Thursday, December 29, 2011

“Did you know I walked in on him trying to fuck his dog? Peanut butter everywhere.”

I thought it was time for an update of sorts. Went to the doctor last Thursday, bitched about the fact I was still bleeding and gave him the suspicious face when he said it should totally be gone after 3 weeks. It seems he might be right though so here’s hoping. While we were talking he said; “Sooo, um, do you need….pills….for anything?” I told him no, but I am mildly amused/concerned about their inability to discuss depression and whether or not I need help. We also picked up Little M that day, so it was a very emotional one. He came to us in a plastic box, so thanks for the heads up on what to expect. We got him home and he sits on our dresser, still in the bag, in the box, unopened and regarded with some suspicion. Yesterday I came to the stop sign in town, and I felt frantic, frazzled, stressed the hell out. It wasn’t the first time; I’ve felt it often lately, like all the fucking time if we’re honest. G and I were on our way to some friend’s house to eat dinner, it was our turn to make it so it was sitting in our back seat. I was pretty sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, the dinner I’d made was far from requiring effort, I’d made it 700 times before. We weren’t late, I was looking forward to seeing them, G was quiet in the back seat. What the fuck is going on? Why am I freaking out?! My mind wanders, I’ve been here before, I know anxiety, but it hasn’t been this bad since, wow, G was born and I was all hopped up on……Oh. Shit. All hopped up on post partum hormones. It slams into me; the realization that I’m post partum. Now I’m trying my best not to cry at the goddamn stop sign. It was the first day since Little M was born that I’d braved non waterproof mascara because hello? I’m going to our friend’s house to have a good time, not cry, and then we’re coming straight home so if I cry afterwards it won’t matter. But I didn’t take into account the fact that as much as my brain tries to shield me, to push things to the back when it’s not the ‘right’ time to explore them, they are still there. I still have the symptoms, the side effects, of quite simply, loss, and I am not always in control of them. It’s to be expected, but I can’t believe I’m still taken by surprise. In related news, I have not called the therapist so let’s post the top reasons why my myspace name used to be High Priestess of Procrastination; I’m scared to cry on the phone to the receptionist. I have to get someone to watch G. The people that are available to do that don’t have set schedules, so I have to make an appointment, then inform them that whatever they had going that day is secondary because they now have to take care of my kid. I’m making this harder than it is. I realize that, but I hate asking people, even though they are family, to watch my kid. I’m a stay at home mom, I don’t bring in income so I can be with her, and I feel guilty and bossy when I have to ask others to. I think if we had money to pay someone this wouldn’t be an issue, but that is definitely not an option. Which brings us to; The place is at least 30 minutes away. These are not 30 city minutes which is probably 5 miles and therefore not that much gas. These are country miles, and it will get expensive. And my anxiety is all; oooh, it’s not enough that you have to force someone to watch your kid for free, now you have to spend a grip of money on gas that could be used to go get groceries, or take G on a playdate, or to buy pellets to keep you warm, just so you can go whine to another person and use up all their Kleenex! You have a blog and Kleenex at home! Suck it up! And most important; it’s one thing for me to be all clickity clack for every single wisp of a thought the floats through my head on the computer, but to sit in front of a person, open my mouth and allow words about my FEELINGS to come out, it’s like fucking kryptonite to me. I know I’m the one who said I needed this, but good fucking lord it’s hard. So my hope was that by writing down what’s holding me back my anxiety will lose some of its power. I can read them and analyze it better than when it has death grips on my poor brain. We shall see if it works.

10 comments:

  1. Fucking hormones. I'm so sorry, Amelia. I can't help but feel as if I have to be the person whispering in your ear to go get the freaking therapy though. Go once. Once is not expensive. (It is, but it's not THAT expensive.) Don't look down the road at thirty five sessions. Give yourself ONE session, for Christmas, and see how it goes. You're a very together person. You can write. You're self-aware. You probably don't need thirty five sessions. But you owe yourself that one, I'd say. You're worth it. Yes, you can cry and whine at home. But there is something inherently healing about handing it over to someone else for a spell. Plus? Untreated depression can end up being a very, very costly thing.

    Hang in there, woman. xoxo

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  2. I am quite sure that anyone who'd be watching G does not mind. They love her and they love you. I'm not quite as sure, but I'm still pretty damn sure that if they did, in fact, mind or have something they needed to do that day, they'd tell you. It's not like you'll call and they'll say, "Get in the car, we have an opening Right. Now." I think having a chance to say things out loud to someone who isn't directly involved in your situation will be helpful. You're also more likely to believe someone who doesn't have any preconceived idea of whether you're doing well or not. I really admire how you've managed to cope so far, but somehow I think a person farther removed from your life saying that might mean more. Because an imaginary friend from across the country is right there every moment. *eye roll at myself*

    The postpartum stuff sucks. It really sucks, and it's not fair, but at least you recognize it as hormonal, not emotional.

    As for the plastic box, you'll figure it out. If it was easy, I'd be worried. :/

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  3. I know those reasons, the excuses. They are so familiar. But don't suck it up. Because you deserve more than a life of sucking it up. And G deserves an example of not having to suck it up.
    You can do it. And it will be hard. But very hard for a short time beats sadness, unexpressed feelings and sucking it up forever.
    And trust me, that receptionist has heard worse and doesn't give a shit if you cry.
    Sending you love and strength.

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  4. Oh yeah, and crying to the receptionist. I was an intake worker for five mental health clinics. Almost everyone cries when they make their first appointment. It's kind of part of the process. Just go into it assuming you will cry, and if you don't, you don't. :-)

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  5. I had my mom read your post. She lost twins at 22 weeks a long time ago, before my brother and I were born. She cried and said she could remember every feeling you described. Just the tiny details were different. She recommended at least trying the counseling.She also said if you have no rapport with a particular counselor, try another.

    She didn't have kids she needed to get a babysitter for, but she said that people close to you really want to help and don't know how, so they're grateful for a tangible way they can assist you.

    Hugs,
    Alexis

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  6. I can't offer free babysitting (although if I were local, I totally would) and I know gas is expensive, so I'm not much help there either. But I can tell you that I have cried on the phone to every receptionist at every doctor office (and I've seen several), including my therapist and my dentist. You don't have to be brave all the time. I hope you give it a try.

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  7. This is your sister. :-) I just wanted to say that I like your blog friends. They're smart people, and you should listen to what they're saying because it's all true. It's impossible not to love G and want to spend time with her so I don't think you'll have much trouble finding someone who wants to watch her. Don't expect to fix everything in the first session though. My first few sessions were pretty much spent with her trying to bring me out of my shell. Literally all I said was, "Uh huh." "No." and "I don't know." It takes a bit to open up but it DOES get easier the more you do it. You just have to get through the initial ice-breaking. Also, I really liked what LucidLotus said about being an example for G. Remember all of the "examples" mom showed us growing up? Show your daughter that it's okay to ask for and receive help when you need it. Teach her that if something isn't going right, she needs to do what is necessary to fix it, even if it means forking over some gas money. I love you with all of the strength that my heart and soul can possess. Now go call the freaking therapist before I do it for you. :-) P.S. Don't worry about using up all of the therapists Kleenex either. That's what they're THERE for! :-)

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  8. your sister's right.

    we ARE smart!

    ;) *hugs*

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  9. Your sister's comment is the one that made me cry. I have awesome sisters too, and they are (a) my touchstones for remembering that we don't have to do things like our mothers; (b) pushy; (c) always up my ass; and (d) pretty much right.

    I too am a SAHM, and I can tell you that the only thing I would use up friends/family goodwill and babysitting services on is good therapy. I did it before I had kids and I've done some this past year with my husband. I don't know what I would have done without it but I know it would have taken 10 times as long if it was even close to good. So, in my warped way of thinking about it, it would have cost me way more money in weird and unhealthy ways. I don't know if that helps, or if you even have any idea what I mean, but it is true. So, I'm voting with the rest and for you. Because this is not something that can be sucked up that easily. ((((HUGS))))

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  10. Very common, understandable, everyone-does-this totally bullshit excuses. I hope your anxiety loses some of its power, too. And maybe you can get your awesome sister to make that first appointment. I'll betcha she'd do it. Sometimes it's just the first hurdle, then the momentum gets you over the next and the next...

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