There are some things on my mind as of late that I’ve been debating on whether or not to write about. I don’t want to offend anyone, point fingers at people, or make people think that they are the cause for this post, because I know some will. A lot of my family reads this blog, and, well, I don’t want to make anyone mad or make them feel like this is in anyway “their fault” for my believing the way I do. But, I have this feeling that I need to just let this all out. *sigh* So here it goes…

I was raised half and half growing up. I spent my younger years living with my mom and step-dad in an unreligious home. We didn’t pray, we didn’t go to church, we really didn’t talk about religion at all. Then, when I was almost 13, I moved to live with my dad and step-mom and things changed drastically. We prayed before every meal, went to church every Saturday (Seventh-Day Adventists), and I even went to a Seventh-Day Adventist school. I ended up spending my Junior and Senior years of high school at a Seventh-Day Adventist boarding school in Washington. It was a lot to take in though. I instantly felt like there was a mold that I had to fit into (and let’s be honest, most teenagers feel that way) but I wasn’t doing a very good job.

I went to school and studied in Bible class. I went to church and sung the hymns. I went to Youth Group and tried to say all the right things. Don’t get me wrong, there are some things that were said and taught that made sense and I still believe in. But, I had issues with a lot of it. I tried. I tried so stinking hard to be a “good Christian girl” (though others may disagree with that statement). I prayed, I read my Bible, excelled in Bible class, and asked God to take over in my life. I asked over and over and over and over and over again. I never felt any different, I never felt a “change” in my heart, or anything even remotely close. I didn’t have a peace wash over me or a stillness surround me. Nothing. Nada. Zip. So I got angry. I became very angry. I felt like I was being forced to do something and be someone I obviously wasn’t. And
as time went on, I saw things I didn’t like in sermons, in class, and around the fellow Christians around me.

Let’s start with school. I went to a VERY small academy for my 8th, 9th, and 10th grade years. Let me tell you, some of the meanest people I’ve met went to that school. I was best friends with one girl for a year or so, then all of a sudden, I was hated. Her mom hated me, she hated me, and I never figured out why. To this day I have no idea what I did to make them so mean towards me. There was another girl who I swear thought that because she was raised in the church, she was better than me. At least that’s how she acted. She thought that because she went to church every Saturday, played varsity basketball, and her
father was a teacher at the school, she was something pretty special. I can tell you right now, she did NOT have God in her life, and if she did, that’s definitely not something I want to be a part of. EVER.

Boarding school brought new life to me. I was living away from home, had a new set of friends that didn’t talk behind my back or make me feel inadequate. I fit in. Kinda. I was the only girl in my group of friends that wore pink (they all wore black for the most part), but they didn’t hold that against me. They got to know me first. These were some of the first people I remember meeting and thinking, ”Whether they believe in God or not, they are more Christian than most Christians I know.” I’m still friends with some of them to this day.

I also met one of the best teachers in the entire world. He was a Pastor, but you would never know it. He was the Senior Bible teacher at the boarding school, and he understood that everyone was going to have varying opinions about everything. And I mean everything. And he respected it. He valued it. He loved
it. He didn’t take things at face value. He would dig deeper. I always looked forward to his class. Then he had to go get sick, though, appendicitis is a pretty good reason to be sick. We had a sub for a few weeks, right smack dab of the marriage portion of our school year. Things went downhill, and once again I was reminded how many Christians are so close-minded, un-sensitive, and just plain mean. This sub, had the entire class start chanting, quite loudly I may add, that, “Divorce is not an option!” Uh, I come from a divorced family, and while I didn’t understand it at first, I realized as I got older that divorce needed to be an option. And it was a damn good one at that. I walked out of the class.

Church. Oh my goodness. You’ve got to be joking. Church is not for me. I’m sorry. No thank you. I’ve heard some of the most sadistic, twisted, judgmental, and obnoxious things in church, whether it be during the sermon, during youth group, or just over hearing conversations in the lobby. Church is not somewhere I want to be. I’ve heard Pastors preach about how if you don’t get baptized, you don’t go to heaven. I’ve heard people gossip more in the church lobby than in a high school girls bathroom. I’ve heard youth group leaders tell me that because I held hands with my boyfriend, I was living in sin, or at least, more than usual. I’ve heard people talk about people they know coming out as gay like they died. Seriously? You have no idea if I’ll go to heaven or not. You have no right to be talking behind someone’s back. I’m not “extra” sinful because I touched a boy. You have no right to judge someone by their sexual orientation, or at all for that matter. You shush your mouth!

We all have things in our life that we aren’t proud of, that we like to hide, that we like to admit isn’t really a part of our lives. We all have things that still haunt us from time to time. All of us have skeletons in the closet. And sometimes, those skeletons like to go dancing.

Let me start by saying this… I am in the process of finding a psychiatrist to help me with the continuation and advancement of problems I am currently experiencing. Please realize that I am laying it all out here for not only my own benefit and sanity, but to also help those who are too afraid to let it out on their own. I want to help be someone’s voice. Because I know how hard it is to voice any of this.

My depression has taken a turn. And not in a good or healthy direction. My anger has increased, my anxiety has multiplied, my motivation has dwindled down to stupidly low amounts, and the feelings I have are horrible, at least to me. I am CONSTANTLY angry over something little. Take for instance this; I am angry that I have laundry to do. Not irritated or flustered, but full blown angry. I know it’s stupid, I know I shouldn’t be angry about it, but I physically can not stop myself from being just straight up pissed. One sentence can send me into a fit of rage, which causes me to hurt those that I love, even though there’s that little voice in my head telling me to just calm down, it’s not that big of a deal, just breathe. No matter how hard I try, there’s no stopping me once I start. It’s 0 to 60 in an instant, and no one can slow me down.

And the feelings I’ve been getting. Oh my stars. If I didn’t know I was suffering from a mental illness, I would truly hate myself and the mother I was. But I know better. I know this is not me, this is not the mother that I truly am inside. As of late, I do not like being around Chase. He drives me crazy. Sometimes, just being in the same room irritates me to no end. He won’t even be doing anything except playing with his dancing puppy, but I’m still gritting my teeth. That’s a horrible feeling. That’s a horrible thing for me to deal with. I’ve never expected that every day with him was going to be rainbows and butterflies, but I expected them every once in a while. The other day, Kyle brought Chase home from his great-grandparents. Within five minutes of Chase being home, I had gotten so angry with him that I screamed, went into my bedroom, slammed the door, and didn’t come out the rest of the night. And I cried. I cried not for me, but for Chase and Skylar. I cried that they are living with someone who can’t control themselves, and I fear that’s where Chase is learning his method of acting out. He’s seeing me yell, scream, get angry over nothing, and lose my cool more often, and is projecting it back. I’m teaching him his bad habits. It’s another reason I don’t want to be around him. I want to save him from me. I want to protect him from me. I want to stop, even though it’s non-intentionally, teaching him that this kind of behavior is okay. And right now, the only way I know to guarantee that happens is to distance myself from him as much as possible. But that’s not healthy either. Not for either of us. Now I’m just teaching him to hide. And I don’t want to lock myself away. I want to be there for him no matter what. But right now, that’s not possible, and sometimes I fear not safe.

I don’t like not knowing how I’m going to wake up in the morning. Am I going to be in a happy mood, an okay mood, or a horrible mood. At what point is it straight-up not safe for me to be around my kids? At what point to I throw in the towel and check myself into a mental hospital? How do I know tomorrow won’t be the day that I completely lose it? We all see the stories on the news. Parents who hurt their kids or worse. Sometimes because they are in fact evil people, but sometimes it’s actually because of a mental illness. I don’t want to be one of those news stories you all see on the news or read in the paper. I don’t want that one button to be pushed just right, me go black-out mad with rage, and hurt myself or worse, my kids. Hence the reason I’m desperately trying to find a psychiatrist to help. I don’t have the option to wait anymore. I don’t have the luxury of time any longer.

It’s hard being a working parent. It’s hard being a stay-at-home parent. It’s hard being a parent. I’ve no illusions to this at all. I know it’s sleepless nights, hard days, and stress beyond comparison. But I didn’t expect my depression to kick back in with the severity it has and make that the norm in our house. I know I’m projecting a lot of that in my own head, but it’s hard to control it. It’s hard to stop that negative thinking. It’s hard to stop myself. It’s hard to be the mom I want to be just in general, let alone with all the
other craziness going on in my head. l want desperately to help fix this, not for myself, but for my kids. It’s not fair to them at all to have a mother that can’t control herself in almost any capacity.

The stress is almost unbearable, and some days, I can’t even deal with myself, let alone my two kids. Which in turn just stresses me out even more because, really, who wouldn’t want to hang out with my kids. Chase is funny, sweet when he wants to be, and such a mover. Skylar is developing a language of
the cutest noises and her smile is to die for. But, even with that in mind, I can’t bring myself to want to do anything with them most days as of late. It’s confusing. It’s like I’ve gotten on a ride that I control, but it’s require a pin to turn off, and no one gave me that pin number. I’m stuck in no man’s land. And it sucks. Hard. Really hard.

Today was a particularly hard day. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed after having a mental breakdown last night. There was pretty much no hope for me from the beginning. And poor Kyle suffered for it. No matter what he said or did, I just got angrier and angrier with not only him, but myself and the world in general. All the while, that voice in my head is trying to get a grip on something, dig her heels into the ground, and try to stop the runaway train I was. I started crying uncontrollably because I couldn’t do anything else but yell. Then Chase got up, which just irritated me. He didn’t stand a chance either. In a stroke of luck for him, he ended up going over to his great-grandparents for the day. A few hours later, Skylar would join him over there as I made a mad dash for my mom’s house after a random phone call from her left me sobbing and angry with her. That’s when we realized we went from “I need to find some help soon,” to “We are desperate to get someone, anyone to see her because it’s only a few feet to the edge of the cliff she’s on.”

And now here I sit. After three hours of talking with my mom, some sushi, and Survivor, I’m back at home, writing this, and trying to figure out how I’m going to survive tomorrow.

Where do the skeletons come into play? In a few different ways. The first being just my depression in general. This is a relapse for me. And a spectacular one at that. This is all happening with fireworks, a marching band, and like, three piñatas to celebrate the uphill struggle and the downward fall I’m
experiencing. Those skeletons have decided to do the Cha-Cha Slide on their way out of the closet. And there’s no stopping it. It’s something I’m going to have to face and deal with. But I’m going to need help. And I’m desperately looking for it. Until I find it though, I have to just keep trying to fight my urge to be angry, panicky, lazy, mean, and any other negative feelings. And I also have to remember that I’m not alone. I have Kyle, who I can’t thank enough for loving me, holding me, and sticking by me as I struggle through this. I know I’ve said it before, but I truly can’t imagine anyone I would rather go through all of
this with. He is my perfection. Even when I feel like he didn’t get all the information before we got married. He knew about my past, and how I could relapse at some point in my life, but no one could have predicted just how bad it would get. He is a wonderful person for holding his own, holding my hand, and
struggling with me. I also have my wonderful, amazing mother. She has experienced depression herself, and she has been my rock through this. Even when I think I don’t need a rock, she continues to prove me wrong and will hold me close while I flail against everything, including her sometimes. She is one of my best friends, and I wouldn’t be doing nearly as well as I am without her. I know that without my mother standing by me, I would be way worse than I am. I can’t thank her enough for just being my mom.

But still the skeletons dance. I can tell myself all the positive things I want, tell myself I know I’m overreacting, and try to lock myself away to save everyone else from myself. But still they dance. And the only way to combat them right now is to dance with them. I have to pick up my feet, laugh at myself, and
dance the night away with them. Until I find a psychiatrist to help me, I don’t have a choice. It’s the only way I’m going to stay sane. I’ll grab their bony hands and teach them the Cupid Shuffle…

Well you have now. I love this picture. I wish I had it on a t-shirt for both of my pregnancies. I hated being asked when I was due, what I was having, etc. A few times I wanted to yell at them, “What baby?!” And to top it off, during both pregnancies, I was asked if I was having twins. *smacks head* I’M AWARE I’M A PLANET THANK YOU! I’M AWARE THAT I’M FAT, THANKS THOUGH! Ugh. People are stupid, inconsiderate, and just plain mean. I know they don’t mean it, but oh my stars, it was ridiculous!

Being as I’ve done back-to-back pregnancies, I wasn’t able to get rid of all my baby fat from Chase before packing it back on with Sky. I started at 160 with Chase, but I started at 195 with Sky. A week before having Sky, I was at a whopping 255 lbs. And people wonder why I wanted to shoot them for asking
about twins. Why am I sharing my weight? Because as of four days ago, I was down to 205, just ten pounds away from my pre-pregnancy weight for Sky. I was so stinkin’ excited! 50 pounds gone in 7 weeks? Yes please! While I’m still not uber comfortable in my body, I was definitely feeling better about myself. Then I had to go to the mall yesterday…

Gymboree was having a sale. Oh my goodness the cute baby girl clothes. I bee-lined for the little girls section and started browsing through the cuteness. Out of nowhere, a woman nearly hits me in the face reaching for something in front of me. I stepped back and sighed. After she moved back over a bit, I picked up the cutest pair of pants I’ve ever seen, complete with ruffles on the butt. EEEKKK! This woman who almost gave me a black eye then decides she needs to chit-chat about the sale, how cute the clothes are, and how she’s trying to buy something for her daughter-in-law who is due in a few weeks. Then, with a smile on her face she asks me, “So when is you’re baby due?” I kid you not, Kyle had to drag me away from her. I about punched her in the face, told her she was rude, and then kick her in the shin. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Every good feeling I had was gone as I bolted in the store because I was about to break
down and cry.

Needless to say, I was pretty much a wreck the rest of the day. I thought I was doing so good. I thought I was making a TON of progress. I was feeling really good about myself. And then this bimbo had to go and ruin it. I did tell her I had already had my baby and that she was seven weeks old. “Oh,” was all she said to me and she looked me over once again. Seriously. I wanted to beat the crap out of her. I couldn’t believe anything that had happened.

Now, I know she was stupid. I know she was talking out of her ass. I know I’ll never see her again and that I shouldn’t care what she thinks. But I couldn’t help but think to myself, is that how everyone is seeing me? Still pregnant because I’m still fat? Was I delusional in thinking I was doing good? Was Kyle lying to me when he told me I was doing awesome and he could see the difference? I had hit another low point and began searching for my anti-depressants.

No matter who you are, it hurts when people say stuff like that to you. When they point out your flaws and unknowingly rub them in your face. It sucks having the joy you were feeling sucked out of you by a stranger who says something mean, looks at you disapprovingly, or whatever. It just sucks. But you can’t
wallow in it. Trust me, I know it’s easier said than done. As soon as I left the store, I wanted to run to the Ben and Jerry’s stand in the food court and stuff my face. But I didn’t. Kyle and I left, I had a small dinner like I had planned, drank 4 glasses of water, and went to sleep. I woke up this morning feeling better. I feel better because even though she was rude and mean, I didn’t let her stop my progress.

I have total control over what happens in this weight loss journey (and life in general really). If I let those comments get to me, I might-as-well eat all the junk food in the house, never be active, and just get fatter. But, instead, I let her words get me mad, and I used it. Instead of a random stranger asking me if I’m pregnant when I’m almost 8 weeks post-partum, I want them to ask me how the hell I stay so fit. I want Kyle to be proud of me, I want my kids to learn my good habits from me, and I want to feel awesome in shorts again. I want to be able to run with Chase without feeling like everything is jiggling like Jell-O. I want to be able to buy whatever clothes I want instead of just what’s available for my “size.” And I’ll get there. So take that rude baby store lady. You can go suck it because I will rock this!