ER

On my way to see Mom tomorrow I'm going to check myself into the ER. For a couple of months I have been having issues with my bladder. On three separate occasions I have had my urine checked for infection and it has been clear, so I assume it is a stone. But I haven't passed one yet and I'm having another bout of extreme pain, blood in urine, and low grade fever. So I guess they are going to have to take an X-RAY to see what's going on in there. I feel like the walls of life are caving all around me, but I know things could always be worse, so I am thankful for the blessings in my life. Mom is doing great. She got her breathing tube out and was able to walk around a bit.

New Plans for November

So...tomorrow I am supposed to embark on my NaNoWriMo experience, but my heart's not in it. I'm so tired. I have been spending as much time as possible at the hospital, considering I can't drive myself and I don't have a babysitter. And when I'm home the house just doesn't seem right without my mom here. I keep thinking I hear her in another room. Her dogs continue to miss her, and I didn't realize how much upkeep her dogs and cat take in addition to my two dogs. My son has been a little emotional due to this ordeal so he needs extra Mommy time. All the stars are stacked against writing, it seems. Normally I would say I am just making excuses, but I think my mom having a heart attack is a valid reason not to write a book in one month. So I'm just going to focus on family for now. Maybe next year I will do it, and I do promise to fit in writing whenever possible once life settles down.

Exhausted

My mom's surgery went really well. They are going to take the breathing tube and balloon pump out in the morning. I'm too tired to write much of anything else. My son misses his Mawmaw (he cried earlier). The dogs don't understand why she isn't home. I'm just still in shock with occasional blasts of reality balling me up into a frenzy of panic. I trust God that we will get through this. For all the hurt and bitterness involving my mom over the years, this incident has made me realize how much I love her.

Reality

My head hurts and I'm so anxious. I think the reality of yesterday and today have finally sunk in and I'm having trouble coping. My mom's triple bypass surgery is in the morning. Today when we were coming home from the hospital the hood on our van flew open and smashed the windshield. That was very scary and I'm so thankful that we didn't wreck. I'm still unnerved by what could have happened. Between that and worrying about my mom I am finding it hard to breathe and I need to go check my blood pressure because I feel like it's up. Last thing we need is for ME to have a heart attack or stroke. There is such a difference in knowing I should calm down and actually being able to do so.

The Unexpected

I may have to put my NaNo plans on hold. My mom had a heart attack yesterday and will be having triple bypass surgery tomorrow. So my focus will be on her. I trust God knows what He's doing. I'm praying everything will be fine.

Anxious!

I am a nervous wreck at the moment. I was thinking about my memoir and realized it would be extremely helpful to have access to my psychiatric records for the time period that I am covering. I found their policy information about requesting records and it sounds pretty simple. But my social phobia is having a fit over this. How can I ask for these records? Should I call or ask them in person (the place is just down the road from my home)? What if they ask me why I need them? It would be so embarrassing to tell them it's for a book, but what other reason would I give them? My chest hurts. I am on the verge of a panic attack just thinking about this. Time to take a Klonopin and listen to peaceful music. I will have to figure this out later.

The Blank Page

I have made an outline of what I want to include in my memoir, but I am having trouble finding a starting part. I know I have heard a thousand times to just jump into the story, that it doesn't matter what part of the book you write first, but I feel like the beginning will set the tone for the whole book, and I just can't find that yet. I've been reading through my old journals and I came across a letter that my ex-husband wrote to me shortly after we parted, back when he still loved me. Needless to say, I can't stop sobbing now. Going back into this is so hard, why am I doing this to myself? Well, I know why. I need closure, if you can possibly have closure from something like that. I'm praying the right words can come out of me to do the story justice. Some people say I am a good writer, but I fail to see it. I seem to make an awful muck of things when I try to write.

Possible Explanation

My husband did some research and we think the antibiotic my doctor gave me last week may be messing with the absorption of my psych meds. That would explain a lot if it's true.  I only have a couple more days left on my antibiotics so maybe I will feel normal again soon.

I felt really tired today but my mind is racing. Major headache too. I did manage to get some freezer meals made for next month, so that's something. Oh, and I swept the floor. Somehow that chore always gets postponed to the point that when I do sweep I have enough dog hair to take the form of Bigfoot in our trash can.

I'm going to try to start writing on here on a regular basis, maybe not. Just taking it day by day.

It's Back

It has been three years since I have posted anything on here. I have been doing well. Amazing meds. Amazing life. Yada yada.

But, after three years of no mania and just occasional mild depression, I feel a little shaky right now. I've begun to experience some mania. I think it's because I haven't been sleeping well, or maybe the impending mania is the reason I haven't been sleeping well. I don't know. My brain won't shut up and yet it feels blank at the same time. Does that make sense?

Incidentally, I decided a month ago that I would participate in NaNoWriMo this November. I decided it was time to write THE book, my memoir, because I have wanted - needed - to for so long. So this month I have been working on an outline, jogging my memory for the time around 2006-2007 when my illness really got ugly. It's hard to dig up those old bones, even though I think about that time in my life constantly. But actively seeking out the memories in order to write them as clearly as possible is much harder on me, mentally and physically. I was sick all last week, and my anxiety has been through the roof, and now (since last night) I feel the old pangs of mania. It's like there is electricity running through my veins. Even worse, there's a hint of dysphoria to go along with it.

Now, I could stop my work and rebury everything. Pretend it never happened. Hope for wellness and go about my merry little way. Or I could dig deeper, God help me. A lot is at stake here. I feel like I need to write this memoir for my daughters. I have never been able to adequately explain to them what happened when they were young. I feel like they need to know. But I also have a young son to take care of now and me going off the deep end will likely make history repeat itself.

So I guess I need to magically come up with a way that I can write this memoir without it completely undoing all my years of stability.

My first step is to try to get some sleep.

Motherhood and Madness

The month of May, particularly this weekend, is a time to reflect on the love and sacrifice of mothers, and it is also Mental Health Awareness month. I have seen many posts regarding each matter in the past week, but I am going to combine the two, because they are so intertwined in my life that I can hardly regard one without the other.

Motherhood, what a blessing. And mental illness, what a prison. And yet, some days, I mistake motherhood for the prison. I love my children, to a debilitating degree. No one could have ever prepared me for what being a mother does to your heart. I was twenty when I had my first child. I can't lie and say it was a perfectly beautiful experience, because I suffered severe postpartum depression for several months. I wondered how I could love this child so much and yet feel so detached, and the guilt over that less-than-charming emotion made me feel like a horrible mother. I tried to hide these darker thoughts, but the times I had to leave my daughter screaming in her crib while I went outside to do some screaming of my own, along with the times I would hand her over to my husband the moment he came home from work are telltale signs that I wasn't handling this new arrangement very well.

Thank God for antidepressants, and for my OB/GYN who recognized what was really going on with me despite my reluctance to talk about it. Things got better. I started enjoying motherhood. We decided to have another baby.

I was the happiest person ever with my second pregnancy. People had to tell me to stop doing so much. I didn't listen, which probably contributed to how close I came to delivering prematurely. Two months of strict bed rest and medication helped keep her put until a safer date, and after a couple of days in the NICU we got to take home our second daughter. It was truly love at first sight and I couldn't help thinking, YES, this is what becoming a mom is SUPPOSED to feel like! I loved both of my daughters so much, and I wanted to protect them from every bit of harm in this world. And at that time I felt well equipped to do so. I had a strong faith in God and I had a wonderful husband. What could go wrong?

But a lot went wrong. It's hard to pinpoint exactly when I started really cracking under the pressure. There are things I remember happening as young as four years old - the voices, the Shadow Men, the obsessions and compulsions - and I began experiencing bouts of depression off and on around age eleven. But, at age 26, my mental health began unravelling in more dramatic ways and I had no idea what to do about it except to pray harder and hide as much of the problems as I could. I was a mother. I was a pastor's wife. I was a devout Christian. This kind of thing wasn't supposed to happen to "good" people. Where had I went wrong, and why was the devil attacking me like this? I was so confused, and so afraid to admit to anyone what was happening to me. I tried to keep it all together -for my daughters, for my husband, for the church. But I was about to break, and it would change all of our lives forever. 

I spent the next year in and out of mental hospitals. Medication after medication after medication was tried; some worked, some made things worse. I was out of touch with reality. I was irrational. I began drinking heavily as a way to cope, even though I had barely even tasted a wine cooler before all of this started. I also began to smoke because someone at the hospital had told me it helped his nerves. I didn't care about my physical health at that time. I just wanted to FEEL better. There are many parts of that time in my life I don't even remember. The part I wish I could forget is that I lost my family, and it was my fault. I have never blamed anyone else for what happened. I have always blamed myself for it, and I always will. I will always live with the consequences, and it produces more grief than anyone can possibly know. 

I distanced myself from the God I had trusted in my whole life. I felt so betrayed, and I also felt so much guilt. I felt like I must have done something wrong for my mind to become so botched. Furthermore, I had no way to trust my own thoughts, so how could I trust, or even believe in, someone I could not see? I was angry and I was hurt. More than anything, I missed my daughters. I wanted things to go back to the way they were. But it just doesn't work that way. 

My anger and dismissal of God increased as I lost my dad to cancer. I felt like I should be the one dying, not him. I was the one who deserved it. Seeing the man I had looked up to my whole life, the strongest person I knew, lying so fragile on that hospital bed is the most inhumane thing I have ever seen. It didn't seem fair. Meanwhile, I was trapped in an abusive marriage and I could feel myself about to break again. Thankfully, I left that bad relationship (thanks to the help of a good friend and my mom), and I also quit my job three days later. It was the only way I could keep myself from having to go back to the hospital. I wasn't sure what would happen next, but I had to trust that it would be better somehow.

And it was. Douglas and I began dating five years ago and we have a precious little boy. I didn't think I would ever have anymore children. I didn't think it was wise, given my mental health history. But it happened and I don't regret it. I do wish I was 100% mentally stable 100% of the time, but I don't even think "normal" mothers can claim to be that. Motherhood is a blessing, but it is difficult. I think it's doubly hard in my case because I have to ask myself every day, "am I stable? Am I thinking clearly? Is what I am seeing/hearing real, or is it just in my mind?" I am unable to drive or work due to the severe panic attacks I experience, along with the other problems, and yet I am in charge of a toddler each day. Go figure. I see my girls as much as I am allowed to. I do the best I can with what I have, where I am, every day. Some days are really, really bad. And some, almost normal. It's a balancing act, this motherhood thing, this mental illness thing. Both are unpredictable. And both will have their hold on me for as long as I live. I love my children more than anything in this world. I have come back to terms with God. Imaginary or not, I need Him. Maybe He needs me as well. After all, parents need their children as much as children need their parents. 

Happy Mother's Day to each and every one of you. I didn't share this for pity or attention, and I tried not to go into a lot of detail about things that involved other people other than myself. I just feel like what I went through may help someone else who is silently struggling. As mothers, we tend to our children's needs and often neglect our own. I am here to tell you that it will backfire on you if you do it for too long. I am still guilty of not asking for help when I desperately need it. I promise to work on that, and I hope you will too. Enjoy your weekend, and even if no one else tells you, please know that you are doing an awesome job. You are far more important to the people you take care of than you will ever know.