Fuck depression. Fuck it for making me second guess everything I’m doing. Fuck it for making me feel like I’m going to explode because R is having a bad day. Fuck it for making me feel weak. Fuck it for being sneaky. Fuck the rage fuck the sadness. And fuck my phone for editing fuck every time I say it.
Whatever you’re feeling, let it out. Allow yourself to express whatever emotion you are experiencing. Don’t be afraid of feeling dumb or that your emotion isn’t valid. It is, and you have every right to set it free. No more repression.
I haven’t written in a long time. I just didn’t feel like it. I still don’t.
I’m on the super awesome roller coaster that is trying to find a med that works. I’ve always been lucky and responded well to the first thing I was put on. Not this time. We are on pill #2, just started yesterday. Too early to tell anything, but I haven’t cried in 2 days, so that’s progress.
It’s frustrating and I’m just drained most of the time. Here’s hoping this one’s the charm.
I called today. Apparently I need a referral from my primary doctor to see another doctor who prescribed me the medication that I am having difficulty with. This is what I was told when I tried to make an appointment. So I called my primary doctor, who told me I didn’t need a referral. I called the other doctor back, and am waiting on a call back.
Ugh. Shouldn’t be this difficult.
I did get out of the house today with R, to run an errand. It felt nice. I was over anxious on the freeway though. I noticed it and told myself to calm the hell down. I don’t know where that came from.
Just keep swimming.
Making the call, again. Bad thoughts. Horrible ones. No energy and no aspiration to do anything but sit in PJ’s. R is well taken care of. We play all day. He can’t tell. Thank god. So sick of it all. Want to feel better. Calling for appointment tomorrow. Promise.
I made it through Thanksgiving.
My husband had all week off. It was interesting.
My dinner came out well. I made a bacon wrapped turkey, and it was delicious. R tried everything, and had definite opinions about what he didn’t care for.
The tree and outside lights are up. R and the cat won’t stop messing with the tree, so it’s barricaded in the corner. Ugh.
My husband will be gone 10 days for training this week. It’s the first time since he’s been home. I know it will be fine, overwhelming, and I’ll have a few bad days. But I’ll get through it. And when he gets back, I will flee the house and not come back for several days.
I wish. I will carve out some alone time though. Maybe a pedicure.
It’s that time of year, visiting family and friends for the holidays. My family back home doesn’t do holidays. Except for Thanksgiving.
We can’t make it this year. We had a lot of financial stuff come up, and we just can’t swing it.
I always want to be with my parents for Thanksgiving. Always. Especially since my grandmother died in 2006.
My dad and I left the day after Thanksgiving. My husband was deployed, and I went home for the holiday. My grandmother had kidney and lung cancer, and was under hospice care in a nursing home.
I vividly remember going to visit her. She was tall, nearly 6ft. The bed she was in was slightly too small, her feet were propped on a pillow so they wouldn’t hit the foot board. She was eating lunch when we came in. Rather, the hospice nurse was attempting to feed her lunch. She saw me, knew who I was, and looked embarrassed. She just kept shaking her head and trying to pull up the blankets. We stayed a little while. I held her hand and talked to her.
My dad and I went to her home. My dad had been keeping it up since she’d gone in the nursing home. I cooked chili dogs on her gas stove for dinner. We ate, and headed back to see my grandma. On the way there, my mother called me. My uncle had been trying to get a hold of my dad. The nursing home called him and told him my grandmother had taken a turn for the worse, and they were only giving her several hours to live.
We went back to her room, and a nurse spoke to us. I have no idea what she said. We went into her room, and I sat in a chair next to her bed, and held her hand. My uncle watched CSI Miami on the TV in her room. My dad kept stroking her hair and whispering to her. My aunt called. I don’t know how many hours we were in there. I remember the CSI Miami episodes starting to repeat themselves. I just held her hand and tried to stay awake. Her breathing was terrible.
Just after midnight, it stopped. I just sat there. My uncle kept trying to shut her eye lids. We left, went back to her place. My dad drank a beer. I went to bed. We went back to my parents’ a few days later, I went back home. I couldn’t face her funeral, and I didn’t go. I regret that now.
I miss her every day. I think of what a kick she would have gotten out of R. I think about the New Year’s Day that she called me at 7am to make sure I was awake, or the Easter she called to tell me I was a heathen (joking) for not being in church. I miss her so much.
Part of the reason I like going home for Thanksgiving is to be with my dad. We were there when she died, we talk a little about it every Thanksgiving. He always tells me how glad he is that I was there. It’s general consensus in my family that she waited for me to visit to die. I don’t know if that’s true or not.
This year, I’ll cook the meal myself. I’ll tell R more about his great-grandmother, and what a great lady she was. I’ll tell him how much she would have loved him and how I wish she were here.
Yesterday I decided my home needed to be spotless.
So, I scrubbed the kitchen and living room. All day. I sorted, I tossed, I cleaned cabinets. Everything.
Of course, yesterday was the day a belt on my husband’s truck had to snap. R’s tooth figured it was an awesome day to torture him.
I was exhausted by 5pm. I did way too much, and I paid for it.
I’m not even finished. I have an entire list of things to do today re: cleaning.
As soon as my PPD reared it’s ugly head yesterday, I feel the need to taunt it. Let it know who’s boss.
My house is never spotless. It wasn’t before R either.
A friend of mine posted some pictures of her kids playing. In the living room, on their white carpet. Spotless. You could see the wood kitchen floor in the background. Spotless. I took a look at my kitchen floor. Crumbs. Mystery stains.
I don’t pick R’s toys up everyday. Right now, they’re littered over the living room carpet. I do vacuum, and try to keep the living room as clean as possible, since he’s in there the most. But everything else is a mess. I can’t remember the last time I cleaned the bathrooms.
I need to just do it. Every time I think about doing it, I feel overwhelmed and I have to focus on something else. I know I’ll never be the woman with the spotless home, but I’d like it to be cleaner at least.