LJ Idol - A Black Rainbow Isn't Devoid of Color (Week 1 Prompt)

On the best days, the colors of my personal rainbow are bright and vibrant.  You can see the red slip into the orange, which slips into the yellow, and so I.  Each color isn't individually defined, but slide together to make a beautiful sight.  These are the days when nothing can stop me as I slip from one moment to the next, each building to show the beauty of my day.

On a typical day, the colors of my rainbow can still be bright, but they don't mesh together.  Instead, like a child's painting, each color is defined, separate from it's neighbor.  Each moment stops me, holds me in place before allowing me to move to the next moment.  Those are the days that don't go as planned, where it's a little harder to make my way through when something changes.  But at the end of the day, the rainbow is still bright, if not perfect.

On the worst days, my rainbow has gone through a filter.  It's composition is the same as a best or typical day, but instead of seeing the greens, blues and purples pop at the bottom of the rainbow, they are shades of black and gray.  Sometimes, like the best days, the black and grays slip from one to another, able to tell the subtle difference in shades of gray.  Others, you can see the separation of each shade of gray, though the line between them isn't as striking as a typical day.  But whether gray or blue, black or red, white or yellow, each still unique and separate from their fellows.

The important thing isn't what kind of rainbow a day brings.  The important thing is that each day has a rainbow with it's own special blend of coloring.

Talk About It Tuesday - What My Depression Looks Like

 

"Can you take the Boy in to school this morning? "

"I'm sorry, I didn't get anything done."

"The kids deserve a better mom."

These are just some of the phrases that come from me when I'm feeling depressed.  Of course, I don't always call it depression.  I'm "down" or "feeling off" or, most often, "broken".  But they all equal the same thing: me feeling like I'm a failure and having difficulty pushing past it to do anything and hating myself for everything.  It doesn't matter if it's my fault or not. I'll take the blame anyway.

I've heard many times over the years that I don't act like I'm depressed.  I can laugh and smile, chatter away at people.  I can be out in public, talking to strangers and laughing with friends.  But inside, I'm berating myself for being fake, wishing I could leave, wanting to be anywhere else.  And then spending the next several days hiding in my room, just existing, playing braindead games and not even reading.   Not initiating interaction with  my kids or my husband because of the conviction that they are better off when I'm away from them.

My kids know when the depression is really hitting.  It's when I even get hugs from Pete as he tells me he loves me.  Where Tedd comes in to hug for several minutes.  They try to do things to help me out - not fighting about getting school or housework done, not fighting in general.  And it does help a little.  Just not enough to pully me fully out of it.

It never comes on all of a sudden or leaves that way.  The days just gradually get harder to deal with, and then, eventually, gradually get easier.  Being on my cocktail of medications means these days don't happen as often as they used to, but they still do happen.  They don't last as long, but they do still last.  I'm learning (even after 20+ years being on some of them) that they aren't magic pills.  But they help.

This is a post that I've been wanting to write for awhile.  Every week on my Blog planner, I have writing about Depression for my Tuesday post.  And it's hard to write about, so I end up not writing the rest of the week's post either.  Then I try again on Monday and... 

But I had to get this out here.  It's not the best post I've ever written.  I'm not sure if it's exactly what I wanted to say about my depression.  But it's something.  And sometimes, giving 10% is ok, because it's better than 0%.  I'm learning to forgive myself for what I don't do, and to accept what I do manage to complete as the gift that it is.  

I'm not perfect, but I'm learning how to deal with me.

Fighting It

 Today, the depression is hitting me.  I don't really have a reason why - I took my meds, I got out into the (scalding hot) sunshine for awhile.  But I've been having difficulty pulling myself mentally out of the state I'm in.  I look around the dining room and see everything I should have done today, all the cleaning I'm trying to get finished.  And I just.... can't.

This, far more often than most, is what my depression looks like.  I manage to get out of bed.  I even get a few things done.  But the little voices in my brain won't stop mentioning what I DIDN'T get done.  No matter how many other things, it's the "But what about THIS"s that stop me in my tracks.  And I hate it.

I'm trying to fight it.  The intellectual part of my brain is telling the emotional part of my brain that there's nothing to worry about, that you'll be back on top of things.  The emotional part of my brain isn't having it.  And as I sit here, getting ready to join in my first ever book club (and scared to death that I'll sound like an idiot as I try to talk about the book because I ALWAYS sounds like an idiot, and I'm always afraid) I'm just trying to remind myself that I can make it through.  That I can spend time with my BuJo later, maybe post another blog post later.  Maybe I'll even work on a plan for trying to use this more regularly, to post regular content and updates.  

All I know is that, as down as I am, I refuse to let it get the best of me.  Because I am a fighter, somewhere deep inside.  And I won't let my own brain chemicals let me stop finding that fighter.

Working through it

The last few weeks, I've been having more bouts of depression without really knowing why.  Most of the time, it's in the evening, just generally feeling down but not having a focus for it.  The things that I think should make me happy (working on my BuJo, keeping my List a Day and Today I...'s updated) haven't been.  I suspect some of it is the state my house was in for the longest time - total complete and utter disaster.  I was finding myself in that horrid catch 22 where the state of the apartment was making me so depressed that I couldn't find the energy to keep up with the state of the apartment.  

Some of that has changed today, though.  I asked Tedd to work on cleaning up the kitchen, I was going to work on the dining room, and I asked Rich and Pete to work on the living room.  We all spent a couple hours working hard on it and, while none of it is perfect, I feel more comfortable letting people into the house.  I'm hoping that I can get the boys (primarily Pete) to keep up with things so I can feel more comfortable diving into something like the bathroom on Monday.  

I'm trying to work on one very important part of me, and that is the part that is just trying to let go of the need for perfection.  I don't really expect it from anyone else, but I let it weigh me down when I don't meet my own expectations.  I constantly worry what others think of me and the state of my house/car/clothes/life.  I'm trying to let that go.  (Well, beyond trying to get and keep the house in good enough shape that they don't ask us to leave.)

It's a hard thing to do, letting go of my need for perfection, letting go of the blame I heap upon myself when things don't go quite as planned.  It's hard to not berate myself for not being the perfect wife/mom/housekeeper/friend, because I've been doing it for 40-odd years.  I'm trying to find more affirmations to remind myself that perfection isn't a necessity and that what matters most is what my boys and my husband think of me.

I read an old post on Facebook the other day that was a reminder, even all these years later, that I've never really been a bad mom.  The post was this:

FhuSebtrSuarplylSrona 4, shruoraeg201dan2ld  · 

Shared with Your friends

While Teddy was having an awesome time at the prerelease tournament, I got a chance to find out what I sound like through Pete's. Ears. There wasn't a lot of room for Pete to be Pete, so I brought him out to the van to play. After turning me into a variety of barnyard animals, he pretended that he was the mommy and I was the baby/boy. He read me stories before putting me to sleep, got me up and ready for school, drove me around on errands... and as I listened to this, I realized more than anyone else could tell me, that I really am a pretty good mom. It was an awesome day with my family. Today's grade: A+

I knew this 9 years ago.  Even if only for a day, I knew it.  So I need to keep reminding myself that the surprise hugs, the "I love you, Mom"'s and the fact that Pete will still come to me when he's upset mean that I'm still a good mom, especially in their eyes.  So while today, getting everything cleaned up in our own separate corners, felt good the important things was that we were doing it together with tears, yelling and screaming.  And that I could walk into the other rooms and see them for the great job they were rather than telling myself, "Later I'll have to take care of X, Y, Z in here."

I'm getting better at being the best me I can be.  It's still a work in progress.

Trying to get back on track... again

I was tired of the mess and tired of the stress, so I decided it was about time to do something about it.

Yes, what I really wanted to do was lay in bed and play on the computer for hours on end, but every time I did it, I got bored or I felt guilty.  So I figured it was time to try to turn things around again.  Or at least try to.  I've stumbled so many times in the past, and I'm really hoping that this time maybe, just maybe, I'll get the routines to stick.

I'm trying to start (relatively) small.  I'm starting with a focus on cleaning.  I've started back with the baby steps of FlyLady Baby Steps and (somewhat) ignoring the daily missions.  I am working on cleaning a different room a day like I used to do, with a little wiggle room in case something comes up to make a particular day harder than others.  Every night, I'm straightening up the kitchen, getting the dishes in the dishwasher and making sure my sink is shining.  I'm trying to keep up with the little declutters during the day, as well as begging Rich and the boys to take care of their things so I don't have to do as much.  I'm trying to do a load of laundry a day so I'm not overwhelmed with all the laundry to fold.  And each day, I'm trying to add a little more.

I bought a planner at the end of last year/beginning of this year that seems to be working well for me.  It's dated, but not yeared (basically, it has all the dates but none of the days of the week listed in it).  There are several lines for each day, 2 days to a page.  It gives me room to make notes, keep track what I need to do and feel a bit more on top of things.  It's probably not going to be the only thing I use - I'm still using Cozi and I'm actually hoping to have a control journal one of these days.  But it's a start for me.

I think a lot of this is coming out of a group therapy study that Teddy and I are a part of.  It's for people with depression and their 9 to 17 year old child.  Part of it is trying to find ways to help eliminate stress and some of it is trying to find ways to help our kids not have to worry about depression - ours or theirs.  Tonight is week 3 and I'm trying to let the lessons into my brain.  I think it's working, because I'm feeling better about some things.  Partly, I'm sure, because of the changes I'm trying to make.

I'm trying to make sure that the changes I make aren't only related to the apartment.  I'm trying to drink more water and less soda.  It's easiest when I don't have it in the house, though days when I have to pick the boys up from school is a little harder, since I'll stop and grab something to eat and drink while I wait for them.But even if I get myself down to one soda a day, it's a good start.  I'm also wearing my WiiFit meter constantly.  I haven't started back with exercise yet, though I really need to.  That, I'm hoping, will be next week.  I just don't want to over do things, y'know?  When I feel like I have a handle on the cleaning, then I'll feel like I can add more to it in the form of exercise.

It's little steps, little things.  And I'm hoping that if I can make my environment nicer, then I can make my brain easier to deal with and become nicer myself.  Often, I feel like I'm the screaming mom, the nagging mom, the annoying mom.  I feel like I'm angry so much of the time and that I don't know how to be happy.  But I know it isn't true, so I'm trying to make steps to change that part of me.  Maybe then, I can ask my family to help our rather than yelling and screaming for them to.

I'm hoping that I'll be able to do a little better job of keeping up with my blog, but no promises.  Today, I happen to have the time on the computer to be able to do it.  So I'm writing.  Even if it feels like the same thing I always write, at least I'm writing.  Who knows?  Maybe tomorrow I'll have more time and I'll be able to write something else.  I don't know.  All I do know is that I'm ready for the me I want to be.

Pondering with a Purpose - Love Thyself

This week's topic for Brenda Youngerman's Pondering with a Purpose is Love Thyself: Do you love yourself?

This is a question in which the answer changes not only day by day, but hour by hour.  And it can change with the flip of a switch, for any reason or for no reason.

I want to love myself.  Honestly, I do.  I know that there are so many good things about myself (as I talked about in my day 6 challenge).  I know that I have a big heart.  That I love my family and my friends and that I'll do anything for them.  I know that I can and will offer support to those in need, and I'll hug anyone given half a chance.  I know that I'm worthy of love and that I have enough people that love me to prove it.  I'm an amazing person, someone with depth and strength that I sometimes to recognize myself.  I deserve love, not only from those that know me well, but more importantly from myself.

The problem is the many years of self doubt, depression, and bad choices.  Most of my life, I've had problems with my own self-worth.  Teased through school because of my weight, my brain and my lack of money, it was hard for me to see anything worth loving.  After all, when you hear one boy tell another "Oh no, Amber's got a crush on you!  You better run now!" you start to think that there's something wrong with you.  So it is difficult to remind myself that a) youth is callow and cruel and b) their opinions really shouldn't have mattered.

The hardest thing for me to fight, in my need for self-worth, is the depression.  I'm getting better, thanks to my meds, but there are still days when I find myself berating myself because of something left undone.  Today, as I was driving to and from my physical therapy appointment, I found myself thinking negatively.  "Look at you.  You got such a great start on your daily challenges and your SparkPeople exercising, and now you've gone two days without typing anything.  You know that you're going to go home and just play on Facebook.  That's what you do.  You'll go home and sit in front of the computer getting nothing done, or you'll go upstairs and nap.  That's all that you can ever seem to do.  You don't follow through with anything.  You know that, right?  So why did you think this would be any different?"

This voice comes out at the oddest times, like today, sapping my mood and sapping my self-love.  It's taking me time to push past it.  Today, I realized that I was being self-defeating.  I realized that I was pushing myself toward the negativity.  And I had to remind myself that yes, I'd put things off for a few days.  But there was still a majority of the day left.  Yes, I've got to pick up Pete from PDO at 2, but I can get more things done afterwards.  There's always tomorrow, and there's always after Pete and I get home.  There's still time and it will get done.

So right now, I love myself but my depression doesn't.  We're in a war for control but I'm confident that, eventually, I will win.  Because I am stronger than my depression.  I wouldn't have been on this earth for almost 39 years if I weren't.

Fixing the Meds and Other Thoughts

This morning, I had my first appointment with my psychiatrist.  It was tough.  Because of the doctor's policies, I couldn't get in any later than 8 am, which meant there was a lot of frustration trying to figure out how to get Teddy to school on time and not be late for my own appointment.  But that worked out so the whole drive I was doing my anxiety things - what if the doctor isn't personable?  What if he's leaving and I need to get another one again?  What if he can't or won't help me?  What if what if what if?  I was very jittery for quite some time, even though I knew that I really didn't have anything to be anxious about.  After all, that's what they're there for, right?

I stayed jittery through about half the appointment time, my nervous fingers (it's almost like I'm trying to type when I get nervous, those are the moves that my fingers make) slowing as I got more comfortable.  Instead of talking to the doctor at first, I talked to one of the residents.  It was basically an intake meeting, so there was a lot of history that we were talking about which she recapped when the doctor came in a little while later.  Unfortunately, all they do is a med-check on me rather than any talk therapy (which, in large part, is what I need).  Still, I really liked the resident and she did help me feel a lot more at ease while we talked.  She and my attending are trying to get me set up for talk therapy with one of the therapists they have in the clinic.  I just need to wait to hear back from them when I'll have that appointment.  I'm trying to tamp down my natural panic when it comes to having to deal with more people, but it's hard.

One thing my psychiatrist did do for me, however, was up my dosage of zoloft.  I'm currently on the lowest dose and it hasn't been doing as much more me as I need it to.  So we're going to take it slow, start upping my dosage to 50 mg per night, then see how it goes.  I've got another appointment in a month to see how that's doing.  I also have my appointment with my PCP in a little more than a week, so I'll be able to talk to her about some of this too.  Wish me luck.

---

We had a great Thanksgiving this year, spending it with friends instead of family.  Usually, we spend Thanksgiving with my Dad, since he's only an hour away from us.  But this year, he went to Florida to visit with my step-brother and his family, which meant Rich, the kids and I were going to have to figure out what else to do.  In stepped my friend Becca.  They were also not heading to her family for the holidays because it  was the year that all the family spent with in-laws.  They've had their house under a year and she's been wanting to cook a big dinner there for awhile.  So we were invited over there.  Rich helped with some of the cooking and I did all the dessert baking before hand.  The day was filled with lots of fun and games, and far more yummy food than we needed.  For the most part, the kids even behaved!  Personally, I think it was a huge success and am hoping that we'll be able to share more holidays together in the future.  (I'd invite them here for dinner, but Lewis is highly allergic to cats and it wouldn't do well for him to collapse at the dinner table.)

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I'm still trying to figure out Christmas for this year.  Nothing is jumping out at me as must buys for the boys, though they are convinced that everything they see on TV is something they've just GOT to have!  Sadly, with the money crunch we've been having, a lot of their musts are things just out of my price range.  I do have a few ideas - a few new InnoTab games for Pete, a few DS games for Teddy, but mostly I'm just thinking that they'll be getting things that I can find on the cheap.

Though, to be honest, they don't need anything more.  They've got so many toys that I don't think they even know half of what they have.  The same goes for books and clothes.  I'm trying to get rid of our excess, but I know the holidays are going to be bringing it back in again.  I'm hoping, though, that there will be more output and less input.  But only time (and the holidays) will tell.

I know that I do want to try to do other, non-costly things with them during the holidays.  I've got a fabric advent calendar and I was thinking of putting slips of paper in them with things to do each day.  Things like making our own ornaments, getting an extra story at bedtime, putting up the Christmas tree, going out to look at Christmas lights.... that kind of thing. I may talk with them tonight and see if I can get some ideas from them of things we can add to our advent list.

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In preparation of the holidays, I'm finally getting around to a purge.  Something inside me is finally clicking to help me get done the things I want to.  It's baby steps - it always is.  But I'm feeling like I'm getting back on the right track.  This week, I've been working on my bedroom.  We've had a ton of things stacked and stored in our closets, to the point that I wasn't sure what was what any more.  So I got Rich to help me with the things in our walk-in closet and then worked on the rest for the last couple of days.

What is amazing to me is how freeing it is to get rid of some of these things I've been holding on to.  Clothes that I might someday get back into or that I'd gotten from someone so, of course, I can't get rid of it.  Knicknacks that I don't have the room to display and that don't have a strong meaning for me any longer.  Toys that the boys never play with and books that I never read.  So far, I've had 6 boxes and a couple bags worth of stuff to bring to Goodwill.  And that's just with the two closets in my room (though, to be fair, I'd bagged up toys to go quite some time ago and they sat in the bottom of my closet and did nothing for at least a year, so those went as well).

I also found things that I could pass on to the boys.  For being in my mom's wedding to my step-dad, Teddy had gotten a silver piggy bank.  Pete was too young for one at the time, but over the last few months, he's really been admiring Teddy's.  So yesterday when I was going through the bin of things that used to be on my dresser (and were going back there so Rich couldn't use the top of my dresser to store his clothes in any longer), I came across my old Baby Sinclair Bank.  It had traveled with me from home to college, to my first apartment and later apartments, holding my change and decorating my dresser.  And as I pulled it out of the bin, I realized that I didn't need it any longer, but it would be perfect for Pete.  He's a huge dinosaur fan (though I haven't shown him the Dinosaurs television show yet) and the bank is plastic so he's not likely to break it.  And he was happy to get it.  As soon as Teddy came in the house from school, he showed it off.  "Look what Mommy gave me, Teddy!  I got a dinosaur bank!"  There's nothing like happy kids.

---

For all that the anxiety level has been high - money worries, trying to keep on top of the apartment's cleanliness and the laundry, general anxiety and depression - I'm actually pretty happy.  Life is heading in the right direction for me, mostly.  I've got two kids who love to be with me, I'm getting to share things with them (like the bank for Pete or reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe to Teddy), and they're sharing their imaginations with me.  I've got a husband that works his ass off to make sure we have a roof over our head and food on the table, and who is there for me every single day no matter what.  I've got friends and loved ones and slowly - very slowly - I'm starting to bring back some of the things that I enjoy doing like reading and writing.  I'm taking small steps with everything, but I'm getting there.  And that is a good thing.

Should I Be a Mom? - Pour Your Heart Out

Should I have ever had the boys?  Do I really have what it takes to be a mom?

These questions have been going through my mind since... well, honestly, since the day I found out I was pregnant with Teddy.  But for some reason, they've been circling my brain more than usual lately.  And I want it to stop.

I love my boys.  I truly do.  When Teddy comes up to me at night and says, "Mama, I want to snuggle!", my heart expands with love.  When Pete practically jumps in my arms and says, "You're the best mommy in the whole world!", I know that there is no love in the world like what I feel for these little ones. And those are the times that I'm so grateful for what I have.

But then there are the times I sit back and look at my behavior and am convinced that I should just walk out the door because it would be better for Rich and the boys in the long run.  Times when I see my anger, my depression, my spending, my procrastination as insurmountable problems rather than something that I'll find a way through.  There are times when I see the same personality struggle between me and Teddy that my mom and I had, and it scares me.  Because, for all that I love my mother, we would anger lock each other and have the hardest time breaking out of it.  My mom said things when she was angry that hurt me for a long, long time, eating away at my psyche until I started talk therapy and was able to deal with it a bit more.

Those times, the times I get anger locked, are the ones that scare me the most.  Because I'll hear myself say such hurtful things to whichever of the boys is pissing me off at the moment and, at the moment I say it, I mean it.  Or rather, the anger means it.  When I tell them I want to give them away or that I should never have had them.  When I tell them that they're not stupid, so why do they have to act like it all the time.  Or when I swear uncontrollably at the top of my voice.

When I was a kid, after one of these soul-scaring arguments with my mom, I swore that I would never treat my kids the way I was treated.  I would never say hurtful things. I would never let my anger get the better of me.  I was going to be an understanding mom, a calm mom.  I wasn't going to fight with my kids the way my mom and I fought.  And yet here I am, screaming at the top of my lungs, physically holding back a hand that wants to fly out and smack them hard (at least I have enough strength of mind to not hit them even when I want to), saying more hateful things than my mother ever said to me.

I don't know how to fix it.  And that scares me.  I take medication to help with my depression and anxiety, but they don't always seem to work. I need to get in to talk therapy again, but I have such a difficult time making that initial call.  Rich has talked about getting a durable medical power of attorney so he can make these calls for me, but we haven't done it yet.  

I've tried to find a stress-outlet, since I know that it's a big part of what makes me shorter tempered, but I haven't found one that I can do regularly enough. For awhile, I went to Starbucks to read a book and sip a drink while Rich watched the boys, but then money got tight.  I've tried taking a bath with a book and a glass of wine, but I always have the kids wanting to come in and talk to me.  I've tried journaling, but like so many things I get gung-ho about, it ends up falling by the wayside within a couple of weeks.

This, of course, feeds into my depression.  Maybe I don't want to change?  Maybe there's a part of me that likes being a bullying bitch to my kids, hurting them when I'm hurting inside myself because I've got to share the pain?  Maybe I should never have had them in the first place and then they wouldn't have to worry about having a psycho mommy?

All I know is that I've got to do something.  Because I do love these boys more than I love myself and I hate what I'm doing to them by getting into this cycle of self-hate.  They need a strong mommy, one who loves them and treats them right.  One that doesn't show them when she gets angry.  One that doesn't need to apologize when she gets angry because she doesn't get angry.

In my heart, I know that I'm the best mom for these boys.  There are still far more times of hugs and fun and silliness than there are times of anger and hurt.  There are still many times when I control my anger and talk things through with them.  I know their quirks and foibles, what makes them laugh and how to comfort them when they are sad.  And I love them so much that it hurts.  But I want... no, I need to be a better mommy before it's too late.  Even when they get on my last nerve, destroying a living room in 10 minutes that I worked for four hours to get immaculate or being demanding and contrary, my heart can't hold any more love for them than I do now.  And I want them to always remember me as a loving mommy.  They need that touchstone, and I need to leave that legacy.

*edited to add: I just took a first step.  I called and made an appointment with a talk therapist.  They can't get me in until the end of November, but it's an appointment made.  Now it's just finding ways to cope between now and then.

It's Not as Easy as You Think - PYHO

"You know this is a supposed to be a social event.  You need to play with other people."
"Why don't you just call the school?"
"You should contact your school board member.  That's what they're there for."
Three phrases I've heard this week.  Three phrases from well-meaning people that don't understand how difficult social anxiety can be.
I've always been a shy person, afraid of confrontation and worried about what people think.  When I was a kid, I was teased for being smart, for being overweight, for being poor.  There were many times when I opened up to someone, sure that they were going to be a real friend, that they would be someone I could talk to and trust, only to find out later that they were making fun of me behind my back.  I still remember overhearing one boy say to another, "Amber likes you?  You'd better run!"  And my heart broke and I cried.  Which, of course, let me in for more teasing.  And this was a regular thing for me in my tiny K-12 school until I moved to Florida and attended a much larger school.
But by then, the damage was done.  Yes, in my new school I had more friends.  I was accepted for who and what I was.  I was able to reinvent myself a little without having to live down the embarrassing moments from my youth.  But the seeds of doubt were firmly in my mind, the conviction that things weren't what they seemed.
As I got older, it became more and more difficult for me to handle any kind of confrontation.  Oh, I could go into a store and shop.  I could handle being a call center employee where 90% of the calls coming in to me were ones where I got to help rather than ones where I was yelled at.  I could handle calling a select few friends and family members.  
But not all of them.  If there was a new friend, or someone that I hadn't talked to in awhile, I had a difficult time picking up the phone.  What if they are in the middle of something?  What if their "call me" wasn't sincerely meant?  What if what if what if?  And if I needed to talk to someone about something that was wrong, like calling about Teddy's busing situation, I freeze up.  What if they aren't the ones that are wrong, but I am?  Will they make me feel even worse about myself than I do on my darkest days?  Even knowing what I do from working customer service doesn't make it any easier.  The negative thoughts keep circling.
People think it's easy to just join in the fun.  After all, everyone around you is having fun.  They're there to talk, to play a game, to participate in the fun that they are their to have.  And that's, supposedly, why I came too.  And it is.  And I want to.  But what most people don't realize is the fact that I'm even there is a big step for me.  Going out of my house and joining in a new situation where I don't know the people, don't know the rules, don't know how things usually happen, is almost paralyzing to me.  Large groups, like Nashville's Celebration of Cultures isn't a problem because I can hide among the large number of people.  I don't have to be social.  But smaller groups, like our local Pokemon League, are a different animal.
With the Pokemon League, we've been going for about 9 months, almost a year.  At first, I let Rich take Teddy and I'd stay home with Pete.  I didn't know the people and I didn't know the game.  Then Rich started taking Pete to give me a bit of alone time.  Then, for a reason I still don't understand, I started joining them.  First, it was things like Pre-release tournaments.  Then I started coming on Sundays.  Most of the time, I kept an eye on Pete, read or played on my Kindle and kept to myself.  Slowly, I started getting to know a few of the PokeMoms-and-Dads.  We'd talk about little things, things that weren't terribly important, sharing things we had in common like various geekisms or what it was like to be a parent.  But even now, I generally stake out a table and sit by myself in the corner, saying hi as people walk by rather than come up and sit with someone that's already there or invite others to sit with me.
Pokemon is, in a lot of ways, Teddy's life.  He plays the DS game, plays the card game, reads Pokemon books, plays pretend Pokemon with Pete, compares things to Pokemon.  It's his current obsession and, as obsessions go, he could have worse.  Pete's getting to be very much the same way.  And Rich also plays at League and in tournaments.  And for the longest time, Teddy's been wanting me to play as well.  So I asked Rich to make me a deck.  And, without realizing why, I asked Rich to play a round with me at League the other week.  I signed up for a POP ID and started playing.  But only with Rich and Teddy.
I know a lot of the people that play, both the kids and the adults.  They know me.  I can call them by name, ask them about things in their life.  But I can't, without serious fear, ask them to play a game with me.  I don't know the rules well.  I make a lot of mistakes when I play because I forget things.  My deck isn't very good so they won't be getting a good amount of play out of me.  And if I make a mistake, I'm sure I'll cry from embarrassment  which will just embarrass me more.  (As a matter of fact, thinking about it is bringing tears to my eyes as I type this.)
All these thoughts go through my head, keep me from enjoying something that I know I do enjoy, keep me from putting myself out there where I can learn more.  And it makes me want to jump back into my hole, not play, not try to push myself out there because of the fear of rejection.  And people just don't understand it.
It's so easy for someone to suggest that I do something that they, themselves would find easy.  It's easy to look at me from the outside and suggest how to handle a situation.  And it's easy for them to be in the situation.  But for them to be me, just for a day when the pressures of facing my fears is overwhelming... they can't do it.  Because they aren't made the way that I am.  And the worst of it is, I can't even tell them when the situation comes up, because that feeds into my fears as well.
I'm trying.  I really am.  Sunday, I'm planning on asking the head of the League to play a round with me.  Monday, I called the school system again to complain about the bus situation.  I was forceful about what my worries and concerns and what I had a problem with.  I gave them the information they needed without resorting to screaming, swearing or breaking into tears.  I was told they'd call me back with answers to my questions regarding why they can't get my son home at close to the same time every day.  And so far, I've heard from no one.  But I can't take the step to make another call yet.  Because it's too hard of a step to take right now.
I just want people to understand that it's not as easy to be inside my head as they think it is.

Dealing with the Day to Day... Today

Yesterday, I had this grand plan to write about how today is the first time that 9/11 has fallen on a Tuesday since the towers fell 11 years ago.  I was going to talk about my memories (though not all of them, since I've blogged about it before), how the thoughts are there but not as intrusive as they were in the few years following the fall.   I had all these wonderful plans to show that I still remember how important that day was, how it changed us as a country and how the world would never be the same before and after.  I've always tried to acknowledge September 11th in some way and I didn't want to let today go by.

But then I got up this morning.  It was a typical rising for a Tuesday morning - get up, get breakfast for the boys, badger them into clothing while I make Teddy's lunch, drive up to the bus stop, then drive home for a few minutes computer time before heading around the house to do the rest of my chores.  And then I took a look at my e-mail.  My daily account balance was waiting for me and when I opened it up, I was shocked and dismayed to see how little was in the account.  Yes, things have been tight.  Yes, we've had several bills come out.  And yes, I knew I was spending when I probably shouldn't have.  But I didn't expect it to be this low.  It threw me into depression.  My anniversary is in two days.  My son's birthday is in 12 days.  Both vehicles need to be emissions tested and registered.  Groceries and gas will need to be purchased.  I have meds that should be picked up today and a dental appointment for both boys next Tuesday.  And we're broke.  We've got some money coming in on Friday, but making it until Friday with fears of other bills coming out early rattle through my head.

I want to curl up into a ball and cry.  I hate this feeling.  I hate that we are bad with money.  I hate that neither of us have the self-discipline we need to make our money last.  But I can't curl up in a ball.  I need to take care of Pete.  I have laundry in the dryer that needs to be finished.  I have cleaning that needs to be done.  And I have books, DVDs and CDs to sort through so I can sell them to McKay's for cash to keep us going these next few days.

I wanted to go on Facebook and just put out a request for hugs.  Sometimes, knowing that people have my back, that they love me no matter what kind of mistakes I make in my life, is enough to help push me to do what I need to.  But as I pulled up my friends' page, I saw post after post about remembering those that died 11 years ago today.  And I felt like I was being selfish, wanting hugs for something that I screwed up, instead of giving to those who were still grieving, either for loss of friends and family or loss of the innocence they had before the planes hit.  The daily crap that I'm going through is nothing compared to what happened that day.  And should that be what today is about?

I know that it isn't.  Deep inside, I know that life still needs to go on.  That was one of the important lessons that we learned that day - life didn't stop, we wouldn't let it.  People would still get married, have children, get divorced, lose loved ones, buy things and get frustrated.  We would continue to be the people that we are and not let ourselves be beat down by a terrorist act.  And having a bad day where you realize you screwed up and, yes, it will eventually be ok, but right now your emotions are taking the deep dive into the murky waters of depression is going to happen today like it does every other day.  Because life is still going on.  And that's what we need to remember.

So I haven't forgotten what today is.  I'll never forget what today is.  But I have other things happening in my life besides remembering it, acknowledging it and thinking about it.  I have clothes that need to be washed, books that need to be sorted, and a little boy who needs a jelly sandwich.  And yes, I can use hugs because life is weighing more heavily on me today than other days.  And that's ok.  Because the important place for me to remember is in my soul rather than on a webpage.

Thanks for letting me talk this out.  It helped me figure a lot out.  And if you ever need someone to listen, just ask.  I'll be there.

Back with the Five Question Friday!

It's been awhile since I've done... well, much of anything.  It feels good to get back to some of my old favorite memes, sharing things I probably wouldn't even think to talk about otherwise.  Today sees my return to Five Question Friday, hosted by Mama M over at My Little Life.  Feel free to join along with the weekly questions.  Just follow the link and add your blog post to the list.
Now, for some answers.

1. What do you enjoy doing the most with your spouse?
   
   This will probably sound weird, but playing a computer game together. I don't mean something like both of us raiding on WoW from our separate computers, but both of us sitting in front of the same computer, working on a hidden object game. One of us will have the "controls" (keyboard and mouse) and the other will point out objects, help solve puzzles... whatever we can find that works. It's a relaxing time for us (most of the time) and it's sharing something together.
   
2. How do you eat your taco? From the top or from the side?
   
   
   
   From the side, of course. Top down means that I wouldn't get all the flavors mixed together the same way I do when eating it from the side.
   
   
   
3. Have you ever shut off the basement light and ran like a fool because you knew someone was down there and would get you?
   
   No, but only because I've never lived in a house with a basement. In NY, we lived in a trailer and in Florida, they don't have basements because the ground isn't right for them. From the time I left college, I've always lived in apartments where I didn't control the lights. All that being said, if I DID have a basement, I can totally see myself doing this.
   
   
   
4. If you could change one thing about you what would it be and why?
   
   
   
   This is an easy question. I would get rid of my depression. I've been fighting it for more than 20 years and I'm tired of fighting it. I hate the mornings when I can barely force myself out of bed, when I can't even force myself to deal with my boys. I hate feeling like things are never going to get better and that I'm a useless lump of nothing. I want to feel good about myself more often than not, to not feel anxious about everything all the time. I just want to be "normal".
   
   
   
5. What age do you think is appropriate to have the "bird and the bees" talk with your children?
   
   
   
   It depends on the kids in question. With Teddy, I suspect it will be soon because he's so curious and he's been asking some questions. With Pete... who knows. But what I'm trying to use as my guide is when they ask questions, answering them honestly. I want my kids to know they can come to me with questions. Though, to be honest, there have been a few questions where I've punted them to Daddy because I just don't know the best way to answer a 6 year old boy. :)
   

A is for.... Able

Once again, I am participating in the A to Z Challenge - a yearly challenge through the month of April in which every day, you blog a letter of the alphabet.  It can be anything starting with that letter, anything at all.
I was trying to think of a theme to do - like all my geek favorites.  But planning always seems to forced to me.  I've always been a go with the flow kind of girl.  And so I'm trying to go with the flow now, working my way through the challenge by whatever catches my fancy as I write my posts (and yes, there will probably be a few preloaded, since I'm going to my Dad's for Easter and the last thing that I want to do is try to write a post on Blogger from my Kindle).  So if you want to follow my moods and methods, my brain-dropping for each letter of the alphabet, hop a board, fasten your seat belts, make sure your seats are in an upright position and hold on to the reigns.  It's gonna be an awesome ride.
Since today is the first day of April, I'm starting my month with the A word able.  I actually sat here trying to figure out what I wanted to write about.  Apples kept coming to mind, but I'm not much of an apple person.  My husband suggested I talk about everything I accomplished today.  But as I was writing it, it didn't feel right either.  He then wanted me to talk about how Teddy will grab two spoons whenever he can and be an Alakazam, making my challenge involving talking about Pokemon.  But I don't get into Pokemon as much as the males in my household do. Nothing seemed right.
Finally, I decided that I would talk about a realization that I've come to recently, a realization that I'm trying to use to change my life.  It's the realization that I'm far more able to do things than I give myself credit for.  But that I'm the only one who can do them.
I've had two problems that have plagued me - one for most of my life and the other for the last 10 years or so.  My depression and my bad back.  I allowed these two things to rob me of my responsibility and my confidence.  I let my depression look at a messy house and say, "It's too messy.  I can't do anything about it.  It will just get dirty again, so why do I try?"  I let my back tell me that I couldn't do things because of the fear that I'll hurt myself more and be out of commission for longer.  I gave up on keeping my house clean, on doing laundry, on cooking, baking and crafting.  I gave up on getting together with friends and playing with my kids.  I gave up on trying to lose weight.  Because I allowed these two afflictions to keep me from doing what I need to do to live a healthy life, I haven't really been living a life.  I've existed.
My wake up call came the other day.  I've been letting myself slip further and further into nothingness.  Letting the kids watch TV while I lay on the couch doing nothing - not even reading.  Ignoring phone calls from friends and family.  Letting dirt and clutter pile up.  Then I got a letter in my mailbox from my apartment complex telling me that they had decided to not renew our lease.  The reason?  Cleanliness.  And my heart stopped.  I own a lot of stuff - books, DVDs, CDs.  The kids have toys coming out the wazoo.  I've been meaning to weed through all these things, but two months wasn't enough time.  We'd have to come up with the money for moving into a new place, for cleaning here, for... just too many things.  My summer plans were now scuttled. And it was all my fault.
Rich, however, refused to let it stay at that.  After he got home from work that day, he went to the office and talked to the manager.  He got her to agree to look at the apartment and tell us exactly what we needed to do to get up to a level in which they would renew our lease.  We would have to agree to get it to that level and keep it there.  And she would give us a time frame for that.
I called her the next day.  She looked around and was honest about the amount of work that needed to be done.  She told us that we'd have until the end of April to get this done.  And part of me just wanted to call in a cleaning service.  It would have to be cheaper and less stressful, right?  But I really didn't have the money to have them come out.  I had to do this on my own... at most, with the help of a few friends.  I started by making a list of what chores we need to do as a family on a daily and weekly basis, then wrote down the things that need to be done in order to get the apartment in shape.  I set aside the end of last week and all of next to work on downstairs.  The kids are on spring break, so that would give me a chance to go through their toys with them.  And maybe even get a little help out of them.  My friend Becca has said she'd watch the kids (or come in and help with cleaning) so I've got that resource.
Rich has been working on the kitchen this weekend, while I've been working on the living room.  I expected the living room to take 2 or 3 days.  Maybe more.  I expected, honestly, to have my depression suck me back in and to already have no gumption to do more.  But it's not happening.  Instead, I'm finding that I'm able to do more than I'd imagined.  I still have the determination to get things done.  Because I have to.
Right now, the kitchen is 3/4s done.  The downstairs bathroom is finished except mopping the floor.  The living room only has the walls that need to be washed and the end tables to be cleared and cleaned.  I'm not ashamed to have the workmen come into the apartment to look at our A/C.  Because it's obvious that I'm making progress.
My new mantra will be that I am able to do what I want and need to do.  I'm taking my baby steps and making my way to being the person that I need... and want... to be!
ABLE

PYHO - I Just Want to Whine

I know that I shouldn't.  Whining is a plea for attention, saying "Poor pity me!  I've got it so rough!"  And I know that I whine more than I probably should.  I know that my life isn't hard.  Compared to many, my life has been a dream.  I've never been hungry or worried about where I was going to live.  I've never been the victim of physical violence (though mental is another story).  I've had friends and family that loved me through some of the darkest days of depression.  I even had a friend call the cops on me when I was threatening suicide, because she couldn't get to me as quickly as they could.  (And I love her for helping put me on the road to recovery.)

I probably don't have a lot to whine about.  But I want to whine today anyway, because of the little things that didn't go my way.

I didn't get as much cleaned as I wanted to.  I spent too long looking around Wal-Mart, trying to figure out what, precisely, I wanted to purchase in order to get myself better organized. I always having a hard time looking at what I did do, instead of focusing on what I did.

I forgot to ask my husband to bring down the boxes of clothes that I needed to bring to my friend's for her kids, so I carried three not-so-heavy-but-somewhat-awkward boxes downstairs and out to the van.  My back was screaming at me by the time I was finished.

Just as they were dismissing the kids from school, my van decided to die.  I panicked because there were other parents behind me and I couldn't figure out what was wrong.  There was not trying to turn over, but there was also no loss of battery.  I thought people would get mad at me because I wasn't moving and I didn't know how I was going to get the kids and I back home.  (Especially since we'd let AAA lapse.)  I was worried and scared and couldn't stop crying as I called first my husband and then my father.

Once I finally did get the van home (my dad said it was just a glitch in the electrical system because, after a few minutes "rest", it started back up with no problem) I decided to let it rest a bit more.  I'd promised Teddy that we'd get his hair cut today, followed by Subway for dinner and a trip to the park.  I had to reneg on Subway and the park, but the salon is right across the street.  Which meant there was no reason we couldn't walk there.  Except for it being uphill most of the way there (my apartment complex is in a valley), it being 82 degrees and humid and me being woefully out of shape.  But I wasn't going to disappoint my son again.  So the three of us walked.

Between trying to get keep Peter from running into the road and carrying my purse up the hill and across 4 lanes of traffic, I strained my back.  But I had to ignore it because I still had to get back home after the boys got their haircuts.

Peter, for the first time since we started getting his hair cut, threw a fit as our stylist was trying to cut it.  We almost had to put it off to another day, but the thought of Teddy going home with new hair and him not meant that he finally settled down.

We had to walk back.  Downhill, but still hot.  And now along with the boys to control and my purse over my shoulder, I was carrying a bag of product for the boys' hair.  My back got worse.  Add to this the need to walk past the apartment to our mailbox, only to find out that the only mail was junk mail, and the boys fought over who was going to carry the keys and who "won" in their race to the mailbox and back.

Once inside and settled, I took pics of the boys.  That's actually what my PYHO was going to be about - talking about how different my boys look right after a hair cut, how grown up.  I had pictures from earlier in the week, with their shaggy manes, and pictures from today where they both look so much older than their 3 and 6.  But for some reason, my computer won't pull up the files when I try to pull them from the SIM card. So I decided that I wanted to whine instead.

Yes, I know that these are all little problems, and most of them worked out in the end.  I found what I wanted at Wal-Mart - and had the money to buy it.  Even though it hurt, I managed to get all three boxes of clothes downstairs, to the van, dropped off at my friend's house, to her on her porch, grab lunch from McDonald's and still pick up Pete on time from PDO.  My van did start back up and it didn't cost me anything to have it do so (*knock on wood*).  Even though it's hotter than it should be on Pi Day in Tennessee, the walk was good for me.  Getting more exercise is always good.  Plus, the boys got exercise too.  And even without the pictures today, I still found something to write about for PYHO.

Trivial things.  Small things.  Things that, even me looking back at them knows they are nothing to really whine about.  But that doesn't stop me from want to, even if it's just for a little while.  Even if it's just in the space of this post.  Because sometimes, you've got to get the whine out and then move on.  And that's what I'm doing now.  The whine is out, my soul is clean, my heart okay.  It's time to move on.

I Wear Glasses

I wear glasses.  Every day, no matter where I am and what I do, these glasses are on me.  And they color how I see the world.

Because these aren't regular glasses - though I do wear those as well.  No, these are the special glasses that you hear about, usually when talking about someone overly optimistic.  You know the ones that I mean.  The ones with the rose tinted lenses.

But mine aren't rose tinted.  Or, at least, they aren't always rose tinted.  Mine are transitions lenses.  They slip from a rosy gold to a uniform gray, sometimes in a matter of minutes, sometimes over the period of several hours or days.  And they don't transition based on the sunlight.  The transition based on... honestly, I'm not sure.

Because one minute, I can be sitting in my home, feeling the warm sunlight spilling through the windows.  The world around me tinges faintly with the brightness of that sun.  My thoughts become clearer.  My mind more focused.  I can see possibilities and answers that I'd never imagined before.  I am convinced, thanks to that glow, that I can do anything I set my mind to.  Be a good mommy. Lose weight.  Complete 101 tasks in 1,001 days.  Make a name for myself in the Blogging community.  I can be who I want to be.

But then the lenses start to darken a little.  Maybe it's the sun going behind a cloud.  Maybe it's a letter or a blog post that I've read. Maybe it's children coming home and wrecking in 10 minutes things that took me 3 hours to put to rights.  Maybe it's nothing.  But the lenses darken and the doubts start to surface.  My son is obese How much of it is my fault?  Am I using genetics as a crutch?  The kids won't listen and I lose my temper.  Am I scaring them for life?  What makes me think I can lose weight?  I've tried for 30-odd years to be skinny and it's never happened.  What's so different now that I didn't have before?  I've never been able to follow through with anything longer than a couple weeks.  What makes me think that I'll stick with something for 101 days.  My blog is boring and derivative.  There are so many more interesting ones out there, ones getting the traffic.  What makes me think I can compete in this arena?

By the time this last doubt has crossed my mind, the lenses show the grayness of the world.  Yes, the sun is shining through the window, but it's a weak winter sun rather than a bright summer sun.  There are still spots on the carpet that I missed getting up, or particles near my baseboards that anyone with even one bad eye would notice the minute they walk in. I am a failure.  I am kidding myself that I'll ever be good or successful at anything.  My kids will never obey me, so why do I try?  Even when I try to discipline them, they don't seem to care.  So why am I doing this?  Maybe I should just let the world pass me by.  It will be happier without my constant presence.

The lenses do eventually regain their rosy glow, but it takes much longer for them to transition from dark to light than they did from light to dark.  It is harder to see the beauty in even a winter sunbeam when the doubts draw my attention from the edge of my vision.

Yes, I wear glasses.  Special glasses.

They're called Depression.

In Need of a Change

I'm going through a bit of dissatisfaction with things lately. Nothing that I can put my finger on (though most of which I can lay firmly at the feet of "I haven't been taking my anti-depressants because I'm afraid of puking them up"), but I want a change. I want something new and shiny and different that I can enjoy for a little while.

Books aren't quite doing it. I mean, I am reading - and quite a lot. And I'm enjoying the stories that I'm reading. But far too quickly, I've reached the end of a storyline or I have to wait for the next book to come in from the library or something else that has me stalled. At the moment, I'm rereading The Sandman by Neil Gaiman.  It should keep me happy for a couple more days (and by then, I'll be at the library to pick up the next books in the Vampire Academy series by Richelle Mead that are waiting for me).  But I also know that all of these books will go quickly.  They always do.  And my "old friends" (like Sandman) just don't seem to be doing it for me lately.  I'll read the and enjoy them, but they don't satisfy whatever need is dwelling inside of me.

The same goes with TV.  Of course, I have no cable and I can't get broadcast signal in my apartment (don't ask why, I just don't know) so my watching is either things I get from the library (which are out for a week, two max), DVDs I already own or, if I happen to be downstairs and the kids aren't hogging the television, something from Netflix piped through the old - and interminably slow - computer to the TV.  But even with all of Netflx's streaming (or Hulu, if nothing on Netflix appeals), I find myself flipping, flipping, flipping.

I've even tried shopping.  While the kids are at PDO, I travel to Wal-Mart or Target or Kroger or KMart... some place with things I can buy (even if I shouldn't).  But it isn't the "no, I shouldn't spend the money" that prevents me from making purchases.  It's the fact that absolutely nothing catches my fancy.  Nothing screams at me, "Buy me!  You know you want to take me home!"  No games. No books. No movies. No clothes.  Nothing.

I want to make a change in me, but I don't know what change it could - or even should - be.  There's the part that knows it should be exercising more.  Going to the pool in the evening and swimming.  Dropping an exercise DVD into the television and doing pilates or yoga... something to renew both body and spirit.  There's another part of me that's considering a change to my hair.  But what should the change be?  Should I adjust the color?  Something redder, maybe?  Or something more mahogany?  I know from experience that blond is NOT the answer, but I always wondered what I'd look like as a raven-haired beauty.  Or maybe I need to change the length.  Then again, I don't know how I would change it, unless I went shorter.  But would I regret that?

Sometimes I think that I need to create again.  But I don't know how.  Baking is pretty much out of the question.  Even in an air conditioned home, it's far too hot outside to have the oven on for long periods of time.  I look through my crafting supplies and inspiration eludes me. The posts for my RPGs feel lackluster when I make them, like I'm going through the motions rather than doing something that I enjoy.

I want to change something.  I need to change something.  But that something refuses to make itself known.  So I sit here, staring at empty words, berating myself for doing nothing, but not knowing what it is that I want to do.

Change.

Wanting to Write, But Being Afraid To Write - PYHO

At least 10 separate times, I've started a thread or a post somewhere and then wiped it all away.  Some of them were almost completely finished as well.  But my greatest enemy has come back to rear it's ugly head.  The enemy called "Self Doubt".

I'm behind in a lot of things.  I'm behind in cleaning my house.  I'm behind (where I want to be, at least) with some swaps.  I'm behind with posts I want to do.  I'm behind in my exercise.  I'm behind in my book reviews (and I think I'm up to 12 or 14 that I need to review).  I'm behind on game posts.  I feel like I'm behind on everything.  And it's making me feel as though the ground under my feet has quickly become a sink hole and I have no hope of jumping clear of it.

I'm feeling needy and hating myself for feeling that way.   I want to be liked by everyone.  I want to be told "It's ok," when I'm getting behind.  I want to be sure that I'm not one of the questionable people that are talked about on some of the boards I'm on.  I want to be perfect and at the moment, I'm feeling like I can't even be adequate.

Yes, I know all the answers.  "You can let things go.", "You don't have to do everything.", "Cut yourself some slack.", "You know, you really DO have a lot going on in your life right now."  People with the best of intentions trying to help make things better for me.  But it doesn't always work that way.  Because a lot of the people that are telling me these things only know the things that I tell them.  The know about the health problems, and the stupid camera going into the washer.  They know about the frustrations that my kids are giving me.  But they aren't here to see what's really going on.  They aren't here to see me getting sucked into books instead of doing things that I need to because fantasy is so much better than reality.  They aren't here to see the state of my apartment, or the utter lack of desire to get out of bed.  The only one that is even close to knowing everything going on in my life is my husband - and a part of me discounts what he says as, "Well, of course he's going to say those things.  He love me.  He has no choice."

I'm depressed and I'm scared.  I'm scared that I'm going to have a full-blown nervous breakdown.  I'm afraid that my anger is going to get out of control and I'm going to hurt one of my kids.  I'm afraid that someone will come into my house and decide that I'm not a good enough parent to my kids and that they need to be taken away from me.  I'm afraid that I'm going to be banned and/or shunned from the places I go online.  I'm afraid of being proven to be the failure that some small part of me is convinced that I already am.

I have an appointment with my therapist on Friday.  I have an appointment with my psychologist (or is he a psychiatrist?  Can't remember) the following Wednesday.  I know I need to talk to them about all of this.  I know that SOMETHING has to be done about all of this because I can't handle the way I am right now.  Maybe I need more meds.  Maybe I need more focus, or to be pushed more, or to get away with some honest to God ME time.  Maybe I need to really start writing in a paper journal, rather than out here for the world to read, all the while being afraid that the people that read it will think I'm writing it for attention and not just because I've got to get it out.  That they'll wonder why I'm doing so in such a public forum.

I guess the answer to that is that I'm hoping someone will come up with an answer for me.  Someone will have that magic bullet that will make my life instantly better.  Someone will tell me "This is what you need to do" and I'll do it and the sun will start shining again.  I'm tired of this darkness.  I'm tired of these fear.  I'm tired of my tears being so close to the surface for so long, but feeling like I'm already cried out.  I'm tired of being angry with my kids for being kids.  I'm tired of being worried that everyone hates me.  I'm tired of the paranoia and the fear and the worry and the demands and the inability to just be ok with letting things go.  Because I'm not ok with it.  When I do let things go (perfect example: My apartment), I look around and I feel like a failure.  When I see my kids refusing to listen to anything I say, I feel like a failure.  Because I'm convinced that no parents has ever had as much trouble with their kids as I have with mine.I cut back on the swaps I'm in, not joining any new ones for the moment because I don't feel like I'm keeping up with the ones I have, and I still don't feel any less pressure.

I make commitments.  Not always to other people.  Often times to myself.  And I hate to have to let that person down.  Even if that person is me.  Because I feel my own disappointment far stronger than I feel the disappointment when someone else lets me down.  I can understand that life happens with others.  I can't understand that it happens with me.  Because if I can't keep promises to myself, how on earth can I keep promises to anyone else?  Seriously?

I'm broken.  At least, I feel that way.  I know that I need to continue getting up.  I know that the only failure is to stay down when you stumble rather than getting up to try again.  But sometimes it gets so hard.  It's exhausting to not be able to see the good that's around me.  To not find that one little spark that I can hold on to.  But I think I've lost my way.  And I don't know how to find it again.  And what scares me most of all is that a day will come when I just can't get up again.

I told Rich, half joking, that what I needed for Mother's Day was a week away and a made to come clean the house during the week I'm gone.  The reality of the situation is that I can't even have 24 hours away.  There are too many necessities in our lives that require my presence.  Rich has to work - he's the one bringing in the money.  And he's working his ass off with three jobs.  I need to be here with the kids while he's doing that.  And there isn't anyone who COULD take the kids for that period of time.  It's the biggest disadvantage of being away from almost all of my family.  And of the ones that are close by having willing spirits but weak flesh.  So I've got to continue to try to do what needs to be done.

And when I write something like this, write a post like this, all I can think is, "You fucking whine ass.  Get over yourself.  Everyone else on the planet does what they need to do.  No one else cries about how hard it is.  You're so fucking LUCKY.  You have a roof over your head.  You've got gas in your van.  You've got food on your table.  You have some aches and pains, but NOTHING compared to what a lot of people out there have.  And they buckle down and do what needs to be done without shouting it to the world.  So why are you fucking whining about it now?  Get over yourself and just do your fucking job." And that makes me feel worse because if I'm thinking this, everyone else must be thinking the same thing.

I hate myself for being the way that I am right now.  It should be the motivator to get me to change but maybe I just don't hate myself enough.  Because I try something for a day or two and then it's back to the same old Amber.  That must mean that there's a part of me that actually enjoys being this way.  Seriously.  Because if I didn't, I would just DO what needs to be done.

I'm an expert at beating myself up.  I always have been.  It's a flaw that I thought I'd gotten rid of after I recovered from my last super-bad relationship.  But right now, when I should be feeling damn lucky for what I have, it rears it's ugly head again.  I sabotage myself.  Everything I touch.  Because I WANT myself to fail.  It makes that little voice that whispers in my ear right.  It means that I really, really AM a failure.  And no one should want me around anyway.

I'm trying to get help.  I'm trying to figure out a plan.  But I don't know what that plan is going to be.  I don't know how to change myself to be who I want, and need, to be.  I don't know the baby steps that I need to take.  I don't know where to start.  I want someone to take my hand and show me the way, but I shouldn't need that. I'm a 37 year old woman who has lived on away from her parents (for the most part) since I was 20.  You'd think I'd have a plan by now.  But I don't.  And I don't know why.

So... yeah.  This is what's going through my mind tonight.  And what's been going through my mind for the last couple of weeks.  It's what's making it harder and harder for me to face the day with a smile on my face.  It's what's making me want to be alone again because I wouldn't be letting anyone else down if I were.

I hate feeling this way.  I hate being this way.  But my constant companion is the fear that I'll never be able to change any of it.