent care.
The hubs called the new pills "Star Treky" due to the cool turquoise color.
Not the sort of "cherry on top" that I needed to my hard times. Not at all...
Not quite sure how I'll manage to get to outpatient by 8:30 AM and pump often enough to keep the mastitis duct from plugging and take all my pills and eat enough and get better enough to be on my own in a couple weeks... but I have to stop thinking of all that and just do it. One foot in front of the other, baby steps.
