Monday, March 31, 2014


I didn't want to admit it. I denied it's existence. I can't deny it any longer because it has just gotten worse. I am depressed.

Looking back through my posts here I can see that a year ago I posted the same thing. Dd I really go a whole year like that? That makes me feel crazy. Why wouldn't I have gotten some help by now? It's because I am afraid of being put on meds for it. They have sexual side effects and make you gain weight. That would make me more depressed.

Then my best friend died of cancer. Lung cancer. It was awful to watch. My friend slowly disappearing. I couldn't do anything to help. I had these young kids and no one to help me with them so that I could go spend time alone with him. So that I could comfort him. All I could do was visit him, with the kids. I blamed my kids and my husband for that. I wanted to help nurse him and be there for him. It wasn't fair. We had been best friends and family for 17 years.

15 days later, exactly, my grandmother died. I was close to her. She helped raise me, helped me raise my son. It was liking losing my mom. Only I was trying to help my mom who had just lost her mom. I had spent so much time visiting my friend that I hadn't been able to help my mom much in checking on my grandma. And to be honest, I hadn't spent that much time at my friend's but it was all the extra energy I had. There was none left for grandma. She had gotten a UTI, wouldn't take her meds, and it ruined her kidneys. The week between my friend's funeral and Grandma's death in the hospital was the most upsetting week of my life so far. I was so tore up that I couldn't sleep at night.

I bit the bullet. I had to ask for help. I went to the doctor and asked for some help sleeping. I told her how upset I was and how I couldn't sleep. She gave me some lorazepam. I hardly took any. Just enough to get some sleep. When I no longer needed them to sleep, I quit taking them. I didn't want to get hooked on them again. I also did not like how they made me more tired. I can't be more tired. I have stuff to do , kids to feed, beds to make, floors to sweep, dishes to wash. If I get more tired than I already am, my house will get nasty. They take away kids who live in filth. If I was more tired I wouldn't be able to keep the kids up on their homework, teach them their chores, take them to girl scouts, talk to them, make bracelets with them.

I was sleeping now, but I wasn't feeling that much better. I would break down crying thinking about my friend and my grandma. This in turn, brought up more thoughts of things that made me sad. The baby I lost to an ectopic, the fact that I get very little help from the husband, how I don't have the energy to read the kids bedtime stories anymore, etc. I even uttered the words "I should go ask the doctor for meds". I was mad at my husband for not helping, for yelling at the kids, for not cuddling them, for not saying loving things to them. I was mad at myself for the same things but only blaming him.

I thought I was dealing, that it was just normal grief. I was fighting through it. I was mad all the time. I started taking it out on the kids. They have chores to do. Normal chores, pick up the toys, make your bed, put away your laundry, and vacuum your floor. All stuff they can do. But I found myself yelling at them more and having less patience. I found myself talking to them in a way I never wanted to. I knew it was wrong. And then, I spanked them. I didn't beat them or leave marks, but spanking itself is against what I believe. I believe in attachment parenting. I believe in being gentle and supportive, encouraging and loving. And yet, here I was, spanking my kids. I felt awful about it. But still it happened again. Finally, something broke in me. Something finally snapped and I realized that things could not go on like this.

Thanks to some good people on a "Mommy" board I frequent, I was brought back to reality. Dragged back, kicking and screaming. Reality upside my head. Almost violently. It was what I needed. I was in denial. Denial that things were that bad, that I was doing ok, that things were manageable. Because they obviously weren't. I am eternally grateful for that kick in the ass.

So today I leave the house. Today is my intake appt so that I can start up therapy again. I am hopeful today. Hopeful that my family can go back to being happy. I am getting some outside help as well. I would like to see my husband be more loving, cuddly, supportive, and gentle with his kids as well. Maybe then we can all be happy, me included. 


  1. So proud of you. Hang in there.