Mishmash of Sad

It has been said that God never gives you more than what you can handle. I wish He had less faith in me. I look around, and I know I have many blessings. Things that other don't have, a beautiful healthy child, a safe warm home, plenty of food, clean water, medical care, an education, and those are just the basics. I see all those things, and I am grateful. Yet I am not happy. I still feel not good enough, not loved, not cared about. I still carry this deep sadness, and I can't seem to lift it.

I am working on my connection to God and my spirituality. I am reciting meditation prayers daily. Sometimes several times a day, if I find enough quiet. Maybe I will have a spirital awakening and my whole life will change. I don't know, that would be great.

But failing that, I am pretty much a wreck recently, and I can't help but wonder, what I could have possibly done to deserve to feel THIS bad. I hate to say it, but it feels a little unfair to me.

I realize life is unfair some times. That's just the way it goes, but every time I feel like things are starting to look up I get hit with another wave of stress, depression, or just plain bad luck. I am not sure how much more I can take before I go under. I try so hard. I take my meds, I go to work, I take care of my daughter, I blog, I go to therapy, I am even taking vitamins, and yet, I continue to get beat down by life. It seems to happen over and over, and each time it gets harder to get back up. I suppose, eventually, I won't even care, and I'll just stop picking myself up. But thankfully I am not there yet.

I am horrified of being labled as miserable person, a bad person, a crazy person, or a weak person. So every day I force myself out of bed and I put on my "pretend its all ok" face. Apparently, it is pretty convincing because no one around me (ok, not true, most people) don't seem to have a clue that, on the inside, I am completely falling apart. That I come home and cry (or hide in the bathroom or my car.) They don't seem to notice that I am fighting back tears, that my hands shake, or that I am taking more anxiety medication. Why do I care? Why do I let other people's oppinions impact me so much? Who are they? Well, often times, they are people who I believed loved (love) me. The fact that they don't notice my struggle sometimes hurts me more.

I sometimes wonder what would happen if I just gave up. What if I stopped going to work, just didn't show up. What if I stopped being people's friend. Stopped helping others, supporting them. What if I just disappeared for a week, or a weekend? Sent my daughter with her dad, and decided the hell with everyone else, I am going to draw, read, meditate, and not worry about a damn thing for awhile. What would happen then? How would my life change? What keeps me from doing that, taking care of me?

It's Not Fair

The on going situation with Chuck's child has me thinking more, and more about parenting, and what is best for a child. Chuck and I really want another baby, but we know life is just too hectic right now. Then all this started with his daughter, and we started talking about the very real possibility of her coming to live with us, depending on what Child Services turned up. So that meant two kids in our house, one who was going to need quite a bit of extra attention, therapy, and some additional developmental help due to the environment she had been in, and one who has been an only child for 6 years, and is VERY used to being the center of everyone's attention. Could we handle more than that? And would it be fair to the kids? Then I start to think about the situation Chuck's daughter is in currently, and I think "OMG that poor little girl. Anything would be better." Again, I begin to revisit where that line is between, sick, and too sick to parent. If she didn't have clean close, didn't have new toys, didn't have her own bed, but was loved, cherished, and cared for, would that matter? Well, she's not. She has never had her own bed. She has never had a toy that her brother didn't destroy. She is on so many behavior meds that she physically appears drugged much of the time. She is receiving more help from the state than most children her age, and is still behind. It is SO unfair to me. I try to understand that her mother is sick, and doesn't understand what she is doing to her child, but I also think of that child and how she has no choice here. I am a firm believer that our children do not ask to be brought into the world, that is a choice WE make, and as such, we owe them everything, and they owe us nothing. We are responsible for their ENTIRE well being. We need to teach them, mold them, educate them so that they can be responsible adults. If there is something we can not do for them, to fulfill their basic. human. needs. WE are responsible for getting help. This mother is not getting help. In fact she is using the systems put in place to help her to her advantage. Using her children's issues (issues I feel she helped creat) to get extra money, extra help watching the kids. Then turning around and getting herself new tattoos and a $500 dog. Yet there is nothing, NOTHING I can do about any of it. I am NOT this poor little girl's mother. I am NOT technically Chuck's wife. I am nothing in this situation. I have no influence, no control. All I can do is sit by and wait. It makes me angry and frustrated. The whole situation seems unfair to me, unfair for Chuck, unfair, for me, unfair for the mom, and especially unfair for Chuck's little girl.

Then on the flip side, I have a friend who is great with kids. She and her husband love being around children. They have been together for about 14 years, and make a good living. Still they don't have their own child. They have chosen not to have a child of their own. My friend has a major genetic physical disability. Her husband has a major mental health diagnosis. So they decided that it would not be right to have a child who could easily be in a large amount of physical and mental pain, aside from the the logistics of how does one who is unable to care for themselves, care for a baby. I know this is heart breaking to them. She often jokes that if her sister were ever to get pregnant by mistake, that she would gladly raise the child. She wants so badly to be a mother, and is loving enough, and has a strong enough maternal instinct to know that it wouldn't be right to put a child through that type of a life. I think the fact that she would even consider that makes her more suited to motherhood than other women who have children might ever be.

The more Chuck and I talk about having our own child the more I begin to examine what is fair, really? I feel like I am a good mother, Chuck is a great dad, but would our mental problems multiply into one hugely disturbed child? Ok I know that is probably an exaggeration, but I do worry. Every parent wants their child to have a better life than what they have, even if your life isn't so bad. We all want the best for our child. So if you know you have a chronic condition, of any type, that could cause your child to suffer, is it fair to have a child. Looking at Chuck and I, our offspring would be almost guaranteed to have depression and anxiety issues. Also, possibly ADD. What if we produce a child that is too scared to leave the house, or is depressive and suicidal? No one wants to think of their child living that type of life. Am I worrying too much? Again where is that line? And why is it so unfair? Why can I not go get that little girl and take care of her? It makes me question or world, God, fate all the big stuff. What is the point of a suffering child? How is that ok in anyone's eyes? The world feels off balance to me right now, and I want to set it right, tip the scales, but I don't know how.

I am Peppermint Patty

Dr Seuss

Since beginning There is an Elephant in the Room? I have been reading a lot of other blogs and articles on mental illness. I find so many of them so brave and so inspiring. I had two objectives when I started this blog. The first was to shine a light on mental illness of all types, and how it affects so many individuals and in turn so many families. My second goal, was to share some of my personal experiences with others so that they could know they were not alone, understand, and/or share their experiences. Well and I guess make myself feel more understood and less alone. I guess that means I had three reasons for starting a blog.

Yet even as I read, and write, about the stigmas attached to people with mental illness and talk about bringing it out into the light, I myself hide behind a screen name. It often tears me up. I spend quite a bit of my life hiding my true self from the people around me. I have tried to be myself, tried to talk about counseling, or medications, and I have paid a heavy price for that. Part of my depression and anxiety stems from years of verbal and mental abuse when I was younger, often from the men in my life. Bringing the abuse and the PTSD, depression, and anxiety that followed into the open has cost me friends. At 19 and ER doc who was seeing me for a panic attack sent to crisis center in the middle of nowhere that had all male residents at the time. I have mentioned that my parents are often not supportive in my quest for recovery, they have stopped paying for my private counselor when I was in my 20s because they deemed me "better". My mother has withdrawn completely for weeks at a time. I have had relatives talk about me behind my back. Saying I was depressing to be around, and really down on life. My grandmother once told me she knew I was just "playing" my parents, and I feel I will be forever viewed as the families black sheep. What I want more than anything is to just be ok with that. To be able to say f'em and just be me, but I have never been able to do that. instead I have split myself into two different people essentially. There is the person Chuck, my closest friends, and counselor see who is not perfect. Is often depressed. Is often full of anxiety, and dramatic. Has ticks where the same panicked thought rolls through my head again & again. (Do other people have that by the way? the "I gotta get out of here. I've gotta get out of here". Or the "just be quiet. Just be quiet" rolling through your head over and over on really bad days? Just checking) The person who deals poorly with stress. Occasionally turning to cutting, tattoos, drawing, screaming, and crying to deal with all the pain inside. Then there is the person I present to family, co-workers, and anyone who may come into contact with my parents. THAT girl tries to always look presentable, even when all messed up on the inside. Smiles through the pain and depression. She does not cry in public, or cause a screen ever, or even hesitate at the drive through because the people behind us (or the 16 year old serving me) may think poorly of me. Seeing as I live in the same small town as my parents, and work for my father, that turns out to be quite a lot of people that I pretend around. Meaning that I spend about 75% of my time hiding my true feelings and thoughts from people. I often feel lonely, and unaccepted. I feel like hurt, angry, and sad that the people who claim to love me will never really see me for who I am, let alone accept me. How does one accept and deal with that? It has also rolled in to a form of social anxiety for me, and a lack of self confidence. So I guess technically I AM Peppermint Patty in my world, in my head, then the person my family created in their world. Don't get me wrong my parents and family are good people, but they do not know how to deal with things they don't understand, or can't control. Leaving me stuck in two worlds, sitting on the back of my invisible elephant, and feeling very inadequate, and lonely.