And so the sun has set on my 46th revolution on this planet.  There's a lot to reflect on this year, a lot has changed.  A year ago, I was housebound, and very nearly bed-bound,  Depression, pain, and anxiety so severe I could barely breathe at the thought of going somewhere had me trapped in a personal hell few were aware of.  My lowest point needed 89 stitches to fix, and it had been like this for nearly seven years.  My youngest son didn't even remember a time when I was a functional parent.  I was on three different antidepressants, anti-anxiety meds, and two forms of narcotics.  My extended family barely recognized the haunted ghost of myself I'd become. 

Frankly, neither did I. 

But last December,  things changed.  I got up. I went into the kitchen, and I started cleaning.  Over the days, and weeks, I reclaimed control of my kitchen, and simultaneously,  my life. I began to feel joy.  That devastating numbness began to lift, and I felt actual joy.  I could feel the sun on my face, the warmth on my skin, and as winter turned to spring, and spring to summer, I threw open all the windows.  I let the old, stale air out, I let in the sound of the birds, and the smell of the breeze.  I consciously listened, and felt, and breathed it all in, while the knots in my stomach loosened.  Finally. 

There have been ups and downs to be sure.  I weaned myself off of the anti-depressants, and weaning off of anti-depressants reverts a person to toddlerhood, while things balance back out in the brain.  It makes you have BIG FEELINGS, and knowing that these BIG FEELINGS are temporary, doesn't always help much, because they are FEELINGS.  And they are BIG**  I also weaned myself off of the narcotics.  Turns out, I didn't need them anymore, but I didn't know that because weaning off of narcotics cause BIG PAIN.  But, just like with the BIG FEELINGS, the BIG PAIN also subsides as the brain recalibrates.   

Fall is approaching, and I worry a bit, because winter is really hard for me.  I don't like being cold all the time, and the long, dark nights almost feel like they have a physical weight.  As if the earth's gravity has slightly increased, making the simplest things seem so overwhelming, and hard.

But the truth is, the darkness could drop in five minutes, and it doesn't matter.  It doesn't matter, because I have right now, and I will not let the maybe of five minutes from now suck dry this moment.  This now, which is as much mine as I want it to be.









**I should probably apologize to my family, as BIG FEELINGS make for a tough co-habitation

Labels: anxiety, depression, narcotics, opioids, pain management

Have you ever had a pain creep in so slowly, you almost don't realize it? You make adjustments as it worsens, but never really give any thought to how MANY adjustments you are making, until one day, it just stops. And you think, "Good Lord, if that had hit me all at once, I would have been BEGGING for narcotics". I think depression can affect many people the same way. If the worst of it blindsided you all at once, you would realize how intolerable it really is. But, for me anyway, it doesn't. It sneaks in. Bit by bit. All of a sudden, it's too much trouble to make lunch for the kids. Just the THOUGHT of trying to get everybody dressed, out the door, and into their carseats, can be enough to make me want to crawl back into bed and sob.

And my husband, bless him, just slowly started taking over these things, without so much as a sigh of irritation, or a complaint. More and more evenings, he's come home to what we call an "informal" dinner, and made himself a sandwich. He, without complaint, loads all the kids in the car, before I even have to leave the house. The last year or so, though, has been increasingly worse. That's the year the anxiety started to creep in. The first time I experienced it, was after the birth of Elijah James, now 5. I would sit there for hours with that feeling of dread. You know the one. The one you feel before you have to tell your dad you lied about something, or a speech in class. But, with no reason. I think it was just the way that particular bout of post-partum depression manifested itself. After a few weeks, it, like the hormones, settled down, and we were back into the daily grind.

The second time I really felt that, was after the birth of Gabriel, two years ago. But this time, I hade a fix. Pretzels. Yes, you read that right. PRETZELS. I would have borderline panic attacks if I ran low, verging on hysteria if I ran completely out. And again, my husband, simply made sure I had what I needed, often stopping on a daily basis by the store, while I sat here completely sure I was finally, really and truly, losing my mind. But, again, after 6 weeks or so, I ran out of pretzels one day, and it was okay. So, back to the grind.

What I did not realize until recently, very recently, in fact, that the so-called daily grind that we had been living with, was actually just like that pain that creeps up, slowly getting worse. I decided, after 18 years on the same anti-depressant, to give the old meds adjustment roller coaster a try. Even though I knew my medication was not working optimally, it was working well enough that I've been reluctant to mess with it. It controlled the big things I was struggling with, and allowed me to at least somewhat function on a day to day basis. I mean, just south of alright is certainly better then just north of hell on earth, right?

Maybe before the daily anxiety, but not anymore.

I was afraid that something new would either not work at all, or would burden me with side effects, and on and on.

But nevertheless, finally sick of being overweight, and unable to cope with the anxiety, I bit the bullet, and tried something new. Being in the same drug family, I did not have to deal with a bunch of weaning off and increasing dosages, I was just simply able to stop the old and start the new. A few days later, I realized that I was standing in the basement, with a armpit high pile of laundry, and, get this, just doing it. Like the Nike commercial. What I wasn't doing, was standing there, dreading it. Or reluctant to start it, knowing that when it came out of the dryer, I would have to sort, fold, put away, and so on. It didn't matter. Just do it. I find myself at night, laying in bed, not dreading all the this and the that that I will need to get done tomorrow, wondering how I am going to manage, but rather viewing the day in terms of possibilities. Knowing what needs to be done, but not being hung up on the doing it. Because now, I can. Just do it. And along the way, I can enjoy the kids, and the surprises. Ryan's latest joke (What's a vampire's favorite sweetener? Blood sugar)that actually made me laugh out loud, instead of distractedly waving him away.

I hate thinking about the fact, that the only mom my kids have ever known, has been living the life of the walking dead, bad enough in it's own right, worse for the fact that I didn't even REALIZE it. Unable to write, which was something I have always loved. Unable to just DO it.

But, look ma! I can do it!

There is always the possibility that what I am experiencing will be temporary. I hope not. It's actually my biggest fear right now. But I am pointedly not focusing in the maybe, I am focusing on the now. For now, I will live life, I will experience it, I will just do it.

Because for now, I am alive.

FINALLY.

So, it's come to my attention, that only certain people are supposed to utilize the drive-thru. I honestly had no idea. It never once occurred to me that the drive-thru required any prerequisite other than being in a motorized vehicle. But this raises the question of what are the additional requirements?

Well, it depends on who you ask.

My husband has a friend who used to drive a cab. They were out and about one afternoon in our van, and were going to stop by and bring food(I use that term loosely here) home for the kids. As my huband pulled into line, his friend made the comment that it frustrated him when people who had large orders didn't just go in. He often would have a just a few minutes to grab lunch or dinner while working, and felt that the time consumption by these large order perpetrators was unreasonable.

So, let me get this straight. We are supposed to go inside, order, and walk back to the car juggling at the bare minimum;

6 drinks, usually balanced precariously on two trays
3 kids meals, frequently in unweildy boxes
2 large bags with the remaining orders
the pile of napkins and condiments that they just lay on top of the now head high heap to slide or blow off

Now, best case scenario, the kids are not with us. Worst case, we are also carrying one toddler, and trying to keep the rest of the brood from being flattened in the parking lot, which drivers seem to forget also contains pedestrians and kids who are driven to exceptional impatience at the prospect of dining with Creepy the Clown.

I'll be honest, I would be annoyed with something like a schoolbus full of kids, but if you can still fit onto a van, you're okay in my book.


On the other hand, my husband and I pulled into a drive thru once, just the two of us. It was hot, so we ordered two large cokes. The woman in the car behind us(probably a large order perp), said very clearly, with all the derision possible in such a statement, "Two large Cokes. You can get yo' lazy a$$ out th' car for two large Cokes."

Well then. Let's not dance around our feelings on the issue.

Truth be told, Rich and I still giggle about that one, and will say it whenever we go through just for drinks.

I can't help but wonder, has our lives as Americans become so petty and trite, that we can spare the energy to be concerned about the qualifications of our fellow drive thru users? Can't we all just get along?

To answer my own questions, yes, and I guess not.

The squirrel that got into the transformer box in our neighbor's back yard.




So, yesterday afternoon, me and my three youngest were sitting in the living room, while the baby napped. There was this very loud boom. Seriously loud, and sudden. I thought I might have to spend the evening picking eyelashes off the ceiling, it startled us all so bad.

At the same time, the power went out. Just, gone. So, like any small town person, I go out on my front porch, where all my neighbor's were hollering to one another, "Did you hear that?", etc.

I wander around to my back yard, where a few people are gathering, and I noticed the transformer box had had the lid partially pried off. About 18 inches away, was a very crispy squirrel. The local police officer was already on his radio, telling the power company.

I am the biggest animal lover EVER, but seriously, I crack up every time I think about that explosion. That squirrel never knew what hit him! I'd go take a picture, but I don't want to come off as weird to my neighbors.

Well, no more weird than I already do, what with the cloth diapers flapping on the line.

His latest victim? The digital camera we bought in February. We bought that one in February because the old one broke. How it broke is dependent on who you ask. All I'm going to say on that issue is that it was broken before I took it apart and lost several minuscule springs and other assorted pieces. I swear I am not making that up.

Anyway, back to the issue at hand. The camera disappeared several weeks ago, immediately after my husband used it. Over the time since, we have completely cleaned, moved, decluttered, and majorly overhauled nearly every room in the house. No camera.

Yesterday, as I was doing laundry, I tossed a pair of hubby's shorts from the washer, across to the dryer, where it landed on the door with a heavy thud. My first thought was that it was his cell phone. Why I would even care is beyond me, because I can count on one hand the number of times he's both had it charged and with him since we got them last year. But, there I was muttering under my breath about how it better not be his freakin' cell phone sputter sputter...

I wish it had been his cell phone, because I was none too pleased when I pulled out a very clean, fresh smelling, nearly new camera.

Allow me to address a couple of points, here. Yes, I do laundry more that once every few weeks, and no, my husband does not wear the same shorts for weeks on end. What he does do is drop his shorts at the side or foot of the bed, then inadvertently(this is where I am giving him the benefit of the doubt) kick them underneath. So these shorts I found a few days ago, when I went on a cleaning spree under the bed.

Unfortunately, this is just the latest in a long list of mechanical deaths on our home. My husband(yes, I do love him) has singlehandedly ruined the following;

• A blender. This was back when he had several thousand gallons of tropical fish in the basement, and wanted to make some type of meal for them, involving whole fish, skin and all. Needless to say, fish skin does not blend well. It's rather like putting a sheet of rubber in there.
  
• Another blender. I think the theory must have been that the first burnt out motor was a fluke. That theory was disproved by the house filling once again with the aroma of burnt small motor and rubbery fish skin. In case you were wondering, no, it is not a pleasant smell, and tends to linger in the air, and cling to your person for quite some time.
  
• A mixer. I guess not everybody knows that if you put the dough hooks on the wrong way, they will pull dough up into the motor. Well, they do. This time the ambiance was of burnt small motor and yeast.

It's funny, too, because DH suffers from what my mother calls "functional fixedness". This means that instead of using something versatile(and easy to clean), like say, a knife, to chop, slice, mince, and peel, we have to have a single purpose(and a pain in the butt to clean) "gadget" to do each of those things. We have a chopper, a slicer, and a peeler, along with a milkshake maker(blender, anyone?), a hamburger grill(cast-iron skillet), a deep fat fryer(skillet, again), and on and on. I can usually prepare an entire meal with a knife, a pot(maybe two), and a few odds and ends. The same meal made by him will frequently leave the sink with a heaping pile of dirty gadgets, fistfuls of measuring utensils, and large mixing bowls. It is a complete mystery to me.

So, there you have it. While my husband may not end up on the FBI's most wanted, he is still a dangerous man to have in the kitchen.

Occasionally I have the good fortune to be able to ride in the car, by myself. No kids fighting over what CD we listen to, nobody screaming because someone else is touching them, pr looking out their window, etc. etc. etc.

What I've discovered about myself, is that having kids has severely impaired my attention span. If I have the additional good fortune to ride in my husband's car, I can put the scan button on the radio to good use. That's right. I am a radio surfer. Usually in the evenings, there are a couple of radio shows that I come across. One is Delilah. This is good for all the sappiness a person can stand. Love songs 'til you puke. The other is John Tesh. It's this last one that I am the most concerned about.

See, John Tesh has me convinced that I am mere nanoseconds from a complete mental and physical meltdown. As I was driving home a few days ago, he was talking about the disastrous health effects of not getting enough uninterrupted sleep.

Uh oh.

To put this into perspective, I have had not one night of uninterrupted sleep for at least three years. Between nursing babies, a snoring husband, and the fact that the whole universe will fall apart if I don't keep myself involved, it's not looking good for me.

He went on to list that after only two days of lousy sleep, I am at greater risk of obesity, as well as all the health detriments associated with that. Two days? No wonder I am overweight. It must surely be the lack of sleep, as opposed to the soda habit I cannot seem to kick. What a relief!

He then went on to list the consequences of not getting enough sleep for five days. I'll admit that I don't remember what they were, because my mind was still reeling from this weight loss revelation.

But, in an effort to be complete, I went to his radio show website to try to get the rest of the information. I couldn't find that particular topic.

However, I was heartened to find something of note.

The top 5 germiest things.

Here they are;

• Movie theatre seats which have more germs than public bathroom surfaces.
• Gym equipment
• Park benches
• Bank countertops
• The number 1 germiest thing: The rails and armrests on public buses

But here's something you may not have realized your desk at work is loaded with germs! The typical desk harbors 400 times more germs than the average toilet seat! And a cold virus can survive for 72 hours on your computer keyboard, telephone, or the handle on the office microwave.

Let's talk about that first one. More germs than public bathroom surfaces? What are people doing in those seats? Obviously I am missing something in my movie going experience.

Gym equipment stands to reason. It's one of the few places where a person can publicly leak, weep, and otherwise exude bodily fluids without grossing everyone out. Although I did just gross out myself.

But then, park benches? Again, what exactly are people using these for, if not sitting in the park?

Bank counter tops. Well, duh. I once heard that the number one bacteria on money is e-coli. Which begs the question, once again, what are people doing with it? But, it does explain this surface being listed.

The last one seems pretty intuitive, as well. It's where people put their hands. 'Nuff said.
Now, I don't know about you, but the last thing doesn't surprise me at all. Have you ever watched someone at the computer? They will absentmindedly pick their teeth, wipe their nose, and scratch their armpit, among other things. For some reason, sitting at the computer induces the same kind of "they can't see me" mentality that allows a large percentage of men to unabashedly pick their nose at a red light. But I digress.
So, there it is. 
If the lack of sleep doesn't get me, evidently the movie theater will.

When I tell you I am going outside so that I can see the black yarn I am working with better, and that I need to be able to concentrate because it involves counting, that is probably not the best time to ask me to tell you how to mail a package. Nor to freak out because your inside out shorts won't go on. And no, I do not remember the chimpanzee who painted world renowned masterpieces. I don't care if you want to get something to eat, just get it already. No, the biscuits are not yucky, even though they were left out all night, they are BREAD. I'll tell you how to spell scary when I am DONE.

LATER.

NOT NOW.


And now that I've mucked this up for the THIRD time, I am not any happier to help any of you with any of these issues.


Again, please, for the love of God, leave me alone for just ten minutes. I deal with your issues while I am taking a shower, while I am sitting on the toilet, while I am trying to shovel down my dinner over the kitchen sink, in the middle of the night, at the butt-crack of dawn, but Oh, my God I am under a lot of pressure to get these fixed and the three orders following it done in a reasonable amount of time so I need you to just leave me alone.

Signed,
your mother, who really does love you, but who needs a break from kid crises once in a while.





And P.S. To the f$%#er who decided to jackhammer during naptime, and turn off the water with no
notification, F$%# you.

P.P.S. Now look. You made me drop the f-bomb. I even capitalized it lmao!