Today was one of those days that starts out a bit rocky. You think you can right the boat and paddle on and then everything tips and you're in the drink.
I was feeling down from the get-go. The malaise of a depressive episode shadowing my every move. I made it a point to make it to the gym-I even did two classes back-to-back this morning. That would usually turn my mood around and get me going. Instead, I felt bored. They challenged me a bit, though afterward I didn't get my usual post-workout high. I was simply back to the grindstone.
I felt hungry and yet didn't want to eat. I did anyway.
We took Baby Bananaface for a drive to help him get a proper nap in and for the most part enjoyed the drive and time to chat together. Toward the end of the drive though-we were discussing our relocation to the new area and long term plans-just a few misplaced feelings and fumbling statements pushed my mood over the safety rails.
Whatever bit of recovery I had made from the earlier episode(s) this week crumbled. I began avoiding eye contact. Not speaking. My face slack. Tears falling easily. Thoughts of suicide tactics and self-harming urges flying through my mind.
At one point the hubs tried to get me to promise that I wouldn't hurt myself. Even narrowing his request to encompass only this afternoon, only this evening. only this night, only today. Even then I couldn't say the words. I found myself saying, "How do you define 'hurt yourself?' What if it's better than killing myself?" It got very dysfunctional very fast. There was even some tousling and wrestling as I tried to escape his hugs.
Eventually he managed to get me into bed. Got me to drink a little water. Take some anti-anxiety medication.
As I laid there, desperate thoughts still clattering through my brain-I found myself a surprising respite. I imagined the hubster and BB in a new home. Tall ceilings and lots of windows and natural light. There was a peaceful, petite woman cooking in the kitchen. She watched as they played in the dining area, smiling as she diced and measured and stirred. She had sandy blonde hair and dark blue eyes. She loved them and she was there for them, able to provide and contribute and be a stable, consistent, supportive part of the family. She loved them. He loved her. BB loved her. They were all calm and grateful and happy.
Imagining the scene slowed my heart rate and my thoughts. Brought tears to my eyes and heavy sighs out my throat.
The meds started to kick in. Still, I felt haunted by plots to sneak out a window and walk down back roads toward the bay to swim away until I simply couldn't keep myself afloat any longer. I even had a thought of taking the family dog (my sister adopted it and my parents mostly take care of it and they all complain about her) with me and somehow managing to have both of us obliterated by a train. It seemed like a nice thing to do to get rid of a dog that annoys everyone along with the burden I supply!
Now I'm regaining some perspective. Still quite aware of the darkness. Still quite susceptible. Still convinced that I'm not worth the breaths I take.
Part of me knows that those thoughts will fade and a healthier outlook will return. Part of me has scooped up that sticky rationale that I'm beyond repair and not anywhere near the trouble or bother it takes to keep my alive through these episodes.
If this isn't the bottom, I'm certainly on my way for another visit.
Back to the battleground I go.
Saturday, May 13, 2017
Thursday, May 11, 2017
Another Rough Day
So the hubster just got home a few minutes ago. At one point he requested that I look him the eyes and he asked, "How long have you been unsafe for?" I asked him to clarify what that meant. He said something about suicidal or self-harming urges. I took a moment to reflect on my day and guesstimated between 3-4 hours.
The suicidal aspect comprised of imagery flashing through my mind. Visualizations of holding a gun to my head. Drowning. Self-harming urges consisted of desires to bash my head on the counter, cutting. I did do some emotional eating. Overall, just not feeling well.
The day as a whole went pretty well-other than mood issues. I was able to keep Baby Bananaface fed and mostly on schedule. He took a good nap. I got dishes, laundry, and some cleaning done. He was agitated and needy today. It wore on me. By mid-afternoon I was ready to be done parenting and get to my strength training class.
The hubster was staying a bit late at work to try and avoid traffic (some major accidents along our main corridor) so I texted asking whether he was close. He asked if I meant as far as completing his homework. I responded with a crying face emoji.
He called and we talked. I stuffed emotions. Avoided discussing how I was really doing. I kept breathing deep, trying to hold back my tears and desperate feelings. I sucked it up and forged ahead with dinner and getting ready for the gym.
Not even 20 minutes into the workout the childcare folks called me in to get BB. Apparently he was asking to be held, wouldn't take off his backpack, and crying when they set him down. At the old gym, no problem. Here, with the meek tweenage ladies taking care of the kids, too much to handle. After I cleaned up mine and my mother's workout stations I walked past the childcare area and saw one of the girls lying on the floor. She can't hold my kid cuz she has to lie down? WTF?
Anyway. My mom had took BB and said that I could finish my workout. I had started to and then I couldn't. I kept thinking about how my mom drops everything and takes care of my nephew so often for my sister and I didn't want to be like that. I can sense how poorly my mom is feeling-physically and mentally-and I just can't contribute to her pain.
There was a moment in my frenzied, sad thinking that I recognized that I have a disease and that I need extra help from time-to-time. I thought that I'm different from my sister and I don't abuse my mother's help. Then I thought about how wore out my mom is and I just couldn't do it... I couldn't give myself that grace.
When we got home I took BB into our room and gave him a bath, got him distracted with some toys so I could shower, then played with him until the hubby got home.
He knew I wasn't well. He knew I was isolating. He started problem solving. I'm still hiding in the bedroom. I used the excuse of needing "computer time" to avoid launching myself back into the family arena.
It's so stressful. Being immersed in this place... these people. I know they're family, it's just with my DBT training we talked a lot about avoiding dysfunctional relationships and I worked a lot on distance and perspective regarding my family. I'm losing that now. I feel myself sliding back into the dysfunction I lived within for so many years-so long not being able to see how it hurt me.
Most of the day I find myself contemplating the massive amounts of CRAP in this house. Every nook and cranny filled with stuff. Old clothes, clearance junk, "just in case" things of every nature. So much STUFF that the place isn't functional. To me, it's also depressing. For me, the stuff signifies so much unsaid, so much unacknowledged pain and emotion. I'm frustrated by the lack of efficiency and stressed by the emotional aspect as well.
Then there is the aspect of spending the day with my mom and observing her interactions with my nephew. Each teasing comment jerks me back to childhood and hurts my heart. "You're such a crankypants." "Knock it off, I can't take anymore." "Let it go." "Get over it." She claims over and over that my nephew is normally better behaved and not as hysterical. The fact is, whenever I've been around him (even before moving in) he's been whiny and crying-especially if my sister or mother leave. Talk about separation anxiety. He nearly passes out from crying so hard. It's awful.
The relationships between my parents and my sister, my parents and each other, my sister and my mother... Ugh. There is so much weight that I feel. My mom is so lonely and tired. Still coping with the death of both her siblings last year and pining for the husband she's continually waiting for to come home. He wasn't there when they got married and he was in the Army, he wasn't there when he got out and decided to pursue a slew of hobbies full force, with every spare minute it seemed. He said he'd slow down with the tennis thing once he got his goal rating and he hasn't. I love my dad. I always will. It breaks my heart seeing the hurt he gives my mom.
It also stresses me out seeing how much my mom defends my sister while simultaneously being wore out and slipping into angry outbursts when she finally hits her limit. Watching my sister ignore her son or sensing her emotional stuffing and bitterness spike my stress. Hearing the teasing and avoidance test my anger.
So much here is weighing on me. Then there is the fear. Is this a momentary struggle, a transition period-or am I backsliding? Can I adjust to this atmosphere or is the beginning of an end in regards to my hard fought stability? I don't know.
The hubby says I need to figure out how to accept help from my mom. That I need to figure out how to tell her when I need help and I'm not safe. I just don't know that I can. She throws herself under the bus so often... I don't want to be like my sister. I don't want to contribute to her demise. I don't want to her her saying what she thinks I want to hear. My family is such a huge part of my emotional regulation problem and history, I don't know that I can ever feel safe relying on them for help.
I don't know.
Baby steps. Tears. Fears. More baby steps.
Hope I didn't tire your eyes out too badly ;o) Thanks for reading friends :o)
The suicidal aspect comprised of imagery flashing through my mind. Visualizations of holding a gun to my head. Drowning. Self-harming urges consisted of desires to bash my head on the counter, cutting. I did do some emotional eating. Overall, just not feeling well.
The day as a whole went pretty well-other than mood issues. I was able to keep Baby Bananaface fed and mostly on schedule. He took a good nap. I got dishes, laundry, and some cleaning done. He was agitated and needy today. It wore on me. By mid-afternoon I was ready to be done parenting and get to my strength training class.
The hubster was staying a bit late at work to try and avoid traffic (some major accidents along our main corridor) so I texted asking whether he was close. He asked if I meant as far as completing his homework. I responded with a crying face emoji.
He called and we talked. I stuffed emotions. Avoided discussing how I was really doing. I kept breathing deep, trying to hold back my tears and desperate feelings. I sucked it up and forged ahead with dinner and getting ready for the gym.
Not even 20 minutes into the workout the childcare folks called me in to get BB. Apparently he was asking to be held, wouldn't take off his backpack, and crying when they set him down. At the old gym, no problem. Here, with the meek tweenage ladies taking care of the kids, too much to handle. After I cleaned up mine and my mother's workout stations I walked past the childcare area and saw one of the girls lying on the floor. She can't hold my kid cuz she has to lie down? WTF?
Anyway. My mom had took BB and said that I could finish my workout. I had started to and then I couldn't. I kept thinking about how my mom drops everything and takes care of my nephew so often for my sister and I didn't want to be like that. I can sense how poorly my mom is feeling-physically and mentally-and I just can't contribute to her pain.
There was a moment in my frenzied, sad thinking that I recognized that I have a disease and that I need extra help from time-to-time. I thought that I'm different from my sister and I don't abuse my mother's help. Then I thought about how wore out my mom is and I just couldn't do it... I couldn't give myself that grace.
When we got home I took BB into our room and gave him a bath, got him distracted with some toys so I could shower, then played with him until the hubby got home.
He knew I wasn't well. He knew I was isolating. He started problem solving. I'm still hiding in the bedroom. I used the excuse of needing "computer time" to avoid launching myself back into the family arena.
It's so stressful. Being immersed in this place... these people. I know they're family, it's just with my DBT training we talked a lot about avoiding dysfunctional relationships and I worked a lot on distance and perspective regarding my family. I'm losing that now. I feel myself sliding back into the dysfunction I lived within for so many years-so long not being able to see how it hurt me.
Most of the day I find myself contemplating the massive amounts of CRAP in this house. Every nook and cranny filled with stuff. Old clothes, clearance junk, "just in case" things of every nature. So much STUFF that the place isn't functional. To me, it's also depressing. For me, the stuff signifies so much unsaid, so much unacknowledged pain and emotion. I'm frustrated by the lack of efficiency and stressed by the emotional aspect as well.
Then there is the aspect of spending the day with my mom and observing her interactions with my nephew. Each teasing comment jerks me back to childhood and hurts my heart. "You're such a crankypants." "Knock it off, I can't take anymore." "Let it go." "Get over it." She claims over and over that my nephew is normally better behaved and not as hysterical. The fact is, whenever I've been around him (even before moving in) he's been whiny and crying-especially if my sister or mother leave. Talk about separation anxiety. He nearly passes out from crying so hard. It's awful.
The relationships between my parents and my sister, my parents and each other, my sister and my mother... Ugh. There is so much weight that I feel. My mom is so lonely and tired. Still coping with the death of both her siblings last year and pining for the husband she's continually waiting for to come home. He wasn't there when they got married and he was in the Army, he wasn't there when he got out and decided to pursue a slew of hobbies full force, with every spare minute it seemed. He said he'd slow down with the tennis thing once he got his goal rating and he hasn't. I love my dad. I always will. It breaks my heart seeing the hurt he gives my mom.
It also stresses me out seeing how much my mom defends my sister while simultaneously being wore out and slipping into angry outbursts when she finally hits her limit. Watching my sister ignore her son or sensing her emotional stuffing and bitterness spike my stress. Hearing the teasing and avoidance test my anger.
So much here is weighing on me. Then there is the fear. Is this a momentary struggle, a transition period-or am I backsliding? Can I adjust to this atmosphere or is the beginning of an end in regards to my hard fought stability? I don't know.
The hubby says I need to figure out how to accept help from my mom. That I need to figure out how to tell her when I need help and I'm not safe. I just don't know that I can. She throws herself under the bus so often... I don't want to be like my sister. I don't want to contribute to her demise. I don't want to her her saying what she thinks I want to hear. My family is such a huge part of my emotional regulation problem and history, I don't know that I can ever feel safe relying on them for help.
I don't know.
Baby steps. Tears. Fears. More baby steps.
Hope I didn't tire your eyes out too badly ;o) Thanks for reading friends :o)
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