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…