Fall. No...Autumn!

The leaves are changing and falling off of the trees. The air is crisp, the wind cool, the rain cold. The days are shorter and it seems as though a lot more of them are cloudy days. I used to hatehatehate this time of year.

When I was little, I lovedlovedloved it. I "helped" rake the two billion leaves that fell in our yard from the giant oak trees that surrounded our house. I warmed myself by the fire when we burned them, or helped my dad drag the tarp loaded up with wet leaves to dump "over the hill." (only Woodcliff Acres residents will understand that) We carved pumpkins for Halloween and went trick-or-treating in the dark. I was a kid, and it was awesome.

A few years ago, I wrote an essay in my hometown newspaper about driving up a certain hill at a certain time of year, and how it would just take my breath away. The myriad of colors in the trees surrounding the river would brighten even my darkest day. That hill, those colors, they mean home to me.

But somewhere along the way, I started to dislike fall. All it meant to me is that the leaves would fall off the trees and there would be barren emptyness for the next 6 months. The promise of snow usually wasn't enough to pull me out of my funk, for there was far too little and far too much time inbetween. It would be too cold and too dark to go to the park after work, or even go for a walk down the street. Mornings were darker, harder to get out of bed, and cooold.

A couple of years ago, I realized that I really, really hated fall.

My neighbor loves all holidays. LOVES. I mean, she even decorates for Valentines Day. But fall and Christmas decorations are by far her favorite. As I admired her bales of straw and colorful mums and the adorable pumpkin arrangements that she and many other people set in front of their homes, I admonished myself for not decorating. I chided myself for being a lazy homemaker. But it always seemed just too overwhelming. I told myself that "next year" I would purchase corn stalks and gourds. "Next year", I would put up Christmas lights. Next year, next year, next year.

But I am on medication now. Better medication for me. I have started a gratitude journal. Do you know what that is? Every day, you write down 5 things that you are grateful for. Every day. And you can't. ever. repeat. Like, ever. The very first thing I wrote that I was grateful for was trees whose leaves turn red in the fall, and not just brown and fall off. It really is the little things in life that are the big things.

For the longest time, I thought that my kids were supposed to "provide" me with those little things. But now I know that I am supposed to provide the little things. I am the one who has to notice the beauty of the trees, the refreshing crispness of the air, the way Kabo loves to sit outside for hours because it is so comfortable for him. I am the one who makes decorations happen, no matter how little or extravagant. And then I get to admire the decorations as an accomplishment for myself and an addition to the neighborhood.

And with that, all of the sudden, my kids are more adorable, more precious, and even funnier to me. Their excitement is invigorating. It reminds me of my youth and makes me excited to make memories for my children. (I seriously cannot wait until the girls are big enough to rake leaves. That job really sucks!) 

By taking notice of the trees with red leaves, instead of the ones whose leaves have already fallen off and are bare, I am slowly, ever so slowly, starting to think positive. No longer do I dread the -20 degree days. Instead I look forward to hot chocolate by the fire. No longer do I dread the hustle and bustle of Christmas, instead I think of all the great deals I will get shopping online! Instead of thinking that I will continue to gain weight and be unhealthy for the rest of my life, I know that if I continue to make little changes, one day I will lose weight and enjoy the effects of *shudder* exercise. (Obviously, that day isn't quite here yet.)

For now, I am definitely enjoying seeing MY bales of straw, corn stalks, mums, and little-girl arranged pumpkins every time I pull into my driveway. (And Indian corn! Who can forget the Indian corn!) I am excited for Sam's field trip to the pumpkin patch tomorrow. I just know that the next 3 months are going to be better than they have been in a long time.

It's not much, but it is huge for me.

Depression Isn't Fair

Last week went fantastic.

Closets were cleaned, rooms were cleared, bookshelves emptied.

Dr. Nadene came up for one day and my mom stayed three. They were both incredible. We stopped to eat, but not much else. Now there are just boxes that need to be carried and a painter that needs to come and do his thing.

After three days of organizing, I spent the long weekend at the lake in the sunshine and happiness.

And now I am coming off of the feeling of being on vacation and I just want to hide.

Crawl in bed, snuggle my green frog pillow pet, and take a nap.

My body aches. It could have something to do with the sunburn I sustained on Sunday, but I don't think that is all.

I spent a lot of time with my girls, but I yelled at them and didn't play *enough*. Cue the mommy guilt.

I'm exhausted. I hate feeling this way.

I had hoped packing would take the weight off my shoulders. Instead, I feel heavier than ever.

I know this summer is going to fly by, I just hope that at some point I am able to stop and enjoy it.

Not to Complain or Anything

So it is no secret that lately I have been struggling. Did you read my last post?

But sometimes, it makes things so. much. worse. when you realize what other people are going through. And then you think to yourself, "Self, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

For example, my uncle had a quadruple bypass 2 Friday's ago. And he is not recovering well.

So his wife and children, brothers and sisters, and various nieces and nephews have been spending time hours away from home, days at a time, to be with him. The emotional ups and downs of a hospital watch are... well, yeah, they suck. I feel bad complaining when they are going through that. And yet...

Summer has flown by. And we have had a good time, don't get me wrong. I got to spend a great weekend with a great friend and her family that I hadn't see in over 2 years. And I spent another fun weekend with other friends. And I have another fun weekend coming up with more friends.

But there is also the couple of weeks when Kale got neutered, and got diarrhea. And Fonz's toe has been infected for a couple of weeks, and now his ears are too. Little Charlie turns one on Saturday, and I am having a hard time getting in the mood to celebrate. Or plan her party. Which I have already committed to.

This is what it is like to be depressed. For no reason. And then you get mad at yourself for feeling sorry for yourself. And that just makes you shut down even more. Workaholic has been busy beyond belief, which means he can't be there to, well...pick me up. Like usual. 

I wish I could just snap out of this. I wish the new meds would work. I wish I had that fire in my belly that everyone else around me seems to have that gets them through their day. Part of me wonders if I am just lazy. I suppose it is possible. But am I really choosing laziness over self worth? Over feeling good? Over feeling like I got something accomplished? Goodness, I hope not.

Struggle

I have this daily struggle.

Get out of bed.

Get things done.

Do my work.


It is every day that I have this struggle. It has been 5 weeks and 3 days since I started my new medication. I think it is working a little bit, but not nearly as much as I had hoped. I miss the part of Pristiq that helped me to get out of bed in the morning. I hate getting out of bed in the morning.

Do you ever watch the show Hoarders? You know, the one with people who keep trash in their house and think that it is something that should not be thrown away? Sometimes, those people actually get their houses cleaned up, and they often say how much better they feel about life.

I can totally relate.

My house does not qualify for Hoarders, yet. But I have things strewn about. Things that have no real home right now. If Kale tears up a paper towel from my office trash can, which he seems to do weekly, I don't mind if it sits on the basement floor for a week. Eventually, I pick it up and throw it away, and then wonder why I took so long to do it.

We are in a transition stage right now. Workaholic is working much more than usual. Until he is done with his latest project, I feel lost. I have things that don't belong in my dining room in my dining room. I can't wait for him to be finished so I can get my dining room turned into a playroom, as it should be. I can't wait to get the toys out of my living room and into my dining room. I need to get the boxes of books out of my bedroom...to anyplace else.

Every time I get a space cleared, it stays that way for about a day. And then it is cluttered up again. I can't wait until things calm down. I need things to calm down. My mind has a hard time focusing on anything. I can't get my work done. I can't get a decent blog done.

Even though I know I need to get organized, I can't get myself organized. I keep telling myself that it will all be OK soon. In the meantime, days pass, and I hardly even notice. I hate that. I wish I had that fire in my belly to get me motivated, instead I have nothing. All I want to do is hide in my bed all day long.


I struggle.

The Big D

Lately, I have been a little...on edge.

To put it lightly.

I have been on medicine for depression since Sam was about 6 months old. I had to go off while I was pregnant with Charlie, and was able to start taking it again when she was 6 weeks old.

A couple of months ago I decided that my medicine just wasn't cutting it and I needed to be on something new. Something that wouldn't hurt a baby if I accidentally got pregnant, something that I could stay on while pregnant. (NO...we are NOT trying anytime soon. Just planning out the future.)

My doc wrote me a new script, and I have weaned myself off my old meds and will begin taking my new ones tonight.

This past weekend...I realized why I am on medication.  

People often look at me sideways when I tell them I am on anti-depressants. They blame it on being postpartum, although I think it goes way before I had kids. PPD was just the fire that was lit under my ass to get on meds. I didn't want to bring up my kids with me being depressed.

I wouldn't wish depression on anyone. I will, however, try to explain what it is like, for those of you who are like my husband, and see life through rose-colored glasses.


In the morning, when your alarm goes off, you physically can't get out of bed. You don't want to, your body hurts, even though there is no reason for it to.  You dread your day. There isn't anything in particular to dread, but you dread it all the same. All you want to do is stay in bed, and hide from the world. This isn't just one morning every once in a while. It is every. single. morning.

Little things annoy you, more than they should. And your reaction to those annoyances are a tad more...violent. People at work say, "Good morning", and you want to slap them across the face. (Why do people insist on talking to each other before lunch, I could never understand.)  I have a maintenance light that came on in my car, right after I got the oil changed. Looking at that light is like hearing fingernails on a chalkboard. I really want to take a screwdriver and stab it through the plastic cover on my dash and poke that light out. But I won't because I know that I would probably hurt myself in the process and not even get the light to go out. Which would lead to my next thing...crying.

Anything will make you cry. Getting caught at a red light. It isn't the fact that you have to sit a red light for 30 seconds. It is the voice in your head telling you that everything in this world is conspiring against you. That light wants to make you late to where ever it is that you are going.

Speaking of voices...they are the worst. They are thoughts that constantly are in your head, and make you cry even if you just drop something on the floor. 

They tell you that you are not able to do anything right.
Why even try to do something, because you will fail miserably at it. (And probably very publicly as well.)
You are a terrible person, an awful wife, a marginal mother. (I mean, your kids aren't dead...so that is a plus.)

They tell you how fat you are, and there is no point in trying to lose weight or eat healthy, because you will probably fail at it. And even if you do lose some weight, your thighs will still rub together, so really...what is the point? (And at that point, you eat pizza and ice cream and chocolate, because it tastes good. Which doesn't really help out your thighs.)

There are times when the voices are constant. Any little thing can set them off, and then they don't shut up. They are thoughts running through your head at breakneck speed, reminding you that once again, you have failed. Once again, you have let someone down. Once again, you should not have gotten out of bed.


If you do go out on a limb, and try something new, something that takes a little bit of kahunas, the slightest bit of criticism is crushing. For example, I remember when I was in high school I wrote a short story about a girl who moved to the projects in Chicago from a middle-class, small-town lifestyle. My English teacher very gently suggested that next time, perhaps I could write about something that I knew more about. Let's just say that was the last short story I wrote for a very. long. time.


Depression is a bitch. I hate it when people who have never experienced it think that you can just "snap out of it." People who think that "if you put your mind to something, you can beat it."

Depression isn't something that can be willed away. Trust me, I have tried. And failed. I have tried faking my way through life. Sometimes I succeed, which is why people look at me sideways and tell me that I am not depressed. OK...you get in my head then tell me I don't suffer from depression.

I have high hopes for my new medication. Hope that it will get me out of bed. Hope that it will make the thoughts go away. Make the tears stop. I have hope that it will help me get back to a life that I love and can enjoy. My girls, my husband, hell...even my dogs deserve that. So I have hope.

Dilemna

Dear Internet,

I have a problem. A dilemma really. And here's the thing. It shouldn't be a problem. Or a dilemma. Because it actually is solving a problem.

Let me explain...ever since I started working, perhaps even before, I wanted to be a stay-at-home-mom. Being a working mom seemed like so much, well...work. Maintaining the house and going to the grocery store and making dinner AND working a full-time job?? How on Earth was that to be done?

And I did it. For 19 months, I did it. And I hated it. I hated that I couldn't go to the grocery store after work because I had to pick up Sam at daycare. And even on the days when she was with grandma, I would go to the store after work, rushing because I felt guilty. She had been with grandma all day, and now I was taking up her evening too. I hated that there was never enough time for anything, and I never got to play with my kid, and how I was always tired.

Well guess what? I am going back to work. I had hoped that this wouldn't be my original plan, I had hoped that we could swing it with me staying at home and losing my income. And then we realized that wasn't feasible, not yet anyway. We just spend too much money. And aren't willing to stop.

The great thing is that while on leave, my work has implemented a flex schedule. So I get to work from home 50% of the time now! Yay!!! I get to bring in an income, spend time with adults, and also spend time with my kids. Sounds like a no-brainer right? Right.

Here is where my dilemma comes in. I have guilt. Because I am ready to go back to work. I can't get out of bed in the morning. I lay there, awake, knowing that I should shower because this is my chance to do that before the girls wake up. Yet I don't. I lay down every chance I get during the day because I am just. so. tired. I rarely play with the girls, I watch the clock to see when the next feeding time or nap time is. This is not the quality time I had hoped for. But I just can't help myself. I know that when I have to go back to work, I HAVE to get out of bed. I have to shower. (at least half of the time) I have to get something done during the day. And I am looking forward to that.

As it turns out, I think that I might be one of the worst stay-at-home-moms ever. My house is a pit, we have no food...much less dinner on the table, and poor Sam just wanders around looking for trouble to get into. I float from day to day, hoping the next day will be better, but not doing anything to change it. Therein lies the guilt. I feel guilty that I don't want to spend this time with my kids. I feel guilty that I can't wait for them to take their naps so I can nap or play on the internet. I feel guilty that I have wasted the past 2 months being lazy.

I am not sure of the delusions I have about going back to work. I will have help, even more than I have had in the past. So I am looking forward to that. I need to get my life in order, but at times, it feels like such a mess I just lay down and take a nap. It's easier that way.

A New Day?

If you click on over to my About Me section, you will be able to read 50 Things About Me. I wrote it one day when I was bored...I won't go into where exactly I was at the time.

So I was reading them last night, wondering if I needed to update them, and I got to the last one.

#50. I really, really want to be a stay-at-home mom.

Hmm.

This is an interesting one. Considering I was looking at these to see if I needed to change them, I am at a crossroads.

Every day is harder than the last. The weather is getting cooler, but I don't even notice because I hardly go outside.

Samantha has taken to emptying every cabinet and drawer and wipe container that we have. She likes to throw her diapers all over the room. And I am tired of picking up after her...worse yet, I am tired of trying to get her to pick up after herself.

She also has decided that she doesn't like to wear a diaper. And she knows how to take them off. She did this last night in bed, after taking off her pajamas, and peed in the bed. Luckily I decided to check on her, otherwise I would've had a much larger mess on my hands this morning.

Speaking of this morning, it came pretty fast, considering Sam slept with us for only the second time ever last night. After the first time, I swore there would NOT be a second time. Once she fell asleep, it went OK, until she got up 2 hours earlier than usual.

I am ALL about trying to get Charlie on a routine, but she isn't cooperating. And my immediate goal for the routine to succeed is getting Charlie to sleep through the night, or at least through one of the night feedings. So far it isn't working.

Workaholic has been crazy super busy lately. So he hasn't had time to install things like baby gates or cabinet locks, things that I didn't care if I had until I stayed home. All day. With a toddler. Who has a ton of toys but refuses to play with any of them.

I've started to romanticize my job, and fantasize about someone else raising my kids. (I'm talking daycare here.) When I was working, I felt so guilty that someone else was doing my job by raising my kids. But now I wonder if I can even do it. Just trying to figure out what to serve for lunch, and how I am going to do it with a baby who generally chooses to scream at lunchtime, is a struggle.

And while I was writing this, my 20 month old stood 10 feet from me, took off her diaper, pooped on the floor, and clogged a Toto toilet with who-knows-what. (Toto claims you can flush a tennis ball down their toilets.)

The thing is, I know that I have it much better than many people. Many people don't have family or friends around to help them. Many people don't have the money to put food on the table, much less deciding what to cook. Hell, many people don't even have a roof over their heads. Knowing this just makes me feel worse. Because I am struggling, but I feel like I shouldn't be. I have the exact same problems as millions of other people out there. Knowing that doesn't help. Believe you me, I wish it did.

Writer's Block

I am taking a tip from The Pioneer Woman today, and posting even though I don't really feel like it. And to celebrate that fact, let's talk about some other things I don't feel like doing.

1) Writing thank you notes. I have three left to do, and they WILL get done, but I'm just not in the mood right now.

2) Chasing Sam into my bathroom to quit her from putting on my deodorant and lathering herself up with my night eye cream...that costs $17 a jar. I'd rather just yell from the bed.

3) Calling the vet to make Fonz an appointment to get his teeth cleaned and lumps removed. Scheduling appointments is so exhausting.

4) Unpacking the double stroller I just bought. I got it on clearance at Target, and it is ugly as sin, but with it, I can take both kids places. Which maybe is why I don't want to unpack it. Because...

5) It's gorgeous outside, but I'm not in the mood to go out...even just to take a walk around the cul-de-sac.

6) Wake up Charlie when it is time for her to eat. It's important I do this, supposedly, for her routine. Which is not working out for me at night, considering she got up 3 times.

7) Make dinner. Yes, I am already avoiding it.

8) Put the pictures from my camera onto my desktop. Because it is in the basement, and that is just so. far. away.

9) I'm too lazy to post 10 things. How sad is that????

Working on It

So on paper, I’m not exactly anything special…I work full-time, not too far from home, my husband works full-time, (sort of) and I have a kid and a dog. We own our own house in a great, if not in an expensive-to-live-in neighborhood; we have a car payment and bills just like everyone else. I don’t have money troubles because one or both of us has been laid off, my kid is perfect and healthy, the dog is the easiest in the world to take care of, and my husband and I have a great marriage. We communicate well, and I think that helps to make everything so. much. easier.

Like many other working moms, I have a laundry list of things that I want to accomplish. It includes things like laundry and making dinner, to cleaning out closets and packing away clothes that won’t ever fit me again, to updating my blog and making it pretty and more user-friendly. One would think with the amount of time I spend in front of a computer at work I’d be able to figure out the blog thing, but it’s just past me right now. In fact, most of my duties are past me right now. Which is weird to me, because, on paper, I am nothing special. There is absolutely no reason I should be feeling down, or sad, or frustrated and angry…I am just like everyone else out there.

All day, as I sit at work, I stew over what I could be doing at home. I talk with the other moms of little kids, and they talk about what their kids are learning and what they are teaching them and how. And I think, “If I had more time.” (and I only have 1 kid…my sisters each have 4!) It’s the little things and the small bits of time that you spend with your child, I know…while teaching puppy kindergarten we would explain to people that 10 minutes of training a day is all it takes. And it is all they can handle. Kids are a lot like puppies that way. But I struggle to spend that little bit of time.

Workaholic thinks that I have S.A.D., or Seasonal Affective Disorder. It’s when the winter blues really get you down. I try to explain to him that I am depressed in the summer too…so I don’t think it is just S.A.D. I don’t make a secret of my belief in medication or talk therapy to help get people through the hard times. Let’s just say that Workaholic wishes I wasn’t so vocal about it. He thinks my business is our business…not everyone else’s. Which I guess makes sense…but if one person opens their mind a little bit more to meds and therapy and it helps, and it is because of me…well, that would make me feel good. (He also thinks it's worse in my head than in real like...which is funny, because isn't it all in my head??)

So let’s just say that I’ve been having a bit of a hard time lately. Getting even the simplest of tasks done wipes me out, and tackling the bigger ones is just beyond what I am able to handle at this moment. UNLESS I am given a deadline. It’s like when you are in college and your boyfriend breaks up with you and you just want to lay down in bed and cry…but you have a psyche paper due. And if you don’t turn in said psyche paper, you will get kicked out of your major, or out of school. I need a deadline like that. I was really hoping that we’d sell our house and that would be the needed kick in the pants, but so far, that hasn’t happened. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing and dreaming.

I wish I was that person who rolled out of bed and jumped up and said “HELLO DAY!” But I’m not. I wish I was that person who smiled at everyone in the hallway, even when crying inside. But I’m not. I tend to wear my emotions on my sleeve, unless it is for a short enough amount of time I can act my way through it. So, those of you in my real life, if I haven’t talked to you in a while, I’m just tired. So, so tired. And I’m just trying to figure out how to get out of this funk. The guilt that I haven’t talked to anyone, really, outside of work kills me sometimes. So I need to get over that, because that just makes things worse. But I’m working on it…I’m working on getting better. And for Workaholic’s sake, I’ll just leave it at that

Happy? Getting there. Clean house? Not so much.

Over the past 8 months or so, my emotions have been a roller coaster. There have been slow ascents, and deep valleys and sudden, rushing downward spirals. I remember when Samantha was maybe 4 weeks old, crying to my friend Dr. Nadene on the phone. I almost couldn’t breathe or speak, just telling her how I felt like life would never be the same, and would I ever be able to have FUN again? (I did not get the “high” that many new mothers speak of…I wish I had, but I didn’t.) The responsibility of raising a child had hit my like a freight train, and I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. Mine alone. Yes, I had a supportive husband who helped in whatever way I needed. It’s just that he wasn’t there during the day, and he needed to get up early in the morning, so I typically did all the night feedings. He wanted to help, but didn’t always know how to help, and so I often wound up doing many things myself. (or at least feeling like I did)

That has since changed. He willingly and happily does feedings and bathtime and generally whatever I need help with. (Except laundry…for some reason, I do all that. It’s a control thing. As in, he in no way has the skill to appropriately put clothes in the washer and add soap and turn it to on.) Yes, of course, there are things that I would LIKE to be done, but I also don’t help myself in those situations. Sometimes it is all I can do to feed and put Sam to sleep, everything else just seems to be overwhelming. (which is why my house is the definition of clutter right now) (leaving town every weekend is not helping at this point…but that won’t stop us) We are enjoying life right now, and if some things fall to the wayside, so be it. We try to spend as much time with our little girl as possible.

A few weeks ago, I realized that things were not right. I just wasn’t happy. And I am not talking about over the moon happy, or even not happy with my life happy. I mean, hard to get out of bed, anything could push me over the edge, HATING myself unhappy. On the outside, I smiled and joked with people at work, although I did definitely try to hide in my cubicle. Certain things just overwhelmed me, and I would shut down. Nothing made me happier than NOT getting out of bed. But I had to, day in, day out. I was talking to my good friend who has an infant as well, and I was telling her how I felt, and she said, “Oh Gail, you are making me sad.” Meaning, she was sad for me, that I was feeling the way I did. And THAT was my AH-HA moment. My friend, who was so infinitely happy about her child, was sad because of me. That? Was fucked up. So I went to my doctor, and he put me on the new medicine Pristiq. And you know what? It is helping. I can get out of bed in the morning, I smile more readily, and I look forward to the future.

So I was talking recently to a friend, one of those friends who you really don’t talk to very often, but you are kind of in the same place in life and will occasionally run into, and so you talk. The subject turned to baby blues and depression. I readily shared that I was on Pristiq. I am not ashamed of it, and I am happy that it is helping. I don’t think that there is anything wrong with taking medicine if you need it, and when it comes to depression, science has proven that genetics and hormones and chemical imbalances are the culprit. Yes, sometimes life circumstances become too much, and you need a little help to get through a rough patch, but more often, you were probably predisposed to depression. It’s not like it is something that you can help, that you have control over. Sometimes, folding that load of laundry is just. too. difficult.

It was my friend’s response to my admission that caught me off guard. Maybe it was the wording, maybe it was the tone. It went something like, “So what’s wrong?” As in, what is so wrong with your life that you feel the need to medicate yourself? This question really caught me off guard. Sure, my life isn’t perfect. But no one’s is. That isn’t why I felt myself spiraling. The mix of hormones and life change sometimes makes people’s emotions go down…not up. And when they stay down, for more than a couple of weeks, it is time to get some outside help.

Being diagnosed with depression, for some, is a relief. It helps to explain things. And the doctors will tell you that it isn’t your fault, it isn’t something that you can control. In fact, for some people, when a doctor asks the questions and then says, “I think you are depressed”, the natural response is, “Well duh.” However, that doesn’t mean you don’t feel as though you have failed. Failed in what, who knows. Life, I guess. But therein lies the stigma of depression. You can’t will yourself well when you get depressed. You need help. Help to learn how to deal with life and also help to control what is going on inside you.

Eight months after I had my daughter, and 5 ½ months after I have gone back to work, I feel like life is starting to normalize. I have a beautiful baby that any mother would be happy to parent, a great home and a wonderful husband. We both have jobs, and cars, and can put food on the table. I can finally start to feel the joy that everyone else talks about. Finally!! (And maybe, just maybe, some day soon, I’ll get my house organized. But don’t hold your breath. I don’t know if there are ANY drugs that strong.)