Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Reflections

I'm happily counting down the hours to the New Year tonight, not for the champagne kisses at midnight or the night with friends, but for the end of this miserable, miserable year.  The year started badly, the year went badly and although it hasn't ended as badly as all that, I'm ready for the shiny newness of January 1st.

I learned many lessons, most of which have me frightened of my own shadow...or shortcomings.  I still can't drive by certain areas, hear certain names, watch certain commercials or see certain combinations of numbers without having a panic attack.  I still can't work the way I always planned to.  I am still not who I want to be, but I am closer.  My hope for this new year is that I will get even closer.

I'm not a resolutions kind of girl.  I never keep them and I just don't need one more failure this year to come.  Instead, I'm doing a sort of "Happiness Project", not only to be happier, but to take a conscious role in my own life, relationships and joy.  Outside of that, I'm vowing to be true to myself, to accept my mistakes, to forgive those mistakes, to set aside regret and to look to the moment I am in, rather than the moment to come or the moments passed.  I look forward to a year of moments, a year of something new, a year of appreciation for all the wonderful things I do have, and I look forward to leaving behind a year of mourning, of regret and of failure.

2013 has died a slow, painful death for me.  I'm looking forward to rebirth.

Friday, December 27, 2013

I am getting better

As I've recovered over the last year, I first measured my life in moments gone by.  Time dragged, nothing good happened and I mourned the loss of all that time just wasted.  There were so many sleepless nights and regrets that I couldn't separate them.

As I started to get better, I could measure things in momentous occasions, the day that client threatened me, the day I was served with my first OLR complaint, the day I hid under my desk, the day the police came to my house . . .

And as I continue to get better, I'm noticing that I have started to measure things in positive experiences, like the day I had my interview for yoga teacher training, the day I decided to stop practicing, the day I looked forward to doing something instead of wishing I could stay in bed.

I am getting better.  It is slow, slower than I am satisfied with, but if I look at the big picture, I AM getting better.

Friday, December 20, 2013

A bad, bad day

You know when you're always trying and trying and trying to make things right and somehow, something keeps slipping through your fingers?  That's a very frustrating feeling.  Until it's devastating.  Today was a day I was completely unprepared for.  It was a day I'm not sue I will survive.  It was a day that changed all of the choices I've made into avenues I had no choice but to take.  Today I considered dying for the first time in a long time.  It might be an easier outlet.  Don't panic.  I'm not planning anything.  I would never leave my children with that legacy.  I don't want them to ever feel like they weren't enough.

But I can't stop crying and I can't hide it from everyone.  So far I've hidden it from my children, but they'll hear someday how badly mommy failed.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Mommy, Mommy, Mommy

Despite how painful and raw this experience has been for me on a day-to-day basis, what's worse is how it has affected my family.  Every person in my life has been touched, in some way, by my failing mental health.  Although my husband has been most profoundly impacted outside of myself, he has been my champion.  He has managed to live with the very worst me for more than a year and he has never said or done the wrong thing, which is an amazing feat.  He has never failed to stand right beside me, just in case I could no longer stand on my own, and I have needed that support a number of times.  He has never echoed the ugly version of myself I have created in my head.  He has never reflected my lack of effort, lack of communication, lack of ability to make things work.  He simply kept going and somehow still loves me.

That's not what this blog is about though.  This blog is about the three most precious pieces of me, my children.  This has affected them all in different ways, but it has undoubtedly affected each of them.  It has impacted the mother I wanted to be to them.  Whether it's my eldest seeing me in the tears I so desperately tried to keep private or my youngest begging for "uppy," while I backed away because I just couldn't.  I see it in the way my oldest asks how I am, knowing how I've been instead of believing that I was the strong, infallible person I always meant to exemplify for her.  I see it in the way my baby girl covered her ears when she thought I might be angry and yell.  I see it in my son who so desperately needs his Mommy, and not this broken shell that I have slipped into.

It makes me a lesser parent, not to mention a lesser person.  Days ago, my son sneaked off with his Advent calendar.  He opened most of his remaining windows and had a handful of chocolate when I found him.  First he shoved the chocolate in his mouth, then he covered his ears.  I truly rarely yell, yet they've seen it too frequently to forget that sometimes Mommy is scary.  My initial reaction was not to be angry that he had done something he clearly knew he shouldn't have.  Instead, I immediately wondered what I had done to make him feel like he had to sneak off.  I felt like I had deprived him.

I don't want to parent by guilt.  I want to parent from my heart.  Sadly, my heart is so bound by the months that I have had feeling broken, frightened and alone.  I find myself doing and saying all the wrong things.  I cry in the dark, when everyone is finally quiet, and I think about each of my failures of the day.  As difficult as this time has been, it is the moments of sadness, fear or disappointment from my children that I fear I'll never recover from.  And heaven forbid our relationships don't recover.  My children love me, that I know.  But I wanted to be this wonderful mother, stepmother and wife and instead, lately, I have been this.  I am devastated by it.

My greatest fear is that I will spend more time as this mother than the one I used to be and the one I want to be again.  At some point, this is no longer something I am going through and it is simply who I am.

Monday, December 9, 2013

Below the surface

The combination of taking better care of myself, taking medication, and deciding to stop practicing has done wonders for my depression.  Although it hasn't helped my anxiety as significantly, I'm eradicating from my life many of the issues that plagued me, so my anxiety is inherently less.

But I still have the constant rumble below the surface.  There is always the nagging sensation that something is wrong.  It's in the phantom movements that always catch my eye.  It's underlying every phone call I receive before I identify the caller.  It's even present when I leave the house, worried that I'm going to run into someone who has it out for me.  It is the threat that keeps me awake as I lay next to my sleeping children.  I've found that, of all of the terrible things that have come out of this past year, the feeling that someone wishes to do me harm is the one that has taken root most deeply.

It's such a tragedy that this is what lingers as we move into the new year.  I hope time heals this wound.

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Still Drowning

So I have to formal diagnoses and one informal, related diagnosis.  I suffer from generalized anxiety disorder and major depressive disorder.  I also exhibit the symptoms of someone who suffers from PTSD, according to my therapist.  So there's all that.

My mood disorder (major depressive disorder) has been pretty well stabilized by medication.  While that's awesome.  My next question is, okay, so when can I stop taking the medications?  I don't like pumping this mind-altering stuff in my body and wondering whether I could function without it.

My anxiety is a completely different animal.  I still catch my breath every time a law-related commercial or show comes on the television.  I have anxiety attacks when I drive past firms that I have worked against.  I recently spent Thanksgiving at my in-laws and had a panic attack driving past one of their neighbors who is a former colleague of mine and had a "hard talk" with me a few weeks ago.  I spent most of Thanksgiving thinking about all of the family gatherings that included conversation about the piece of shit, deadbeat, disaster lawyer that they'd had the misfortune to hire.  I thought about all the scrutiny I am under without proper explanation.  I would apologize, but that puts me in jeopardy of accepting responsibility for every single thing that has ever gone wrong since I crossed paths with someone....because that's how that business works.

Admit nothing.  Show no fear.  Don't let them even smell it.

But I can't live like that and I don't want to live like this.  It aches to go through hours of days thinking about all of your perceived failures, all of the should haves and could haves.  It aches to have to be in silence in your own house, god forbid the doorbell ring unexpectedly, to feel safely away from all that's out there that causes more damage.  It's difficult for me to sit in my living room because of the windows.  It's difficult for me to sleep in a room where my children aren't.  It's difficult to breathe in this body, day after day, willing it, wishing it to finally stop this, but it's not in my control.

Thursday, November 28, 2013

Thankful

2013 has been the worst year of my life.  And yet, as I say that, I recognize what a treasure this year has been, as well.  I have so very much to be thankful for, and much of what I am thankful for has blossomed or surfaced in this dark, dark year.

I'm thankful, first and foremost, for my infinitely patient husband.  He has watched me writhe and fall so many times this year and he has lost none of his affection for me.  I know I have frightened him this year.  I feel I must have disappointed him.  I'm a shell of the person he wanted years ago, but he is still here.  He supports me.  He's silently, always exactly what I need.

I am thankful for my three sweet children.  As I have suffered, they have suffered, but they also spread so much joy.  They are forever loving, kind and forgiving.  There were days when, but for their hugs, I wouldn't have survived.  As for my eldest, who has had her own struggles this year, she has been a rock and an absolute joy.  K, I couldn't have made it through this year without your support.  I am devastated to think that it has come at a cost, yet I'm thankful to know that we will always share a bond that no one else can touch.  Here's to a better 2014.  

I am thankful for three incredible, generous, supportive, wonderful women that came into my life this year.  Who knew a boat in the street could be the start of so much?  You girls have welcomed me with open arms and made it feel safe to be exactly who I am.  You have seen me at my very worst and I look forward to years of a better me to come.  Regardless, you were there without judgment and I love you all for it.

I am thankful for my parents, both the set that I was given and the set that became mine when I married.  I know this was a difficult year for them too.  I can't fathom what it has been like to watch what I've been through without any capacity to fix it.  The love and support they have shown has been endless and so needed.  I have spent so many days feeling like a disappointment and they have never reflected that.  

I am so thankful for the wonderful young people that have become part of my family this year. A, M, H and S, this summer was a difficult one, as you all know.  Yet, I could count on a house full of laughter and joy every Wednesday.  You brought life to a place that needed it so badly.  Although our dinners have become seldom, I know it's only a matter of time before I'll see your precious faces again.

To my readers, friends, strangers, and support network, I am thankful for you.  I cannot express, nor would I expose, how much support I have received from the people out there.  I have gotten messages from friends, acquaintances, and even strangers, in support of my struggle this year.  To each and every individual that reached out to me, shared their own struggle or just offered a few words of encouragement, I don't believe I could have done this without you.  I needed this outlet, even with the backlash it has come with.  I needed to admit exactly who I am and what I was surviving to survive it.  I didn't do that for the support and I didn't expect it, but it has been ceaseless and amazing.  

So, as we celebrate this day of thanksgiving, and as the year comes to a close, I am grateful and thankful for so very much.  I am so lucky to have these few quiet moments in the morning to reflect on what has been a very full year.  I look forward to spending more moments recognizing the beauty in everything, even in a year like this has been.  

Monday, November 25, 2013

Intention v. Instinct

I'm a big believer in "mind over matter."  The human mind is an amazing thing, capable of so much impact.  Unfortunately, when it is your mind that is broken, there's no power to fall back on.

I woke up this morning with the best of intentions.  That used to be one of my biggest hurdles.  I'd wake up with one or both of the kids, and I would be tired.  I would lay on the couch, under a blanket, not asleep, but not awake, for as long as I could before HAVING to get up and get the kids ready for their day.  I'd wait too long to be able to make a homemade breakfast.  I would be rushing the kids into their clothes before we absolutely had to leave.  I was often thankful that my eldest would play the computer for forty-five minutes, so she wouldn't be asking me for anything.  It was not how I wanted to spend my mornings, but it was all I could muster.

As things have improved for me, this was one of the first signs.  I was no longer a morning zombie.  I have been getting up and staying up.  I rarely laid on the couch, unless it was at the request of one of my littles.  Like today, I woke up with good intentions for the day and felt prepared to accomplish things.  For a while, that feeling stayed with me through the morning and the day, until today, that is.

I woke up with a list in my head.  I would do four things that have been weighing on me at work.  I would spend some time building my Wildtree world.  I would clean the basement and organize the files down there.  I would shovel the delightful snow that, when I woke up, gave me a sense of new beginnings.  When I returned to the house, I sat on the couch.  I was going to relax for a bit until I started (a procrastination habit that comes from the intense stress I feel when I start to work).  I was cold, so I snuggled under a blanket.  I put a documentary on and slept for three hours.  I had even set an alarm, but when I'm in a state like that, the alarm barely registers as I turn it off.

I had really good intentions.  Now, the battle will be, what can I accomplish in four hours, instead of seven?  I can probably do all that I intended to do the first go around, but I'm already imagining taking a break for lunch or setting an alarm before I have to start.  It is most frustrating when your intentions are at odds with your instincts.  My intentions are good, my instincts are to hide.  My instincts are strong, raw, survivalist.  My intentions are good, but they're fighting a stronger opponent.  It's difficult to exist when I am always at odds with myself.  I can't mind-over-matter this.  And so I sit, wishing I was doing anything else, but seemingly unable to coax myself into movement.

Sunday, November 24, 2013

The World Keeps Spinning

I've been in this holding pattern for so long.  I often think it's September and I feel like October and November have both passed me by.  It's winter now, a time to retreat within, to wrap up in blankets and to contemplate.  I feel like I've spent the last eight months in this winter, but somehow the rest of the world keeps spinning, moving forward, making progress.  All of the contemplating I've done has left me here, in winter, right where I started.  This depression started sometime the summer or fall of 2012.  I can't believe I've lost an entire year.  And yet, I have to keep hope that next year will be a year of growth and rebuilding.

There's a part of me, deep inside, that is hopeful.  That part of me knows that this can't last forever and that, when you've met your worst self and survived it, the you that comes out of will be better, more empathetic and perhaps more capable.  Yet, I just want to arrive.  This world keeps spinning around me, but I feel still.

When I think about what I want my life to look like, I see a blank canvas.  Some might feel encouraged that they have all that clean space to work with.  For me, I'm just freaking out that it's not done.  I didn't want my life to look like nothing when I was 34.  I wanted to have an established existence.  In many ways, I do.  I have wonderful children, friends that feel more like family, family that loves and supports me.  All the people around me are exactly what I would have painted on my canvas....but they can't "be" my existence.  I have to figure out how to build MY life and MY future.  Instead I watch the world spin, the people move, and I stand still in the middle wondering what my canvas should hold.

It's really hard to dig through the rubble of my imploded life, to set aside the few things worth salvaging and to walk away from those things that bring me no joy.  It all looks the same when you see it all together.  You really have to dig to see the difference.  And I haven't had great strength to dig.  I feel like I'm getting closer, but after a year and a half of depression, feeling like I'm getting closer still seems so far away from better.

Friday, November 22, 2013

Relapse

To me, the term speaks of addiction.  In reality, a relapse is any recurrence of a past condition.  I am relapsing in my depression.  Yet, I wonder, can you relapse when you haven't yet been whole?  What is recovered?  How long do I have to feel okay before feeling like I'm falling down the rabbit hole is a relapse.

Down I go.  I long for the day when I can look back and know that, if this ever happens again, it's a relapse.  Today, although I feel as low as I did six months ago when my foundation crumbled beneath me, it seems just an extension of the same bout of depression.  Yet, I was doing better.  I was enjoying things in life.  I was not crying daily.  I was feeling.  Now, I'm back to that place where I want to claw my own skin off.  I long for a tattoo or an accidental injury.  Something that will make me feel something.

I need to shake all of this off and I just can't seem to.  I want to climb back out of the hole I keep stumbling down and I just can't seem to.  I want to be content and I just can't find it.  I'm lost in a strange world and I only want to find my way back home.  It has, thus far, been too much to ask.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Some happiness

As I sit eating a delicious lunch with my pup at my feet, in my warm home, in the office that is all mine, while I chat with a friend, it occurs to me, as it often does, that I have much to be thankful for.  Throughout this dark period of my life, I have always been able to see beyond the gloom to the beautiful things in my life.  They just seemed at arms' length.  As they get closer, I am reminded of the wonderful things in my life.  And so I've made a list of 12, one for each month I've survived this depression so far:

1.  Support - Whether the words came from friends, colleagues, or strangers, I have received so much support through this ordeal and I am blessed for that.

2.  Understanding - My husband has stood by my with complete and total lack of understanding of the daemons in my head, and yet a perfect understanding that I needed him to be gentle, quiet and to wait until I was ready to explain things.  He never once pressured a single decision I have made in the past 6 months and he lends his supportive words to all of them.

3.  Pharmaceuticals - Yes, me who is anti-go-to-the-doc-unless-I'm-dying, who is anti-flu shot, pro "rub a little dirt on it," and who was downright terrified at the effects medication might have on me, is thankful that they exist.  My current medication is working wonders.

4.  Children - They're so innocent that they don't ask painful questions.  They treat you exactly the same, even when you need a legitimate break.  They never cease to need you, which provides you the motivation to get out of bed when you otherwise lack it.  Or, if you're especially lucky, you're also blessed with a child who is a confidant, a support and a champion of my cause.  If you're especially lucky, you will have a friend and ally in your needs.  If you're especially lucky, you will have what I have in Kailey, an exceptional, beautiful, wise young woman, who loves me for me, as I love her for her.  No conditions, no expectations.

5.  Yoga - For a while, it was the only place I could quiet my very dark and ugly mind.  And now, it will take me into my future.

6.  Sister wives - Well, we don't share a husband, but the moniker sheds light on how we raise our families together, spend time together, plan holidays together, and feel like family.  I desperately needed this family when they came along and scooped me up.  I will return the favor for a lifetime.

7.  Writing - Good or bad in someone else's estimation, writing has saved me.  It's brought me back to a state of mind where I can examine and make sense of my thoughts.  When I'm writing, they don't spin so fast that I can't get them on paper and when they're down on paper, I can start to see the meaning.

8.  Family - This wasn't easy for anyone, least of which my families.  My husband and children suffered, my stepdaughter suffered, my parents and in-laws suffered for me.  I am thankful that, despite their varied knowledge of what's happening inside my very private head, I never had to question their support.  They asked difficult questions, I felt defensive.  They raised eyebrows at choices, but didn't object.  They have been solid and right beside me, even when they had no idea what to say.

9.  Nature - I am thankful that the forest still exists, that there are babbling streams and logs fallen over valleys.  Nature is a place that I feel strongly connected to, that brings me peace.  I am thankful that I can go out and find places bigger than me that make me remember the small significance of me and therefore of my failures.

10.  Photographs - I am thankful to be able to capture the good moments, so that I can remember they've been had.  I sometimes get so far down that I can't remember the last time I smiled.

11.  Hope - I had forgotten what hope felt like.  My hope is tempered, as I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop, but I do have hope.

12.  Belief - Belief that this WILL GET BETTER.  Belief that this last year of my life can be isolated, corrected and walked away from.  Belief that I won't always define myself by my perceived failures.  Belief that there is good in the world, even when I feel like I can't find it.  Belief that there was a purpose for this suffering and belief I will be able to answer that "why."

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Waiting for the Other Shoe

I've always felt that the other shoe was always just about to drop.  In grade school, being friends with the wrong people ended in tears, and often.  In high school, a good job and new friendships ended abruptly and entirely accidentally.  The week I landed a big case, I had a car accident.  When babies start sleeping through the night, they get sick.  When I'm finally starting to feel better, my life remains in chaos.

I want so desperately to believe in the good of people, in the good of the universe, but it feels like chaos.  There's no rhyme or reason.  There's no fair.  There's no right.  There is just chaos.  You do a good thing, a right thing, you kill yourself to take the high road, and it might just fall right back on you because no one cares and no one is making it right.  That's a frustrating place to exist.

You might try to be honest and thoughtful.  You might try to be considerate and understanding.  You have plenty of people out there who think you've done something worth achieving, but somehow someone else will always speak up to belittle you or to take away the satisfaction you might begin to feel.  It is heart-wrenching, crushing and damaging.

I can't get past this last piece.  I'm feeling so much better.  I'm doing many things differently and perhaps, most importantly, I am doing many things!  But the universe seems to want to have a laugh at my expense, or at least keep me humble.  So I am.  I am humbled and, for that, I can't find any lasting joy.  It is there and it is beautiful, but it is fleeting.  My mind won't let me rest in a comfortable place.  There is always anxiety, chaos, right around the corner.  And so, in the very best moments, I am tempered by the feeling that the other shoe will drop at any moment.  And I can hardly bear it.

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Fear

I desperately, desperately want to get better.  I do.  I'm taking away the worst things from my life and I'm adding in things that I'm positive and passionate about.  I wake up in the morning, excited for the day to come, instead of dreading it.  I turn on my computer with the intention to do some good, necessary work.  I am taking so many steps forward and trying to remain optimistic and positive.  And then the doorbell rings at 10:20 a.m. and I panic completely.  I suppose I didn't panic as badly as I have before.  I didn't hide.  I certainly didn't answer the door.  It sounded like someone tried to open the door after knocking.  I just panicked.

A moment later my phone rang.  It was my mom.  I completely forgot that she was coming by to pick up something that Mikko had forgotten this morning.  It was just my mom.

She walked in and I was already crying.  I just hate being scared in my own house.  I hate being scared everywhere.  I hate having good days shattered by something as silly as forgetting I'm expecting someone.  I hate how far that sets me back.

I want to hope that this day will turn again, but that hope is somewhere stuck in my throat while my panic attack wanes.

Monday, November 11, 2013

Refusing to Quit

I have had a tremendous pressure to quit writing this blog, to shut it down or make it private, to write in a journal instead...  Some people have been kinder than others with their opinions, but the consensus about the blog is that it's damaging.  Either it's damaging to my reputation (and it might be), it exposes me to the cruelty of others (and it has), or it allows me to stay mired in the negative feelings I'm feeling (and that's true too).

My answer is always the same.  First, it is cathartic for me.  Yes, I get stuck for a little longer in those negative places, but it also allows me to explore those feelings.  Before I entered into the hospital, I was so numb that I didn't realize I had negative feelings.  I didn't think it was strange that I felt nothing, that I tasted nothing, that I saw no beauty, that I didn't want to exist.  Unpleasant as it is in my shoes sometimes, feeling is living.  People have slowed down a bit and really ask how I am, instead of barreling beyond the niceties of "Hey, how are ya," and moving on to other things.  That is worth something, even if they are pitying me because they read my story.

Second, I don't want to hide anymore.  I pretended to be fine for SO LONG.  I wore mask after mask to appease those around me.  I wore a mask for my clients, courts and counsel to prove how strong I was.  I wore a mask to my friends because they liked the me who wasn't this me.  I wore a mask for my parents because I wanted them to be proud of me.  I wore a mask for my husband because I was afraid he might leave me.  I wore a mask for my children because I wanted to be the mother they deserved.  I was only me when I was crying in dark rooms and I desperately didn't want that to be me.  I have had countless people come to me and say they wish they had seen something and that they were so sorry they didn't know.  That was the point, my sweet people who have expressed that.  I didn't want anyone to know.  I love that you love me enough to believe you might have missed something, but I had mastered hiding and I refuse to do it anymore.  I want to be raw and honest about what I am experiencing.  It IS real and it IS my life right now.  Why paint a pretty picture that ultimately leaves me worse off for wishing my life was something that it isn't?

Last, and perhaps most importantly, it is helping others.  Honestly, that was never my intention.  My writing was for me and the publicizing of it was simply to avoid feeling like I was hiding my daemons.  But so many people have come forward with support, not only for me, but for my writing.  They call me brave, and while I feel so very far from brave, I recognize that they mean that there are so many others out there who deal with what I'm dealing with who don't feel safe or strong enough to be honest about it.  Most recently, I had two family members express to me their struggles and how they could relate to me because I write the blog.  One of them said that it made her feel better to know that someone she loved and respected was going through something that makes one feel so weak and alone.  I have had complete strangers contact me and thank me for saying what they are thinking or feeling.

Perhaps most poignantly, I recently had a mother contact me and say that she'd been reading my blog with her teenager who struggles with some similar issues.  She thanked me for writing and said, "There are many  days I wonder what she is feeling and thinking and when you write something it gives me insight on her feelings, fears and just the feeling of being completely lost.  What you write helps me be better to her."  This communication came in over the last week, as I've been struggling with the pressure of those who care about me suggesting that I might be doing more damage than good.  The message from this mom was proof that it's doing far more good than damage, even if there is some collateral damage on my end.

I will keep writing and I hope that my writing continues to evolve as I get better.  I want to be better and when I am better, it will offer hope to those who are reading silently, too afraid to ask permission to read a private blog, too afraid to put their own truth where everyone can see it and too afraid that they're all alone.  Those people now know that they're not alone and they have my support, even if I never know they are reading.  The value in that is priceless to me and although my reputation and my privacy matter to me, this is helping me and so I will continue.


Sunday, November 10, 2013

I Am Getting Better

I still have bad days.  I still have panic attacks so bad that I throw up.  I still cry.  I still startle at things that aren't really there.  But I am getting better.

I have made a decision to wind down my practice.  I have a few clients that I am hanging onto for various reasons.  I will still be available to those that I can deal with, but I am closing my physical office and I'm scaling back dramatically.  It's like a deep breath of fresh air after drowning.

I'm concerned about the future, but I'm not unable to function.  I don't know exactly what I'm going to do, but I know that I am going to spend more time with my little people and focus more on love and less on fear.  I'm going to pursue my passions.

I've started a home-based sales business that I'm actually really kind of excited about.  I am registered to begin yoga teacher training in February, which I am downright blissful about.  I am going to stay home with my kids during the day.  I am going to live my life.

There are so many changes that I can't pinpoint exactly how I feel better.  They adjusted my medication and I think we finally found the right fit.  I have been blessed enough to become incredibly close with some wonderful, wonderful people.  I have the support of my family and my friends.  I have the forgiveness of the people that matter for all of the things that I feel are failures.  I found enjoyment in simple things that I used to love, like cooking and hiking and laughing.  I see the joy in my children's faces when they recognize the mommy that got lost for a while.

It's hard for me to revisit those darkest times, but I will.  I have every reason to believe that I will have setbacks and I am realistic enough to know that I may be where I was again some day.  Although I like to talk about what I dealt with in the past tense, I understand that it is still a present tense problem that is feeling better for the moment, but I will keep fighting and I will relish these calm times.

I will continue to write.  I will continue to battle.  I will continue to be grateful for all of the love and support I've been shown over the past six month.  I won't ever get those six months back and they were life altering, but I'm glad that although they changed the topography of my existence forever, they did not break me forever.

Thursday, October 31, 2013

November

Fall is my favorite season.  This year, I have missed so much of the joy I normally get out of it as I deal with all of the things I have been dealing with.  I'm a believer in clean breaks, new beginnings and fresh starts.  I had hoped that would come with the fall.  So far, it hasn't.  I hoped it would come with my birthday and while I had a wonderful, wonderful day, I have struggled through the remainder of the week.  So my next hope is for November to be the new start I need.

I just need a break, a release, a new start.

Sunday, October 27, 2013

The Day the Police came to my Door

I mentioned that I'd had some setbacks this past week.  Those blew up rather intensely on Wednesday.  I have debated about writing this blog for days, despite Wednesday being one of the more dramatic experiences of this journey.  I've decided to keep writing.

I missed a court appearance on Wednesday.  I believed that the appearance would be waived, as the necessary paperwork had been filed.  The mistake was inadvertent, although significant.  However, some good soul, someone with a well-meant intention, someone clearly concerned for me, read the error as possibly intended.  By that I mean that someone believed I might have harmed myself.  I can't know what was going through this person's head.  I can't know how or why someone I don't "advertise" it to found this blog.  I won't understand the level of concern this relative stranger felt which prompted his action, but I do believe it was genuine.

Wednesday night, as I was bathing my two littles, my doorbell rang.  I was home alone with the kids and the pup.  I left the kids covered in bubbles and went to answer the door.  My heart stopped when I realized two officers stood before me.  What had happened?  Who was hurt?  What terrible news am I about to receive?  They stepped politely into my entryway and asked if I knew why they were there.  Of course I didn't.  They asked me if I had missed a court appearance that day.  My first thought was, "Can they take me to jail for that?"  My second thought was, "Gosh, I didn't mean to, but perhaps I misread what would come of the hearing scheduled for this morning."  I explained that I hadn't missed an appearance, to my knowledge and that I believed the hearing scheduled would have been removed.  It may seem like a simple mistake or a huge gaff, but it sort of doesn't matter what my intent was.

The next question left me both defensive and incredibly exposed.  "Do you keep some sort of blog?"  Let me share the history of my blogging.  I write a blog called This is Me Becoming Mommy.  I started it to keep my sanity while raising two small children while keeping my intelligence from being consumed by Nick Jr. melodies.  I enjoyed it.  It was fun to write and it always let me spin things that probably had me frustrated or uncomfortable at the time, into stories that made even me laugh.  A few years into my fun blog, I began struggling in my personal life.  I started a blog called "Journey of a Highly Unsatisfied Me."  I wrote two posts before a client's spouse emailed the blog to my client, with the malicious intent of harming my reputation, perhaps by making me look bad for having a personal life or a pretty photograph?  I can't know, but I was horrified at what felt like a breach of my privacy (yeah, I know, it's on the internet, it's not private, but I hadn't expected it to be "used" against me).  I immediately deleted that blog and its two entries and removed my name from my other blog, simply writing under "EC."  Even then, the fear, that I might be exposed for who I really was, was palpable.

Imagine my more recent alarm, when another client took it upon themselves to attempt to publicly flog me by writing a scathing comment suggesting that my "issues" had just about ruined their life.  Now, I have taken and continue to take responsibility for how my "issues" have impacted the people around me.  I have been difficult to live with and my mental illness has wreaked havoc on my life.  I was, however, still surprised that someone would be so hostile.  "I will never forget or forgive what you've done," was the closing of the comment, which has since been removed.  Again I was astonished that someone would seek out my personal blog (which does relate to my work in a roundabout sort of way), having to sift through pages of Google search results because it is no longer written under my name, and to use this kind of information in that way.  I felt stalked.  I felt scared.  I felt terrorized, and it contributed sharply to my decline into paranoia.  There is a system for complaining about one's lawyer's work, and this client did exercise that avenue as well, as they should have, feeling the way that they did.  The blog comment, though, that was meant to punish and to humiliate, not to resolve any issues.

And now this.  Again, the intention behind this crossing into my personal life was not malicious.  I do know that.  Frankly, I am reminded again and again that the internet is public.  I know this, of course, and as I have told people for days now, that is the point.  It feels GOOD to be honest in this way.  Perhaps it does expose me to unwanted consequences, but hiding what I have been dealing with has been awful for me and crippling for my recovery.  Hiding allowed me, for so long, to lurk behind a facade that, as it cracked, exposed me for the failure I felt that I was.  At least here I have owned the truth, for what that could possibly be worth.

Back to the two officers at my door, who appeared both very professional and also slightly uncomfortable.  I suppose I understand because they had no idea what my state of mind was when they walked through the door.  They asked if I was a danger to myself.  I said, "Of course not."  We were interrupted by my two small, innocent children clamoring for my attention.  Realizing this was not going to be quick, I brought them to the living room.  Shaking from head to foot, I explained that we had two police officers in the living room, checking in on us to make sure everyone is safe and okay.  Thank heaven my children are as young and largely oblivious as they are.  How scary this might have been for them!

One of the officers remarked that I had my hands full.  He had no idea.  The other officer noted that anyone who was trying to harm themselves might suggest that they were perfectly fine to get them to leave.  I showed them the blog.  I offered my therapist's and psychiatrist's phone numbers.  I gave them my husband's number and explained his absence.  I was afraid they weren't going to leave.  I was more afraid that they might leave and take me with them.  There have been few times where what I am dealing with has really startled me, though none more than that single thought.  The first time I was shocked that this was my life was when I stood in the cafeteria line at the hospital, realizing that I couldn't leave the room without escort.  The second time was when I got sick on the way to my psychiatrist's office because the thought of being so close to my office sent me into a severe panic attack.  This most recent event was the scariest.  Partial-hospitalization, of my own volition, is one thing.  Being taken away and locked up because I can't control my own mind is an entirely different concept.

The officers spoke to the people they needed to to make a decision.  They were doing their job and they felt that had done it thoroughly enough.  I acknowledged, in tears for the first time with them, that it had been an incredibly difficult few months, but I would never leave my children, my family or my friends with the legacy of my suicide.  I was not dangerous to myself, at least not in the physical sense that they might have helped with.  They left, reminding me that if I needed anything, I could call.  I sobbed, in front of my frightened children, for the next three hours.

My heart goes out to the caller whose concern brought those officers to my door.  I know it was a bold and generous effort, and one I'm not sure I deserve.  Despite my reaction, I am grateful to know that people out there look out for each other enough to make a call like that.  Sometimes I forget.  My understanding goes out to the client who commented.  I know their road is a difficult one as well.  I feel for the spouse, so scorned that it felt satisfying to lash out at a complete stranger.  And I will not stop writing, despite the knowledge that people who might feel concern or satisfaction at my words are out and quite possibly still reading.

That was the first suggestion at those close enough to me to hear this story first-hand.  Why not close it to those who haven't been given permission to view it?  Why not journal, on paper, and avoid the risk of someone seeing it that might use it harmfully?  Is it worth it?  It is.  It is the one place that I feel empowered amid all of the distortion in my brain.  The point was to be completely exposed, as I never feel free to do in my real life (and for reasons which are obvious now).  Maybe as importantly now, I know it means something to others who read it - others who, like me, suffer from these kinds of thoughts, who felt alone, who now know that we are in better company than they might have known . . . others who might not be willing to expose themselves by asking permission to view such an intimate and intense subject-matter.  I am so tired of being afraid.  Writing "out loud" is the best thing I can do for myself, despite the possible consequences.  I hate having to take a stand about it or to justify myself to those who question the decision, but it's what I feel is best for me to do.  So I will keep writing.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Setbacks

I had a difficult week last week.  I slept more than usual, I had less motivation than usual, I cried a lot more than usual.  I was short-tempered and sad.  I felt defeated, ashamed and disappointed in myself, from my therapy appointment early Monday (which I almost missed because I was sleeping) to an interview I had late on Friday.  In fact, I had to sit in the parking lot to settle myself down on Friday because I was fairly certain I wasn't going to come off as confident that I would be an asset to just about anything.

Even my blogs were more morose than usual, and frankly, they're not usually very uplifting.  I wrote two on Friday, when I felt completely at the end of my ability.  My therapist insisted we gauge my suicidality this week.  While I maintain that how I was feeling on Friday was, at most, passive suicidality, I was surprised at the reaction of so many people who read those blogs.  I went back and read it myself on Monday, with my therapist, and I think I was surprised at how dark my thoughts had become again.

I have contemplated no longer existing.  I do not believe I'm capable of taking my own life.  My three children would never forgive me or understand how I could leave them.  I couldn't make my family, my husband, question what they could have done differently.  I simply could not knowingly miss the things to come for my babies.  Yet, I have contemplating no longer existing.

What does it mean to be passively suicidal?  If I were being chased through the woods by a bear, maybe I would just stop running and give in.  If I were hit by a car, maybe I would not fight as hard in the ICU.  Maybe I would take risks.  I don't know.  I've never been in one of these positions and I hope I'm never put to the choice....because I don't know what my decision would be.  I want to believe that I am past the worst of this and that I would die fighting for one more second of this life with the people I love.  But that double-edged sword requires that I stay in my own body and own mind as well.

It has been difficult lately.  I thought I was doing so well and yet so many people are so much more concerned than they had been when I haven't even realized a shift in my mood.  The more I talk about it, the more aware I am that this is a setback.  I know the psychiatrist will be concerned.  I know my therapist is concerned.  I know my closest friends are concerned.  Somehow, I'm not concerned, other than it means I'm not better yet.  Trying to get better has just been so hard and sadly, unrewarded.

Monday, October 21, 2013

Stalkings

Lately, I so often feel watched, bullied, and stalked.  This is one of those stories where people will inevitably say "I would have felt the same way," and I believe it.  These things are spooky.  What frustrates me is threefold, first that I have so many of these experiences, second that I react so strongly that I can't breathe or can't talk about it, and last that it makes me want to hide out some place far, far away, not expose myself to the world, despite how healthy it feels to do so.

Is someone messing with me?  Is someone laughing at me?  Or, worse, is someone trying to harm me or my children?  Or is it just the confusion in my mind?

Knowing that it is probably just in my head, I freaked out a little anyway today when I received a prospective client email.  About ten years ago, I had a relationship with someone in another state, whose name we'll say is Jon Smith (this name isn't real).  So, the request I get is from "Jon Smarth" with a telephone number from the same state that Jon Smith was from.  The email address matched Jon Smith's former email, but with the new spelling, so for example, Jon.Smith@domain.com became Jon.Smarth@domain.com.

I have no reason to believe this person wishes me harm.  I have no reason to believe that he's trying to contact me.  I have no idea why he'd attempt to contact me this way.  In fact, I don't know how he would have found me, as my name has changed.  I have no real reason to suspect that someone else is posing as him to mess with me or to cause me harm.  And yet, these are the first thoughts that go through my head.

I've done a little research and the telephone number left matches the name of "Jon Smarth," but the coincidences make me uncomfortable.  This is what my life has come to.  I'm afraid of the very things that could help me start fresh...


Friday, October 18, 2013

Unspeakables

Sometimes there is shit in my head that is so ugly, so paranoid or so un-PC that I feel like it has no place running through my head, much less being spoken.  So I suppress it, and when it gets too bad to do that, I write it on paper, actual paper.  I try not to leave my composition notebook laying around.  I am ashamed at what can be found in there, at what can be found in my head.  But then it builds up and I get shaky and feel crazy.  I repeat scenarios in my head over and over, and I often can't stop until I put it into the world.  That's what writing this blog has done for me.  There's no doubt that the support I have received from most of the people who read it has been awesome.  But mostly I need a place to cleanse my mind and release this stuff.

I frequently see shadows and figures.  It's part of the paranoia, that someone/something is out to get me.  I hardly startle anymore.  A menacing figure might shorten this journey.

I have considered that I would prefer to have a "physical" illness, rather than a mental illness.  What a horrible thing to say, and yet, I wonder if I might fare better if I had a healthy mind to do battle with my broken body, instead of my intact body that continues to lose ground to my broken mind.

Last weekend, I was driving through a parking lot and I saw no less than three cars about to hit my car.  I jumped, yanked on the wheel and realized that the cars were parked.  Each time I had a flash of a moment where I considered that life might be easier if those cars smashed into me.

Last night, long after midnight, Kaia woke up crying.  When I had settled her back into a peaceful sleep, I said, "Sleep well, my angel."  I had such a horrible sense of foreboding that I couldn't sleep for hours.  Had I just condemned my little girl to some horrible fate?  Would she still be here if I slept?  It would have been my fault, I had no doubt.

I have lost all control over my thoughts and what is left in its stead is poison.

Just another never-ending day

...of agonizing thoughts, sadness and fear. How I wish I could end this.

Friday, October 11, 2013

Hovering at the Edge

I've been dealing with some paranoia again lately.  On the bright side, because I know I'm being paranoid, I haven't quite gone over the edge.  But I'm there, hovering.  

Late last night, I went to my office to pick up a fax that had been sent over.  It doesn't help that it was dark or that I generally have panic attacks at the office, but I wasn't prepared for my own reaction.  I walked in, locked the door behind me and turned on the lights.  I went to my inner office and glanced at the empty fax machine.  I thought it was strange, as I had spoken to the client today who had indicated that the fax had already been sent.  As I rounded my desk, I confirmed that the fax machine on my desk was empty and then, to my shock and surprise, I saw the fax sitting neatly in the middle of my chair....two and a half feet to the right of the machine.  I began to shake.  I looked around, picked up the now spooky paper and high-tailed it out of there.  I breathed through my panic attack in the car and wondered why?  Why do these weird things keep happening?  Why does the universe seem determined to knock me off my footing?  And why does it make me feel like someone is out to get me?

I'm a logical human being.  I have no real reason to believe that someone broke into my office (and managed to lock the door behind them) to move things around just to terrorize me.  It is a far more likely conclusion that the fax simply fell of the machine and drifted strangely to my chair.  That is the unfortunate effect of anxiety and paranoia.  I KNOW better, but I am still too easily shaken by the circumstances.  Unfortunately, once it starts, it tends to grow.

Last night, around midnight, I was awakened by the shrieking of not one, but both of my little guys.  It started from nothing, no whimpers, no restlessness, just hysterical crying.  I walked into the room, in darkness, as I normally do.  I tried to calm them, but they were both thrashing about and crying for me.  I'll admit it.  I was scared in the dark.  What could have caused this level of hysteria in my two darlings, at the same time (normally they don't wake each other up in the night), and that couldn't be soothed?  I turned on a night light.  I was immediately startled by a blanket crumpled in between the beds.  I'm embarrassed to say that I couldn't focus on calming the kinds until I had checked that blanket.  Kaia seemed receptive first, so I soothed her until her shrieks were just gulps and fussing.  I moved on to Mikko.

Mikko has night terrors.  Before I knew what they were, they were alarming.  He looks awake, eyes open, staring as far away from my gaze as he can get and he's inconsolable.  Touching or talking to him puts him into a thrashing rage.  Since I've gotten to know the signs, they're far less frightening.  He has them weekly, so it's not a rare occurrence.  I usually go in to make sure he doesn't hurt himself, but he settles down on his own.  

I was already shaken last night when I went in.  He was having a night terror, but because they were both crying, I wasn't sure that was what it was.  He sobbed hysterically for five minutes.  He called for me, which is rare during a terror.  I went to him and he shrank away from me.  At one point, he was running away from me into the various corners of the room.  It was horrible.  Even after he awoke, he cried in my arms for almost an hour.  He kept saying he couldn't stop crying.  I couldn't do anything right.  I couldn't do anything to stop it.  I couldn't help thinking that this was my fault too. 

The more stressed I am, the more difficult time the kids have.  They sense my panicky energy and they tend to get very touchy.  There is more crying and more need (and I'm usually less capable of giving what they need because I'm struggling).  Can they sense that I'm afraid?  Is that why they were so afraid?  Did something happen in their room?  I seriously considered ghosts and poltergeists last night.

In the light of day, I see how silly this sounds.  Yet, I can transport myself back in an instant if I think about how I was feeling, and the panic rises again in my throat.  I'm always hovering on the edge:  the edge of insanity, the edge of panic, the edge of broken.  

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Juxtaposition

These past few weeks, I have been living in a state of juxtaposition, which is a really cool and appropriate word meaning the act or placement of two things, usually abstract concepts, next to each other.  It's a mouthful, right?  It's a head-full too.  I can hardly wrap mine around the juxtaposition of my present life.  Today, I feel as though I have been thawing from a frozen state and my limbs, and more importantly my mind, are coming back to life slowly.  Too slowly.

I have all of these wonderful things in my life today.  I have a family that supports me.  I have a husband who stands by me, quietly, but here not making demands, not asking too hard questions, and not judging me.  I have two children with whom my relationship has blossomed since I'm getting better.  They want to be near me just to feel me close to them and their easy joy is my joy.  I have extended family who check in, hug me, know without me having to say so.  I have wonderful, wonderful friends who, in their varying states of understanding, are simply there for me, no questions.  I have a comfortable home and a comfortable life.  I have laughed more in the past few weeks than I laughed in the last year.  I have felt more in the last few weeks that I have in the past year.

Therein lies the juxtaposition.  I do not understand how this content happiness can live alongside the debilitating fear, the deep, all-consuming sadness.  I am so worried that the answer is that they cannot and that the fear, the sadness, will take over again.  Because I am more alive than I have been in so long, I am doing more to focus on the good, but so much of that effort is spent subduing the terror that wells, rather than existing in a positive place.  That fight, that juxtaposition, saps the happiness I can find and brings back the disquiet, the sad, in my soul that I thought was waning.

It's so hard to get better when the ugliness inside is stronger than the beauty.

Thursday, October 3, 2013

As the Fog Lifts

When I was in the hospital, I used to describe my way of living as having crammed myself into a teeny tiny, misshapen box.  It wasn't comfortable.  It wasn't what I wanted.  I existed only to meet the expectations (or fit into the boxes) of others, even when they had expressed no expectation.  I had to get out.  Some time just before I left the hospital, I felt like I had crawled out of that box.  My work wasn't done.

Recently, I have been describing my post-hospitalization progress as existing in a fog.  Today as I was singing songs in my head, a habit I use to distract myself, I remembered a time when I sang out loud and often.  How I miss feeling that free!  One year, on a late competition entry, I learned an aria from The Medium, called "Black Swan."  For some reason, today, that song came into my head.  "The sun has fallen and it lies in blood.  The moon is weaving bandages of gold. . . . With silver needles and with silver thread, the stars stitch a shroud for the dying sun."  Those words always haunted me a little.  Today, they spoke to me.

As those lyrics bounced around in my head, I realized that the "fog" is perhaps better described as a shroud, one that I climbed under when I felt like I was "dying" and that now I am trying to lift.  A silver shroud stitched by the stars sounds like such a beautiful, tragic thing.  My emotional existence is a beautiful, tragic thing.  Perhaps that was my obsession with the song in the beginning, which I sung, not surprisingly, during my first bout of depression.

I haven't quite been able to free myself from the emotional limitations I set while I suffered from this most recent experience.  I see glimpses, as if the shroud is lifted briefly from my face so that I might see the world I so vaguely remember, so that I might have reason to fight harder to get back there.  The thawing my soul is doing feels so freeing today.  Today the shroud feels more like a blanket, one that perhaps I don't need to use to be safe and warm anymore....

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Swirling

Back when this was all at its worst, I spent a lot of time lost in my head.  I could barely function on the outside and I was functioning even less in my head.  I wasn't lost in thought, I was drowning in a black hole, as if there was no air, no chance for a clear thought.  Sometimes getting better is a double-edged sword, like the skin around a wound that itches as it heals.

My mind has cleared and the fog that surrounded me has lifted.  In its wake is a barrage of thoughts. Too many thoughts.  For some reason, I seem incapable of a middle ground.  Either I'm completely empty or there is too much, even in thought.  Ironically, I think it's just a different version of the same thing.  Before, I struggled to push through, talk about or deal with my depression and anxiety.  Since that fog has left me, I am thinking about it, constantly.  How is it affecting me?  What has changed in the past nine months?  When did I get like this?  How do I avoid it?  Will I see it in my children someday?  Will I be able to help?  Is it even real?

Being able to think and feel is a better place, I have no doubt.  That still, stagnant place was lonely and dark.  This place is twisting and spinning and swirling in a new way.  I look forward to sorting these thoughts out, deciding who I am going to become and feeling the joy of the moments in my life.  

Monday, September 30, 2013

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

I am riding a very unpleasant solo teeter totter these days.  When you're at the top, you've got a long way to fall.  When you're at the bottom, you've got to expend a lot of effort to move upward.  While you teeter totter by yourself, you can't stay up....you always end up back down at the bottom, but it's only worthwhile if you're trying to get to the top again.  So you find yourself bouncing back and forth, feeling good at the top for a second, realizing quickly that you're going to come crashing back down and then sitting at the bottom mustering enough energy and courage to try to reach the top again.

I cannot find a balance, a pleasant place in the middle when I'm not dreading the descent or struggling to rise.   More than in such a long time, I have moments of wonder, happiness, hope even.  But the highs are fleeting and the courage it takes to do the things that feel like highs right now is so delicate that when I fall back to the ground with a thud, my resolve is as bruised as my body would be.

The greatest struggle is to keep trying and not give up saying, "You just can't do it.  You're not capable."  But I feel like I just can't do it.  It's too hard.  There's too much damage.  The cycle has gone on for too long for me to change it.  I'm not even content to sit at the bottom of the teeter totter and forget trying to go back up.  I want to just climb off of the ride and lay down somewhere far away where I won't have to see the teeter totter mocking my failure.

Today, I took great strides.  I went into work.  I organized.  I spent hours here.  I went through emails and responded to some.  I brought my pup with me to keep me company and to help with my panic attacks.  I felt really good being here.  I was even brave enough to walk down the hall with the dog to get him some water.  I tried again later, needing to use the bathroom, when I thought I heard someone coming.  I didn't just take two steps back, I turned and ran.  I'm so tired of being a coward.

I remember a time when I was strong.  I was good at things.  I was funny.  I didn't want to claw off my own skin.  I want to get back there.  I want to be speaking at gatherings and planning conferences and making friends and smiling at my neighbors.  I don't want to spend anymore time being afraid of what everyone must know about me (you know, the imaginary sign I am wearing) and what everyone must think of me, and worse, that everyone wants me to be suffering for the damage I've done.

I want to be happy.  I want to take steps forward.  I want to laugh on the playground instead of thinking about how it mimics how I feel about my life.

Friday, September 27, 2013

Chasing Rainbows

I posted yesterday about the frustration of seeking the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  You really want to believe that it exists, but you know that no matter how diligently you pursue that end, you're never going to get there.  Then last night, as I was singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" to my sleepy children, them looking up at me, content from their beds, warm and comfortable, loved, I considered that maybe I can find some other goal in chasing rainbows.  I so often forget that the destination is the end of something, and it's really the pursuit that gives life meaning.

Sure, I want to be in a better place in the end, any end.  My dad recently had a minor health scare, although it never feels minor when you're sitting in the ER while the strongest people, your parents, are weak, sick or scared.  Before I had seen him with my own eyes, to be able to assess how he was really doing, I sat spinning in "what if" scenarios.  Beyond the very obvious when someone you love is sick, I kept getting stuck at, "If we were nearing his end on this earth, I would never forgive myself that I was last able to show him this current me.  This mess."  I so badly want to emulate all of the good traits that make up my dad.  He's kind, motivated, understanding, joyful, loyal, admired and so many other things.  It pains me to know how far I have to go to get there and that the path I am on doesn't seem to go forward.

But, I am learning to forgive myself for my shortcomings.  I don't believe it's my fault that I have mental illnesses, although it's much harder for me to let go of responsibility for all of the havoc they have caused.  I know that this mess is not my end.  Thankfully, it isn't the end of anything, it's just the beginning of whatever is next.  When I think of the aspirations I have, wanting to make my father proud, wanting to make my children proud, wanting to contribute to my communities, to change lives, I know that the better way to chase rainbows is to be grateful to see them at all and chase the simple joy that brings, instead of the "end of it."  There is no end of a rainbow to reach, like there is no end to reach in life, until death, but there is magic in rainbows and there is magic in life.  I see it in my children's faces.  I hear it in my father's laughter from the hospital bed at 12:00 a.m. the night before a transatlantic flight.  I note it in the thanks I received when I brought my mom coffee for the second time.  I feel it when I do something I can be proud of.  I feel it when I look at all the things that scare me and have hope that it will get better.  It will get better.  It has to and it will.

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Standing Still

I keep trying to move. Forward - looking to the future, even backward - trying to repair what has been damaged in this breakdown.  But I am paralyzed.

I have crystal clear moments of hope, optimism even, that I will enjoy my life again. I WANT to enjoy my work again. I want to throw open all of the doors, both literal and figurative, and welcome something other than numbness into my heart. I want to feel like a contributing member of society, of my own world.

And yet, I just can't seem to harness the fleeting moments of hope. It feels like I'm chasing the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. No matter how swiftly and accurately I pursue it's course, I never get there. There is no end to the chase. I fear that this hope, my rainbow, will evaporate, as rainbows do, before I get to the end, to the gold, to the goal. Contentment. Joy. PEACE.

I was recently asked by a well-meaning, although not terribly understanding, friend whether I really needed "all this medication" I'm on. She asked, "Do you think you needed it to live your life years ago? 

I answered honestly, "No." But so much has happened in these years. So much has changed and I feel absolutely beaten into submission by the experiences I've had. The result, the reward from these experiences, is crippling anxiety and paranoia. 

I compared my existence to a volunteer fire department... I can manage the three or four emergencies, fires at a time. But then I began to manage the town, the city and the county's needs. What was completely under control is now an inferno. And I am living in it.

I absolutely want to quell the flames, stop the chaos and the noise in my head and maybe not need all of these medications. But I'm not there now. The fire is raging and I am standing still in its fury.

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

The Things in my Head

I often describe my poor state of mind as "wanting to claw my own skin off."  I am so tired of me.  I'm so over the dialog in my head.  Not only does it drive me insane, but I have come to believe that if anyone knew even a third of what went on in my head on a daily basis, no one would want to be anywhere near me.  It's why I can't stand myself.  It's also why I started with the facades that crumbled leaving me broken and ultimately, completely exposed.

There are horrible people in the world.  Horrible things happen with no justification.  People hate, hurt and ruin others out of spite and frustration at their circumstances.  The more kindhearted one is, the more deeply one can be taken advantage of.  I abhor that I feel like I have no choice but to play along in this ugly existence.  Worse, I loathe myself for not being stronger, braver and individual enough to say I'm not doing it anymore and simply find my own way to live passionately.  I did live passionately once, but it was long before I had children to role model for, a husband to be a wife for, responsibilities, expectations laid at my feet....I was young and unattached to anything that matters to me now.  That was an easier time.  I knew me then.  It's harder to know this me that I've become under the strain of all the new expectations.

Sure, life is as simple as our choices.  Yes, I can choose to go back to my line of work and do it differently, create better boundaries, better organize or I can choose to do something else and walk away.  But no choice is really that simple.  When I weigh the benefits, my happiness, my peace of mind, don't rank as high as the comfort and expectations of my family.  When I consider the factors, it's impossible to pretend I live in a world where what I do doesn't matter because that's just not true.  To someone, it will always matter and that someone is the someone I feel like I continue to disappoint.  I don't even know what I want anymore, except to claw off my own skin.

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Looking for a Light at the End of this Tunnel

I'm struggling not to succumb to feeling sorry for myself.  I've always been able to take responsibility for my role in the things that "happen to me."  I know my therapist would say I take far too much responsibility.  It's one of the reasons I feel like weight of the world is on my shoulders.  I feel like I should be capable of making my world work.  I used to be able to make my world work.

 Unfortunately, the more I talk about the things I've dealt with in the past few years (and longer, in some instances), the more I realize that a lot of it really is as awful as I've come to view it, and much of it is outside of my control.  Of course I have played a part in the things that have transpired in my life, whether intentionally, unintentionally, or as a result of my mental illness, but it just doesn't seem fair and I find this a very unhealthy and completely unhelpful place to be stuck.  I simply can't move forward if I see the world as absolute chaos that seems inherently skewed against my favor.

I spent some time with these thoughts this weekend.  I had an experience that thrust me well into "why me?".  Friday night, as I slept on the floor of the nursery with my two sick children, I awoke to the vibration of my phone ringing.  I'm an incredibly light sleeper.  I picked up my phone and saw a local cell phone number that I didn't recognize and that it was 1:57 a.m.  No message.  My phone rang again at 1:59.  This time there was a message...no speaking, just what sounded like wind in the background.  Now, I'll acknowledge that weird phone calls in the middle of the night set a lot of people on edge.  What if there is some sort of emergency?  Sadly, as the night wore on, I went from rational questions like this, that I think would be quickly put to rest when no one left a comprehensible message, to the completely irrational considerations that have become the mark of my anxiety.

Because I was awake and a little shaken by the two calls and strange "voicemail," I decided to read.  It's one of the few things that can focus my mind well enough away from whatever thoughts creep into my head when I'm trying to sleep.  I read for a few minutes before, at 2:06 a.m., the phone rang again.  Same number.  This time, because I was holding the phone, I declined the call.  My phone instantly began to ring again.  I declined again, and it rang again . . . nine times in immediate succession.  That is eleven telephone calls in fifteen minutes.  The last call came in at 2:12 and I laid in the dark room contemplating what this could be about.  After some time, I checked the five messages that were left.  Again, the sound of wind in the background.  No voice.  No words.  No explanation, except those I was starting to come up with in my own head.  I used some relaxation techniques to try and calm down (because I didn't want to touch my phone again, even to read).  I had sixteen minutes with my thoughts before the phone rang again at 2:28.  Another message  Sometime in the next hour, I drifted back into sleep.  At 3:38, I woke again to the sound of my phone vibrating.  In the next ten minutes, I got calls at 3:41, 3:41, 3:42, 3:45, 3:45, 3:46 and 3:48.  They came with another four messages, but by now, I was too afraid to listen to them, knowing I would find only the sound of the world outside, without explanation for this intrusion on my peace of mind.  (I did eventually listen to them as the sun rose when I had a little less fear about the unknown because it was no longer dark.)

My mind drifted from one possible, terrifying scenario to the next.  I started with rational things like a wrong number, but after ten messages, whoever was calling knew that the number belonged to me and not whomever they might be attempting to reach.  I considered a pocket dial, but that just doesn't happen twenty times, much less in rapid succession after declining the call.  I wondered if someone was hurt, but why no message?  The next set of thoughts revolved around loved ones and emergencies, somewhere just beyond rational.  Had my sister been abducted and she was trying to reach me in secret?  Was it about my parents who are traveling?  Is someone after my children?

The spiral into complete panic came next, and quickly.  I was convinced that someone was outside my home, that the wind I could hear was the same breeze that was blowing through my children's open window.  I closed and locked the window in the dark, while trying not to disturb the curtains.  I was afraid to turn on the light to alert whomever was outside to the fact that I was up.  I couldn't remember if the patio door was locked, but I was too scared to walk through the house to the kitchen because my presence would be exposed by the curtainless windows in the office.  I wasn't sure whether I believed "they" were after me or my family, but I was terrified to leave my children in the room alone.  At one point, my daughter woke and asked to sleep in my room.  The terror I was sure was lurking outside weighed on me when I refused.  I didn't want the kids away from me.  I didn't want them split up and thereby vulnerable.  I cried myself back to sleep and mercifully, there were no more calls.

Saturday, I couldn't sleep because I was waiting for it to start again, still certain, in some irrational part of my otherwise mostly functioning mind, that it was an intentional "attack," either to actually harm me or just to completely terrify me.  Thankfully, I haven't received any more calls from numbers I don't recognize.  Unfortunately for my imagination, I also haven't any explanation.  In the light of day, I know the conclusion that someone was outside my house either to get me or to scare me isn't reasonable, but there is still a part of me that is thankful when my children wake up night after night so that I can hold them near me in the scary dark.  Perhaps the worst part about all of this is that I'm struggling to convince myself that this isn't related to something or someone I've wronged, that the harm is intended toward my children to make me "pay" for what I might have done, and that it's simply not real because it hasn't happened again.  I can't shake the nagging feelings, the fear.

I've had some incredible nightmares since Friday.  I haven't slept soundly, but when my kids are in my bed or I am in theirs.  I don't feel safe when they are not with me.  I'm a bit paranoid about even posting this, but this blog is one of few places where I feel like I take back some strength and stand my own two feet.  Here, I'm not hiding in a dark room, I'm flinging the door wide open, lights blazing and admitting exactly what I feel, even though it's terrifying.  I don't feel strong, but I know that saying these things "out loud" makes me stronger and I believe if I continue moving on one direction, I will begin to see a light at the end of this tunnel.

Monday, September 16, 2013

All alone with Taylor Swift

Well, not really.  For those of you that know me well, you'll know that bad music is a guilty pleasure for me.  I'm not saying I don't like Taylor Swift.  I freaking love Taylor Swift.  I'm just saying that most thirty-somethings probably don't.  But she's genius sometimes.  Take this lyric that has been bouncing around in my head for some time now, "Time won't fly.  It's like I'm paralyzed by it.  I'd like to be my old self again, but I'm still trying to find it."  I can't stop repeating that line over and over in a silent monologue that just keeps going on and on.

I expected that, as time passes, this would all get easier.  Better.  Normal.  I should be able to get back to my life.  Instead, I feel like time just inches along and nothing changes in my head.  The world keeps spinning around me, but I'm at a stand still.  I feel isolated from everyone else.  It's as if I can't relate to the existence I've always existed within.

For me, this experience, the mental illness, goes on and on.  I went to the hospital, I got help, I'm in therapy, I'm on medication, things should be okay.  It feels as though people expect that I should just be better.  I expect that I should just be better.  Instead, I am still this shattered me that's putting pieces back together, but will forever be changed, marred, broken.

Some day, I may actually be able to live a life that resembled the one I lived before.  I may be able to take stress in stride, distinguish who I am from the opinions of others, take some pride in my existence.  Or, I may put my head down, do what I have always done, and find myself exactly here again.  Always.  While I hope that that's not true, the more time passes that I feel the same, the less I believe that things may change.

Monday, September 9, 2013

Panic

I've been doing much better, generally.  I still have tremendous triggers at work, but I think that my depression is under control.  That makes home life just about normal these days, which is amazing.  I have been working from home a bit more, to increase productivity that suffers in the office.  I had four hearings last week, all of which were successful.  All in all, things have been going rather well.

In the meantime, lots of exciting things have happened as well!  My little big girl started school last week.  Our oldest started her senior year in high school.  My husband participated (although didn't race) in a 100 mile race.  And we brought home a rescue dog!

With all of this positive stuff, imagine my surprise when I had a crushing panic attack today, away from work and in my normal life.  Because it came and went so quickly, I found that I was able to recognize and recount today's panic attack.  Usually, I'm so consumed by it that I lose the time that I'm having the attack and sort of "come to" feeling foggy and drained.

I put my little girl on the bus for the very first time this morning.  She was totally ready for it and I wasn't quite, but I knew it was right to let her stretch her tiny wings.  We waited at the bus stop and got excited when the bus rounded the corner.  She climbed in without a second glance backward and I waved frantically at her in the window.  And then she was off.

I know many of you are thinking, "Oh, so she's the mom who followed the bus to school.  I get it."  In fact, I was okay.  No tears on the first day of school, no tears on the first day on the bus.  If my girl is ready, I can manage.  With that said, because there aren't any other 4K kids on her bus, I was a little worried that she might struggle to find her classroom.  The drop off locations are different for the big kids and the young kids and she wasn't going to have the benefit of having the special drop.  I figured she'd either find her way, someone would help her, or the school would call wondering why she didn't show up.  Gulp.

Of course, no one called because she was probably fine.  When I arrived to pick her up today, a pickup I normally don't do but insisted on because I knew I wouldn't feel quite comfortable until I saw her smiling face again, the 4K classes were outside.  As her class lined up, I scanned the playground for her.  As her class started marching toward their backpacks, the first step toward having them in our waiting arms again, I scanned the playground for her.  As her class assembled on the blacktop for pickup, I scanned the playground for her again...because she wasn't with her class.  She just wasn't there.  I scanned the ground for her waiting backpack, but I couldn't find it.

And my heart stopped.  Where it should have been beating, I felt a searing hole.  Then, because it wasn't beating (or rather, it was likely beating incredibly fast and erratically), I started to take fast, shallow breaths, unable to take in any more air than just enough to keep me conscious.  My chest got hot and the heat rose quickly up my neck.  I grew faint and my head started to pound.  And then, of course because I'm here blogging and not a number of horrible places doing awful things that I'd rather not imagine, I saw her.  Almost immediately, the attack ceased and my heart slowed.  I took long, deep breaths and by the time her little arms were around my waist, I was me again.

Now imagine that three times a day, five times a day, ten times a day.  Imagine it for no reason at all or simply because you vividly remember something that manifests itself terribly in your head.  Imagine it in the middle of a dark room at night, driving a car, sitting at your desk or holding your children.  It's an awful thing and one that I am gaining control over.

Although most episodes last up to a half an hour for me, today's was rather easily swept aside.  The specific fear that triggered the attack was remedied the moment I saw her blue pants, messy hair and coltish gait.  I'm thankful.  I'd rather not have panic attacks, but to have one that was so quickly conquered (although tamed as much by circumstances as it was managed by my efforts) reminds me that I wasn't always this way.  I used to be normal and able to do things that terrify me right now.  That gives me hope that I will be able to do it all again.  I'm thankful that only my husband has witnessed a true panic attack and that I have been able to raise my children without them knowing my anxiety firsthand.  And I'm thankful, of course, that my little person can live her life, enjoy riding the bus, play without a care in the world and come back to the Mama she knows will always support her and stand strong behind her, even during those times when I can hardly stand on my own feet.

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Even in sleep, there is no escape

I have had a wonderful week.  By that I mean, I only had two panic attacks, despite two court appearances and two and a half days in the office.  I made it through an entire work day without taking my Lorazepam and I only lost one day to my depression.  From where I've been, it's like nearly reaching the summit and seeing a clear path straight to it.

Unfortunately, I'm still frequently reminded that depression is more like alcoholism, than reaching the top of a mountain.  You're never quite cured.  You never actually summit.  Fighting urges toward self-loathing and feelings of worthlessness is like an alcoholic struggling not to drink when she smokes.  Except I can't just avoid thinking the way an alcoholic could conceivably avoid smoking.  Combine that with anxiety, which ebbs and flows, and triggers can transport you from good to really, really bad.

And, of course, as the title suggests, there is really no escape from your own mind, even in sleep.  I had one of the worst nightmares I've ever had last night.  Although I'm prone to dreaming, and I often lucid dream (a state of realization that you're dreaming and the ability to manipulate the outcome), I fairly rarely have true nightmares.  Sure, I suffer the occasional "I forgot to put pants on before going to work" dreams, but I think everyone has those.

Rather, last night, my dream involved the same terror that my waking anxiety invokes.  I honestly don't vividly remember the details, but I do remember the emotions.  A man was trying to "get" me, although not in the chase-me-through-the-woods kind of way.  He was bearing down on me and I knew he was dangerous.   He was scary, in part, because he wasn't sinister on the surface.  He smiled, seemed friendly, but it was a mask.  First, he called and called and called on the phone.  He sent emails, he friended me on Facebook.  He tracked me down at home, where I refused to answer the door.  Then another time, he tracked me to my parents' house and I answered the door not realizing it could be him.  There were sirens outside and he was seeking refuge from something, a ploy to convince me to let him in.  I turned him away at the front door only to find he tried to get in around back.  I saw him cross the deck and disappear into the dark backyard.  The police later showed up because they were trying to find him.  Because he was after me.  Then, at a party at some house that my mind built, he arrived, uninvited, but finally able to get close enough to me because the hostess didn't know the danger I did.  I was trapped.  Although no one else seemed to know what was happening, he had me hostage and I couldn't leave.  I remained strong and calm and unbreakable.  Then he went after my daughter.  Once he had her, I shattered completely and I succumbed.  He released her and I told my terrified, tiny child to run.  "Run into the woods and don't come out.  Do not come back here.  Mommy loves you"

I woke up then, without knowing what was to happen to me or my little girl.  Did she get away?  Did I?  Was she too brave or frightened to leave her mommy?  Was I doing the right thing by giving myself in her place?  Could I have saved us both?  ....Was she better off without me and the terror that follows me?

And that's what has stayed with me for the waking hours today.  Time will pass and suddenly I'll get a wave of complete terror.  Almost the opposite of foreboding, like I KNOW something bad has already happened.  Even as I type, I feel creepily outside of my own body.  I can't shake the feeling that something important and terrible has happened, and then I remember my dream and realize that I'm just carrying that ugliness into my day without even realizing it.  I've spent time thinking about what the dream means, and I like it no better rationalized than I did subconsciously.  I feel stalked, exposed and trapped.  I agonize that my children will suffer.  I am afraid.

While I want to believe that things will continue to get better with time, and I will apply the coping skills I have learned, I also know that my mind is relentless.  From the minute I wake up until the minute I fall asleep, my demons circle around in my head, and even when I can't recognize the individual thoughts, the emotions are clear.  Fear, sadness, hopelessness, worry...they're almost never naturally inclined toward something positive.  Then, when I need to be free from myself the most, I sleep, only to be chased by those emotions, personified by the villains in my dreams.  It leaves a person tired.  So tired.

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

The anxiety

I'm slowly getting back to work on a regular basis.  This has been the greatest hurdle for me.  As I mentioned in yesterday's post, "High Functioning", I believe this recent period of depression, something I have experienced before, has really paved the way for my anxiety, something entirely new.  I have a tornado for a son, a clinger for a daughter and a law practice that's really only necessary because people are unhappy.  I'm no stranger to difficult situations.  I'm familiar with stress.  I've been juggling lots of responsibility for a pretty long time.

I can trace the very start of my descent into madness to last July.  Yes, I believe I've been here in this place, sometimes worse than others, for more than a year.  I took on two of the most difficult clients I've ever had the pleasure of working with.  I can't, nor do I want to go into detail about those clients or those cases, but I can give you a glimpse of what had become my normal work environment over the last year.  Last Labor Day weekend, I worked nearly fifty hours preparing for one trial.  In the month of September, I had a ten day stretch where I had three trials scheduled.  In January, I had three scheduled in two and a half weeks.  I began spending my nights crashing to a fitful sleep for three hours, waking in the middle of the night, working in my "office" (it was really a walk-in closet, and formerly my youngest's nursery, because we had long since run out of space at our condo) for three or four hours, sleeping for another hour or two and waking up trying to keep it together for my two small children.  I worked weekends often.  I worked evenings frequently.  I stressed and fretted and worried constantly.  If I was at home, I was worried about my work, if I was at work, I worried about how I was failing at home.

It wasn't until December that I started to really fall apart.  I was meeting deadlines, keeping up with clients and prepared at court, but the effort was crushing.  In January, I received a pretty disconcerting threat via email.  I'd begun racking up irritated voice messages.  I was feeling too sick to come to work too often.  I tried to work from home, but I became a zombie and sat wishing I could work, knowing I had to work, but feeling completely incapable of working.  I came to the office as often as I could, but that was less and less frequent.  I would have panic attacks just walking into the building.  I used to feel home and confident here.  This is a place I used to bring my children to play on weekends while I worked.  I have toys in the office collecting dust because I don't want to expose them to what has become such a toxic place for me.  When the phone rang, as it did this morning which inspired a panic attack and this post, my heart would race, my face would flush and my neck would get hot.  I'd get the chills, my breathing would become shallow and I would fade a little, like trying to focus on a conversation from underwater.

Just as I had a moment of clarity that alerted me to how bad my depression had really gotten, I had a moment with the anxiety too, although I didn't learn to call what I was experiencing "anxiety" until I started talking about it with therapists.  I have admitted this to very few people.  I received so much support for being "brave" and telling my story via this blog recently.  And while I can't adequately express my overwhelming appreciation for that, this next revelation is far more terrifying for me to admit than anything I have shared so far....  One day, I was working in my office (with the doors locked, both inner office and main, and the lights left off) and someone came to the door.  I had been on the phone and so I was sure the knocker knew I was in here.  He or she knocked again, then knocked on my neighbor's office door.  I heard talking, but couldn't make out the conversation or determine who was out there.

Even now, although it's not reasonable, I imagine it like a horror movie.  Some evil somebody or something is stalking outside the door, knowing I'm trapped inside without any place to go.  While I have no idea what this person wanted because I've never determined who it was, I was sure the intention was something sinister.  I can't really articulate what I thought might happen.  My logical mind, which has persisted through this all, frankly befuddling me because I KNOW better, is aware that this person wasn't here to hurt me.  The worst case scenario was a confrontation and, as an attorney, that's something I've never really feared.  Yet, I was absolutely terrified.  I have two windows that face a back parking lot and a building next door.  I was truly so afraid that someone was out to get me that I crawled under my desk that day, in case someone stalked around the building, peering into my windows.  And that's when I knew this had all gone too far.

There were other bouts of ridiculous paranoia.  On a road trip, I once had a car "follow" me on the highway from Illinois all the way to my home in Lake Country.  I turned off into my neighborhood and that was the last I saw of the car, but I was absolutely certain, completely convinced that the driver was following me and undoubtedly with bad intentions.  Again, I had no logical explanation for this and I knew the thought wasn't rational, but I was scared nonetheless.  Other times, I would run down the hall to the bathroom because I was sure I'd run into someone "waiting for me."  And sometimes I was even scared to walk to my car at the end of the day because I thought someone might have slashed my tires or would be waiting on the far side of my car, where I couldn't see them.

This piece, my friends, has been an incredible struggle.  No part of me has ever been afraid of much other than heights, and even that I challenged on occasion.  I was an optimistic and sensitive person.  I believed in the good of the world and the strength in the unity of humanity.  I had become someone who was scared of the way her own shadow moved.  And while I'm not crawling under my desk anymore, thank goodness, I am sadly more reliant on my Lorazepam than my own capacity to get me through a day at the office.  We're tweaking my medications to allow me to sit still in court, answer my phone without feeling lightheaded and so that I can take pride in my work again.  Yet I fear I will never fully recover from this experience, this exposure to sheer terror driven by anxiety.  And I am sad for it.