The Men in the White Coats

TRIGGER WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS DETAILS ABOUT A MENTAL BREAKDOWN. IF THIS WILL UPSET YOU, PLEASE DON'T READ IT.

They really did come to take me away. (Ha ha, hee hee, to the Funny Farm......)



It might have been the pressure I put on myself from Hubby being gone, the rough transition of him being back for just one week and gone again coupled with that strangely changing power dynamic. It could be that the hypo-manic episode I had in early October swung the other way and led me into a vast crash, not suicidal but not in any way competent. Maybe there is just something about this time of year that sends my brain into emotional overload and I take a nose dive. Maybe the Lexapro destabilized me just enough to see the upswing in October and the downturn in December. Oh hell! maybe a butterfly flapped its wings in Central Park and someone around the globe wished they hadn't forgotten their umbrella.

Whatever the cause, the result was the crash. The cutting intensified - the pull of the urges so strong that even the desire to not have the urges faded away into a foggy background. The song Fake It by Seether became my mantra, my theme song. I felt like I had this grand elaborate mask on, trying desperately to fool everyone around me (including myself) into thinking I was doing just fine. And I wasn't. I don't know how much others realized I was sinking because I got so much encouragement and praise - that could have been in hopes keeping me going or out of ignorance that it wasn't true. But I sold my soul to fool the world and lost my self-esteem along the way.

Then Hubby came back for a week. Things were strange in a wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff kind of way. I wanted things to go back to how they were before he left. I wanted him to become the me I had become while he was gone. I wanted him to fall in line with the changes we had made without him. I wanted to make it easy on him. I wanted him to make it easy on me. It was a very confusing set of emotions and contradictions packed into one short week.

And then he left. Again. And this time I knew how it would feel to know that my heart was only beating half-way because its other half had been ripped out and shipped off via airplane to Atlanta, Georgia. And I knew the kids were going to feel that too. I knew the whole schedule had fallen back onto my shoulders. I knew then that there would be no going back or staying the same: everything was changing and we didn't have an adapt or die choice, we simply had an adapt option.

I blamed myself for him being irritable and out of sorts while he was home. I blamed him for it then blamed myself for blaming him. The world seemed to speed up around me while I trudged through the mud trying to catch my bearings, my breath. I didn't see how we were going to make the rest of our lives work if we couldn't even make one week work, forgetting that the water is coldest in the first moments after you take the plunge.

I let myself slip away inside myself more and more, sleeping as often as I could, sleepwalking when I couldn't sleep, dissociating when I couldn't do either. Predictably the headaches came on in full-blown glory, along with the shots of Happy-Juice. Instead of taking one xanax, I'd take 5 or 6 or forget I'd taken a couple and take a few more. That Wednesday, the 3rd, I snapped. And everything else is like a memory of someone telling me about a movie they once saw when they were drunk.

The straw that brought the men in the white coats actually ended up a bipolar rage - mine. Well, Kid-1 started it. (I sound like a kindergartner! LOL) He went into a rage and in my basically incoherent state, I responded likewise. We tussled, physically, and the exertion gave me an asthma attack bad enough to call in the EMTs for me and the cops to calm Kid-1 down. In the process of getting me breathing again, the EMTs saw my arm. The latest gash is deep and long and wide and was bleeding quite grotesquely. For some strange and incomprehensible reason, they were not impressed.

The men in the white coats restored oxygen to my body, bandaged up my arm and called The Shrink to find out if I was bloody nuts or harmlessly crazy. The Shrink was literally in the process of telling them that if I promised I wouldn't do anything that I could be held to my word... when I pulled out the IV and stripped the bandage from my arm, got dressed and tried to leave. Thus came the court ordered 72 hold.

When informed of the hold that had been placed against me, I was less than pleased at the prospect. In fact, I tried repeatedly to leave the hospital, thwarted by a HUGE guy who, if his name wasn't Bubba, it ought to have been. When they told me I had no choice and brought out the HANDCUFFS(!!!!!!) I began to shriek. And shriek. And shriek. And shriek.

The running joke amongst my friends is to use a patronizing tone of voice to tell someone: "Don't worry. The men in the white coats are your friends. They will bring you a coat that lets you hug yourself. And the big shiny needle only stings for a minute."

Wow. How true it is, only substitute the huggy-coat for handcuffs and there you have it. The sedated me for transport - twice. When I came out of my stupor, I grew more and more coherent. I quickly realized where I was and that this was NOT a good thing. But the fog was also clearing and I began retrieving control over my mind. Within 24 hours, I (me, not someone in my body that wasn't me) was back. I was released from my 72 hour hold after little less than 48 hours. (This caused them some paperwork issues but I don't care - that's their problem.)

Now I am back from the funny farm where life is beautiful all of the time and I am trying to pick up the pieces I dropped over the past few weeks. I didn't OD or attempt suicide this time so I didn't break too many people's trust in me. I went to the hospital via ambulance because of an asthma attack and that is the story that the vast majority of people heard so I am not getting lecture upon lecture upon lecture. I am feeling better, a definitive upswing (that has me worried but that's for another time) and not sleeping all the time. Hubby will be back TOMORROW!!!! And I have gained some new insights into some issues here at home.

I guess all's well that ends well but the next time we use the men in the white coats joke or sing that silly They're coming to take me away haha song... I guarantee I will think of this. Maybe it will take the edge off the joke and dull the humor; maybe it will increase it exponentially like the "Are you psychotic?" snafu did. Time will tell.

Echoes Past and Present

The Shrink hit me where it hurts today. I started it. I said it first. We were discussing Hubby still being irritated and frustrated and snappish. He asked what Hubby needs to feel loved and I said things like being listened to and supported and things like that and I remarked, almost offhand, that he would probably like more intimacy and me to start it too, but oh well. The conversation migrated and all I ended up hearing was blah blah blah If you want Hubby to be be happy to have to prove you want to be intimate with him blah blah blah.

And that is so much the message I feel I got from the worst of sources: You owe me this. If you want me to like you, be nice to you, stand up for you, loveyou, then you need to show me you want this (and if you don't, you'd better be very good at pretending). It felt like my past had come full circle and every horrid thing I had been trained to believe and started to question had turned out to be accurate after all.

I lost it. To be honest, I don't remember hardly anything else he said. I remember him laughing at me then trying to apologize for treating the subject so cavalierly. I remember him trying to call me back to the room a couple times. I remember him not wanting me to leave because he wasn't sure I was safe. I don't remember much else.

Actually, I think that gave me the final push over the edge into a breakdown. More on that that later. I am writing this now, on the 12th of December, what was started late on the evening of the 3rd of December and occurred early on that morning because everything else in between was like driving at high speed through dense fog. Hopefully I am through the worst of the messy emotional storms and back to a safer pace of life.

Self-Destruction Inside and Out

NOTE: THIS POST CONTAINS POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING DESCRIPTIONS OF SELF-HARM. IF YOU ARE FEELING SUICIDAL OR THE NEED TO CAUSE HARM TO YOURSELF OR OTHERS, PLEASE CALL 911, CONTACT YOUR DOCTOR, OR A FRIEND WHO CAN TALK TO YOU, OR SEEK HELP FROM SOME SOURCE. THIS IS NOT!NOT!NOT! MEANT AS AN ENCOURAGEMENT OR TO CONDONE SELF-HARM OR SUICIDE IN ANY FORM.

I cut at my arms. I refuse to eat. I sleep as often as I can get away with it. I take too many pills or not enough or the wrong kinds. I walk around barefoot in the snow and don't really notice or care. I take showers hot enough to raise welts. I am generally a self-destructive person. I mostly do it in ways that don't affect others, except when they find out by accident or when I slip and overdo one. I hide this well enough that my kids don't even realize it happens, Hubby and The Shrink don't know about it unless they ask me directly in such a way that I can't dodge it.

But by far my physical self-destruction is much less than what I do to myself mentally and emotionally. If anyone said most anything that I say to and about myself to my children, they would get such an earful as to leave them deaf for a long time to come. I have worked very hard and with a specific intensity and purpose to keep my children from feeling and thinking the things that fill my head and heart most every moment of every day. I would not wish me on my worst enemies. The things I say and feel about myself cause me far more pain than anything I do to my physical body.

I love my kids with an intensity that overcomes nearly everything. They are my sole purpose for living. All I want is to be gone from this world, this life, this self. I despise myself more than an ugly stepsister and feel the harshest of punishments, whatever they may be, are well-deserved and insufficient. If it were not for these lovely, wonderful little children, I would be gone in a heartbeat. And though I will not do that, because of the trauma it would cause them (despite their lives becoming far better for not having to deal with me), I won't leave them.

Resolving not to leave them until they are grown and flown the nest and able to cope a little better does not ease my self-loathing. It does not keep me from wanting to rip myself from limb to limb in any way available. A few weeks ago, I made quite a mess of my arm. Baby-Mommy saw a small part of it (the only one who ever notices, thank goodness) and gave me a minor tongue-lashing but ultimately decided she can't control me and what I do is my problem. (Again - thank goodness.) I stopped the destruction because I was afraid Hubby would see it when he was home this past week. Though the scabs were gone by the time he got here, the scars are a bit obvious if you see the arm (long sleeves are my friends!) yet mercifully, he didn't notice.

I found this encouraging. Cutting, as horrible as this sounds, is reassuring and almost self-comforting. Some of my cuts and things have been highly symbolic - the crosses, the Ms, the horizontal slashes that count the days he has been gone - whereas some are just anger and loathing rising, literally, to the surface. I choose whether or not it hurts, which The Shrink says is not normal but whatever. I feel the bite and sting as it happens and watch the blood rise to the surface and all the hate and rage and disgust at myself gets poured into that. All the pain that I feel inside that I don't feel I can express to anyone becomes a physical thing - a legitimate reason to feel the pain that I otherwise do not feel entitled to. As I move my arm under my sleeves as it heals, I feel the pull and ache of the wounds and it reminds me that I have a "real" reason for hurting that isn't just in my head. It also serves as a release of some of that self-hatred that whispers (or shouts) at me to just die and be done with it.

If the pain becomes a problem for whatever situation I am in, I push it away and I don't feel it any more. I know it is there, like I would know it is cold outside by looking at a thermometer without actually feeling cold. The only pain I can't disengage from is pain in or around my head. Migraines, toothaches, sinus infections - they get to me. Everything else will generally go away on command.

The Shrink says one problem with self-harm is the tendency to escalate. Apparently it is a release for "cutters". They want to "feel something, anything, even if it is pain" and seeing the blood or injury "makes them feel alive, that if [they] can bleed, they must be real and living". I don't understand that. I don't have issues with escalation. Apparently, for these people, once the blood stops and the cut begins to heal, it is no longer enough. The same degree of injury doesn't suffice to bring about the same feelings so more, deeper, harder, longer, whatever, becomes necessary (in their minds) to generate the same release. I don't feel that way.

Another problem is supposedly the tendency to accidentally cause too much harm and create an "accidental" suicide. How on earth someone manages to "accidentally" cut their body enough to lose enough blood to die is beyond me. I have caused problems by overdosing before but those were not self-harm attempts; they were something completely different altogether. And though I have occasionally wondered what it would feel like to cut deep enough to need stitches, fear of being caught has always held me back from causing even that degree of injury.

The other thing that is apparently common for cutters is motive. This is what keeps me from getting caught more than anything except the threat of being separated from my children. It seems many cutters do it for attention. They want to cause harm to others by making them feel responsible for the harm they do themselves. Some even simply want attention. These are classic Borderline Personality Symptoms. I am many things but I fit very few of the diagnostic criteria for BPS. I get very angry when I do get caught and people automatically lump me into that category. I know and love many people who are BPS, but I find that assumption (that because I SI, I am BPS) to raise my blood pressure with just the thought. If I "simply" wanted attention, I can think of far better ways to do it than to upset everyone who finds out, cause them to revoke all trust in me and treat me like an errant child, and risk being separated from my kids. And I DO NOT cut (etc) "because" of someone else. I do it for me, not just to me.

All that said, I honestly don't understand why this is being made such a big deal of. I am not in physical danger of irreparable harm (save for some minor scarring that doesn't affect anyone else). I'm not hurting anyone else. I'm not trying to emotionally hurt anyone else. And I makes me feel better, not counting the vast guilt and shame that getting caught brings about. So why can't they leave me alone??? At least I'm not attempting suicide.

Great Expectations

I've been hiding. I'm still hiding but I want to get these thoughts down before I lose them.

I have been under a tremendous amount of pressure to step up and handle two people's worth of parenting and household duties. I feel like I am going to crack all the time, like I am drowning.

In addition to the stress currently underway because of Hubby's absence, I find myself often confused by things around me, especially the things other people say and do. Their opinions and expectations and suggestions swirl around my head, coloring my thoughts and tainting my own views. I second-guess myself and then second-guess my second-guesses. I still don't feel I have an accurate barometer to judge for myself what is "right" and what is "wrong" in regards to appropriate expectations and boundaries.

It would appear that a great many people in my life don't like the other people in my life. The Shrink doesn't like Hubby and isn't thrilled with Baby-Mommy. Baby-Mommy doesn't like Hubby and that is completely mutual. My writing-buddy doesn't like Hubby or Baby-Mommy. The list goes on.

While I sometimes don't like these people's behaviors, I don't think it warrants rendering a judgement of disapproval. I don't like it that I have to tell Baby-Mommy that I need to leave a half hour before I actually do because she never gets home when she should. It hurts my heart when Hubby screams at the kids or bites my head off. The mother can rip my heart out in a single conversation. My writing buddy doesn't hold a conversation all at once. But they are what they are and I know that and I know it. I have the choice of learning to adapt or moving on and I choose to adapt.

As near as I can tell these people don't like each other because they are holding unrealistic expectations of them. People expect Hubby to keep his temper, Baby-Mommy to extend her view of the world beyond herself, me to take care of everything that needs to be taken care of. They hold people to standards that don't fit who the people are and where they are in their lives.

Why don't people expect others to act the way they know them to be? Continually change that image as the person grows and changes but don't expect them to meet standards that you have imposed rather than those that they meet on their own. If you know someone is always late, plan for it - don't get pissed about it. If they are on time, great! Bonus buy! If they start to be on time more and more often, you can adjust your expectations. But why set yourself - and them - up for failure and frustration?

My theory has always been to hope for the best and plan for the worst. See the best in other people. Believe that they mean well. Believe that they are doing their own personal best. Believe that they can be better than they ever have been.

But protect yourself. Don't trust someone with more than you can afford to lose. And if you have to put that kind of trust in someone, make it someone with a track record of earning that trust. You don't pick up a poisonous snake with no protection except faith that it won't bite you. Pick up the snake if you are called to do so, but wear gloves so it can't pierce the tender flesh.

Maybe there is something inherently wrong with this philosophy. Maybe holding people to low standards will discourage them from growing. Maybe it is not holding them accountable for their actions. Maybe it even goes so far as to encourage the very behaviors that cause me problems.

I guess it a defense mechanism on my part. If I don't expect more of them than I know is likely, than I won't be disappointed and let down by them. It also keeps me from "having" to feel angry at them for not meeting my expectations of them. If something they do upsets me, it comes back on me for not expecting as much and protecting myself. (And, as I have said repeatedly, I find it so much easier to be angry at myself than others, owing to control issues.) It also ensures that I make backup plans... just in case.

It doesn't keep me from encouraging them to improve. I had a talk with Hubby about his anger on Friday. It didn't do anything to help but I tried. (And that's a helluva lot more than I've been able to do in the past.) Mostly I just do it by praising the behaviors I do want to see and refusing to comment on the ones I don't. I only intervene in the other stuff when things begin to get out of hand. (Read: DON'T MESS WITH MY KIDS!)

I guess my whole point is that if we go into a situation, whether it be a place and occasion or a person we deal with, we need to have realistic expectations, ones grounded in predictable behavior, rather than holding them to a higher standard than they are capable or willing to fulfill. When we do that, it becomes so much harder to be annoyed and angry at the results and perhaps impressed by behavior above and beyond. Accept people as they are. Don't impose your own Great Expectations onto them.

I Will Never Be Good Enough

I will never be good enough. Not a good enough mother, wife or daughter. Not a good enough friend or neighbor or mentor. Not a good enough housekeeper or cook. Not a good enough writer or student. Just plain not good enough. It doesn't matter how hard I try or for how long or how old or young I am. I will never make it.

The in-laws came over to help clean Saturday. This started off in a bad position as they came at 9:30 on a Saturday morning. NO ONE in this house likes to get up on a Saturday morning. And NO ONE in this house likes to clean. Not off to a very good start. But that is when they were available and that is the time they said they would be here and I was not about to turn down the offer for help, not that they would have let me if I'd tried. So fine, load up on the Xanax, take a deep breath, prep the kids and get ready for a long day.

It was indeed a long day. Long, hard, tiring and emotionally and physically draining. The first thing that happened was The Lecture from the MIL to the kids. She directed it at the kids but it was very much addressed to me as well. And the basic point was that we weren't doing enough. The house is a mess barely three weeks after a serious cleaning. Hubby will be upset if he comes home to this mess. It's bad for all of us and bad OF all of us. Work harder, do better, clean more, period. And it turns out the reason the in-laws came over is because Hubby's aunt (who also came to help) had seen the playroom at its worst and called the MIL to say that she felt sad that our house was so messy. The MIL was understandably embarrassed and upset. ouch.

So all day long, the MIL directed traffic, the FIL cleaned while muttering comments under (and over) his breath, the kids did their best, though they aren't used to spending 6 hours straight cleaning, and I grew more and more depressed. I am infinitely grateful for their help. But I feel just awful about needing it. It didn't feel good to have so many of my shortcomings laid bare like that. It brought home the message that I will never be good enough.

It's obvious that I'm not a good enough housekeeper. Even when I do the best I can, I simply can't keep up on my own. And it turns out that I'm a pretty crappy mother too. I haven't taught my children the cleanliness habits they ought to have or instilled in them a sense of pride over a cleaning job well done. I can't trust them to do their jobs without being told (and told and told and told and told) and I haven't been checking up on them enough. They don't pick up after themselves because I haven't enforced them doing so as they've grown. And it may be too late for them to internalize the clean work ethic as an ingrained trait. Too little, too late.

Well, as I stewed on these topics, all the other areas in which I am seriously lacking swam into focus and I realized that I am simply not good enough. Doing one's best does NOT mean that it's good enough. People say that no one can expect better than the best one can do - but then they turn around and pass judgement on the ways that we fall short. I feel like I am drowning in "too little, too late"'s, all the ways that I come up short.

As a mother - though this is by far my best area, there are still so many things that the kids are not getting and learning. I don't take them to church or teach them religion nearly enough. I'm horrible on follow-through. I forget things constantly. I haven't taught them cleanliness in home or self. And, despite my best efforts, I still lose my temper and snap at them.

As a wife - not only do I not keep the house good enough, I don't keep up my end in other arenas either. To be blunt, in the sexual relations area, I don't excel. I'm just not interested, at all. And I dodge him by going to bed much later than he does so that he's asleep. When he asks, I do go up with him and then I'm afraid that I'm rather phoning it in, so to speak. I am falling back on the things I know work from memory, not from current feelings. He deserves better than that. It's not good enough, despite being the best I can do.

As a daughter - I love my mother with all my heart but I don't show it very well. I don't spend much time with her, even though I know that she is alone all the time and hates it. I feel like it takes so much energy to get myself to go over. I have to really psych myself up for it. She is having a hard time right now, having been off her medications for a year now, and I find myself frustrated easily. And some of her views and behaviors just really get to me. I know it's all part of the borderline personality disorder, but there are times when it is simply exhausting to deal with. And right now I am so tired already that I haven't been able to get myself to go hang out. I feel horrible: ungrateful, selfish, lazy, pernicious, just generally a bad daughter.

As a friend - I haven't been giving Baby Mommy the kind of friend attention she deserves. I am all about staying afloat right now and to that end, I often go back to bed during the day, leaving her and Baby alone. Come after school time, obviously, I am busy with the kids and dinner and everything. By the time they are in bed and things quiet down for the evening, she is involved in other things and my brain is fried. So I try to help her with editing as much as she needs me to but we don't get a chance to go out for lunch or movies or whatever. Then there is the particularly sticky situation with my other friends and family. I'm afraid they don't have a very good opinion of her and though I don't share their sentiments, I don't stand up for her as much as I should either. Some friend I am.

As a neighbor - Our yard is a mess. My kids are loud and tend to leave stuff lying around. I'm not overly sociable with them. I don't do "good neighbor" type deeds. Heck I didn't even pay the association dues this year.

As a mentor - I am supposed to be the co-moderator of my writing group. But I have disappeared. I don't have the energy to critique crap writing. I don't have the energy to write anything of my own. I wouldn't even put out the daily prompts if I didn't feel obligated.

I'm not writing, not learning, not teaching, not cleaning, not cooking tasty food, not taking care of all my parental and spousal obligations, just not doing enough. And yet I am still exhausted and feel like I'm running in circles and getting nowhere fast. All I want to do is crawl into bed and hide and stay there forever and ever.

Guilt and Anger: Why Me?

I struggle with guilt and self-loathing unrelentingly. I feel like every little thing that goes wrong can be directly attributed to something I did or did not do. And that sparks a fierce anger in me that wants to get violent. I have improved somewhat - not long ago (and still when I am in my blackest, most illogical moods) I could provide a reason why I had a detrimental effect on anything in the world that was wrong. For example: the war in Iraq was my fault because I voted for Bush. I'm not at that point anymore (most of the time).

The Shrink and I go round and round about this. I am tempted to say I frustrate him wholeheartedly in my inability to accept what he tells me, let alone internalize it. But if I seriously think about it, I don't think he is actually feeling that way. I think I have projected that onto him unfairly because that is the response I expect and because that is how I feel about it.

The point is that this is not a new topic or a new issue or new challenge to work on. I cannot remember a time when I did not feel that I was responsible for the problems around me. I take the blame for everything because, the way that I perceive it, I created or antagonized the issue, at least partly. Even when told that whatever it is that I am blaming myself for isn't my fault and reassured that no one is angry with me, I still feel guilty and angry with myself.

One of the things I find the most frustrating from my point of view stems from the fact that I know why I do this. I know where the behavior originated. As a child (doesn't everything start there?) if I tried to blame someone else for a problem, the best I could hope for was being branded a liar. (To their credit, I did lie a lot.) But the other, and more common, response was to turn it around on me and tell (or show) me, in no uncertain terms, how I had actually caused the problem and it was my fault and I had no one to blame but myself. At this point consequences of varying severity followed.

As a result I learned that seeing others as being at fault for something was not only incorrect, it tended to be positively dangerous. I internalized that completely and now I sincerely believe that whatever it is, it is indeed my fault.

The same applies to anger. Reacting with anger did not go over well at my house. I also did not have access to a model for expressing healthy anger. I had both extremes. The Mother cannot control her anger and I raised it in her constantly. Daddy didn't get angry. I have seen Daddy angry twice in my life - both times at me and both times I walked away with a fat lip (well-deserved). He even took her anger in stride and let it roll right off his back. So I saw "fly-off-the-handle-and-spaz-unpredictably" anger or "i-don't-get-angry-or-sad-or-express-negative-emotions-at-all" reactions.

Once again I learned that anger at others is wrong and had the potential for being dangerous. So now all the anger that I might feel towards someone else - justified or not - is directed towards myself instead. It's safer that way and true besides. I get that flash of anger when something happens, but I immediately suppress the expression of it and then go about restructuring the thought processes surrounding it until I am no longer angry with the original target.

Bottom line, even though I know where the process originated from, that it may be maladaptive in some situations, and is not necessarily a vital function any more, these processes are ingrained in my thoughts and emotions. I get mad just like everyone else. But I get mad at myself. I lay blame just like everyone. I just place it on myself.

Why me? Because that's how it always was and that is how I still believe it to be.

I Don't "Do" Religion

***NOTE: THIS POST DISCUSSES MY PERSONAL VIEWS ON RELIGION. I DO NOT NOW, I NEVER HAVE, AND I NEVER WILL EXPECT ANYONE TO AGREE WITH ME. IN THE SAME TOKEN, I AM NOT GOING TO CHANGE MY BELIEFS BECAUSE OF SOMEONE ELSE'S OPINION. I AM PERFECTLY OPEN TO HEARING OTHERS' OPINIONS BUT I DO NOT TAKE KINDLY TO FLAMING***

I grew up in a Christian church. I loved my church - no horror stories about being traumatized by the church I grew up in. I've had shaky experiences with devout believers of other religions throughout my years but my home church feels right to me. I love learning about other religions and points of view but I don't do so well when people are trying to tell me their way is the only way.

Over the years I have gained enough knowledge about the various religions and denominations within them that I can hold my own in a conversation without invoking the other person's wrath. I have always considered it a blessing and a gift that I can discuss volatile topics with a person and have them come away thinking I agree with them without ever compromising my beliefs verbally or spiritually. (Although I do confess to having intentionally tormented a few people by stating radical beliefs just to push their buttons, but that was a LONG time ago.)

Every so often, I am confronted by someone who wishes to force their beliefs upon me, sometimes because they truly want to help, sometimes because of some sense of superiority, sometimes just because that's what they were taught to do. Normally when this happens, I smile and nod and try to keep the tone polite and inquisitive - I do enjoy learning about other religions, as I said. Then we go our separate ways and la dee da. Oftentimes, though, following such an encounter, I find myself reflecting on what it is, exactly, that I do believe.

This is the part where I state my opinions. Please do not read further if you are likely to be offended by alternate views or would think less of me if I do not share yours.

In my last post, I shared that I had come very close to the edge but walked away, barely avoiding falling over it. I received a few very supportive comments, for which I am grateful. Elsewhere I received a different approach. I was told that I should not commit suicide because God wouldn't like it and I would burn in Hell for all eternity.

Wow. Talk about kicking a soul when he's down...... A person is so depressed and miserable and desperate and hurting that they end their life, only to be told by a supreme being that we are even worse than we thought and are now going suffer forever because of it. Dude! That is cold...

I thanked the individual for his views and commented that that is certainly not the ideal outcome and I would take in under advisement. He truly meant well. But it got me thinking about Heaven and Hell and God and all the things that go with them. And I realized again how different from mainstream Christianity I am. I have assimilated most of what I learned in Sunday School with what I have seen and most importantly with what my instincts tell me are true. I answer to no religion but am actually rather spiritual. Here are some of my core beliefs...

There is but One Power and One Presence in the universe and in my life, God the Good, Omnipotent. This was the statement of belief that I learned as a child. Translated it means there is only God. That everything, regardless of good or bad or any other judgement label it is given, is still God. And that God is Good. I have often questioned this one. It seems that nearly everything in our world is polarized. There are two extremes of the spectrum by which to compare each other. So if there is Ultimate Good, wouldn't that mean there must be an Ultimate Evil? The conclusion that I came to is no. Because God is what is there after all the labels and judgements and assessments and measures and rules have been stripped away. God Is.

Heaven and Hell are not afterlife destinations. I was taught that Heaven and Hell are simply states of mind. If you are miserable, you have created your own Hell. If you are blissful, you live in Heaven..... yeah - I don't buy that. But I don't buy fluffy clouds and fiery pits either and certainly not as eternal judgements.

I think there is a transition period after one life and before the next. And those can be perceived as "Good" (Heaven) or "Bad" (Hell) depending on the label one chooses to apply to it. I think the transition period is about reviewing your life, how you lived it, what kind of person you were, what kinds of choices you made. And if you didn't live a very "good" life (by means of choices not circumstances) then I imagine that review process would be uncomfortable - it would be Hell. But if you did well over all and could look back mostly with pride, I'd bet that would be a pleasant experience - Heaven.

We are here to learn a lesson. It seems to me that certain people face the same situations over and over until they "get it" and that sometimes they never do end up there. I think we are here for a reason; we are here to learn something about existence: about Life, The Universe, and Everything. And if, at the end of our lives, we haven't learned that lesson, we can try again next time. Likewise, I believe that every situation is a learning situation. The worst imaginable evils teach some very important lessons - for all involved parties. And the most charmed of lives also provides invaluable insights. Life is the ultimate "Teachable Moment".

God's love is unconditional. This doesn't require much explanation. I FIRMLY believe that God loves every one of his creations, regardless of their experiences and choices, equally and unconditionally. There is nothing we can do to "make" God love us more or love us less because He loves as much as Love is possible. If He casts judgement on our choices (which I have come to doubt), it is the actions He approves or disapproves of, not the person.

God's plan is manifest always and will adapt to our choices. Like I said, I think we are here for a purpose, to learn something on a soul level. And to that end, God has laid a path before us to enable us to learn those lessons. But God gave us free will - the ability to think for ourselves and make our own decisions, even contrary to His plan, is a powerful gift indeed. But even if we turn away from His path, no matter how many times we do it, it is never too late. His plan for us adjusts and adapts to give us more opportunities to do our soul's work. No matter how often or how badly we've screwed up before, there is always another chance to follow His path.

God is with us always, available to us always. I think God and I have a pretty good relationship. He is my instinct and my compass. He is my Jimminy Cricket and my Guiding Star. God and I have whatever style of relationship I choose because God is in me always. When I laugh and joke around with Him, He replies in kind. (Dude has a helluva sense of humor at times, and can get a bit literal if I'm not careful.) Likewise, when I need a solemn and calming Grace, He is my rock and my shelter.* God even lets me throw temper tantrums at Him, which I do more often than I ought. I'll rant and rave at Him and say all kinds of bitter things. And when I've worn my raw emotions back down to a manageable level, that still small voice inside me (that *isn't* one of mine) usually replies with, "Are you done now?" or "Feel better?"

God is the whisper that calms my anxiety, the strength that lets me fight for my children, the itch that gets me moving and the blanket that keeps me safe. IF I LET HIM. And there is the "catch" - when I separate myself from God (and it is ME moving away, not Him) then things don't go so well. A God-Guided life is so much easier, richer, and more satisfying.

If only it were as easy to live this as to say it...



----------------
*Note from above: the actual Bible quote is "Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." from Psalms 23:4. That is feeling I was going for but my words are more relevant for me so I left them.

A Perfect Life

Imagine this:

In a suburban, wooded neighborhood with low crime and good schools, a beautiful, 2-story home houses a family of eight. The house is adorable with siding and brick and a front porch, and a climbing tree in the decent sized front yard. The back yard boasts a gas grill, a picnic table, a swingset, and a storage shed, not to mention its perfect size surrounded by a chain-link fence. The fence is important to keep the family dog, a sweet cock-a-poo (half cocker spaniel, half poodle) that thinks everyone has come specifically to play with her. It also provides a barrier for the good sized, above ground, 4 foot deep pool appropriately locked and secured for safety. The back fence has a gate going directly to the neighbor's yard. This is because the family is such close friends with the neighbors. Two of the family's children are best friends with two of the neighbor's kids and the father is best friends with the family neighbor family.

In the garage, the motorcycle waits for spring as do six bicycles. The full-sized freezer blocks access to the back yard, which is fine by the family who lives here. Toys are gathered here and there throughout the garage, except for the workbench area which the father has placed off-limits. (It does have toys strewn about it but they are "big boy toys" like drills and saws and things.)

Inside the house, the playroom at the front of the house creates envy in the kids' guests. It has not one, not two, but three televisions, and an unbelievable two of them are big screens. There are bins full of toys, a computer specifically for the kids' use, a handmade, hand-painted play table, a Playstation 2 with plenty of games.

The dining room seems small because the table seats ten when fully extended and currently seats eight. The kitchen seems messy mostly because there isn't enough space to put all the gadgets and food that is bought in bulk. But the stove and dishwasher are less than ten years old, the microwave is mostly functional and of a size appropriate for feeding eight people, the cookware is good quality and there are enough dishes for everyone and then some.

The living room practically screams sit down and relax with the large couch and love seat, the big screen television, the fireplace and the family pictures covering the walls. Kids books overflow one large bookshelf. A matching bookshelf holds precious mementos and a complete Stephen King library. Movies fill six shelves of a third tall bookcase with audio visual components on one shelf and the bottom shelf having more kids books. Beside the couch, the end table has another bookshelf full of writing and psychology reference books. Typically there are 3 laptops somewhere in use around the room though one is distinctly absent along with its owner.

Over by the half-bathroom, which is incredibly small but fully functional, the brand new, very large washer and dryer sit on wood pedestals to make them easier to use.

The upstairs is rather unremarkable. All four bedrooms are of a decent size though not huge by any measure. One of the children has her own room. The parents room has a television and a king sized bed. Typically, a cat lounges on the bed and looks at intruders as if they had disrupted his royal empress from the very important business of sleeping. Three of the kids share a room with a playful, three-tiered bunkbed setup. The other cat finds this arrangement quite to her liking and may be found on any of the beds or just sleeping in the window. The aunt and her baby daughter sleep in the fourth bedroom. The bathroom doesn't really have a story to tell - it's a full bathroom with everything a simple bathroom needs.

This is a house out of a magazine. (Or would be if it were clean and decorated.) It has a Stepford quality when describing it. But this perfect life doesn't stop there.

Eight people live in this house. The traditional mother and father are still deeply in love - high school sweethearts married fresh out of school. The mother stays home with the kids and cooks and takes people to and from their activities. She keeps track of everyone's schedules and mostly makes sure people have what they need when they need it.

The father recently changed jobs, not because he was fired or bored or laid off but because the family needed better benefits and a job more stable in the shaky economy. In addition to giving his all for his job, he is quite the handyman. Anything that goes wrong in the house, he can fix, from fuses to replacing plumbing to installing security to drywall repair. At one point he replaced the roof, tearing it down to the sheeting and replacing even that. He can do the same for cars though not quite as much because he doesn't have the tools for a lot of it.

Their four children are attractive and intelligent. They all bring home A's and B's with a spattering of C's. In public they are generally polite and well-behaved and the parents often receive compliments about them. Their teachers are happy to have them in class. They help out in the neighborhood when it is needed. They are active and playful and love to have fun. They are involved in things like Cub Scouts and Spell Bowl and gymnastics and music. The oldest child does formal volunteer work because he wants to, not because he felt pressured into it in any way.

The other two members of the household are the mother's best friend who is so close as to be a sister in all but DNA and her very young daughter. Having fallen on hard times and suffering under the strain of the economy, she lost her apartment and came to this house to live, along with her adorable daughter. The baby is now a toddler and showing much of the toddler behaviors but overall is a good baby, well-behaved and happy and tolerant of most things. The mother watches and loves the baby as if she were one of her own. The four children also adore the baby and treat her as a sibling though perhaps with a little more grace and patience than if she shared the same blood.

Oh yes, one more thing...... there is a white picket fence out front. It is small, about 12 inches square and 6 inches high. It encircles the front light post and marks off a small area where bright red flowers grow and bloom during the summer.

Sound fictional? Sound like the kind of ideal that a kid would hold for what they want when they grow up? Sound like the end result of the classic "American Dream"? Sound perfect?

This is me. This is my house, my neighborhood, my family, my sister, my pets, my life. There are people who would literally kill to have what I have, to live like I live. I have it all. I am living the fairy-tale.

SO WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME???

I know how lucky I am. I am so profoundly grateful for it. I don't take it for granted and I thank God every day for this multitude of blessings. I know I've got it good. For all the shit we have in our lives with money and health insurance and mental illness and normal growing pains, I still know that I am living a charmed life. And I AM grateful.

This was not intended to be boastful or prideful or to show off. I need to explain the backstory in order to make the contrast between my life and myself even a fraction of the strength it actually is.

Because the truth of the matter is, I want out. I hate my life. I hate myself. I hate hurting. I especially hate hurting when I have no reason to hurt. My children keep me going. I don't want to destroy them and I am fully aware that the suicide of a parent causes irreparable damage to a kid. But believe me, that is the only reason I am still here.

All I want is to go to sleep and never wake up. And I have the means. And I have the motive. And I have the opportunity. But I have my beautiful 4.5 children. And of all the screw ups I do every day, I couldn't fix that one.

But oh how I want to.

I came so close last night after I went to bed that I got up and stood in the bathroom with my pill bottle in one hand and a glass of water in the other, staring at the horrible bitch looking back at me. She told me to do it, take the whole damned bottle and go chase it with something else to seal the deal. She told me that nothing really matters anyway. She told me the kids are already permanently fucked up and getting worse every minute that I am around them.

I came close to calling someone, anyone, to see if they could help me make this shame and despair and hatred go away. I know that I could have called. There are several people that have told me to call if I need them. But I couldn't make myself do it. I couldn't explain how someone with such a wonderful life as I have could want so desperately to throw it away.

I didn't want to wake someone at one in the morning. I didn't want to worry anyone. I didn't want them to panic and call the cops on me. I didn't want them to think it necessary for me to have a babysitter. And, to be flat-out honest, I didn't want to be talked down. I wanted to be left alone to die.

So I stared at the person in the mirror and listened to the taunting and prompting and goading. I dumped out a handful of pills into my hand, probably 40 or 50 of them. I weighed them in my hand. I felt the texture of them - powdery and rough like overused sandpaper. I pictured dumping them into my mouth, shoving them down with a swig of water and then repeating it with another handful and another and another and another until they were all gone.

I remembered the sensation of laying on the bed and forgetting to breathe, inhaling slowly and deeply because my head wanted air not because my chest told me to. I remembered how clear and soft and comfortable everything felt right as I slipped into sleep, how peaceful and unhurried everything became. I remembered the overwhelming relief I felt.

Then I remembered the strangest thing. I remembered the taste. The pills have this hideous aftertaste. It's worse than chewing aspirin. And it can't be washed away with water. It takes something with a much stronger flavor to get rid of that bitter grit that clings to the back of the throat and becomes like a smell when I breathe. It's nasty.

And all I had was water. Then it occurred to me that I hate water. Tap water grosses me out. Even filtered water makes me cringe. So I'd have to drink nasty water to swallow nasty pills that I then wouldn't be able to get the nasty taste to go away. And that would royally suck. It would be, well, nasty.

The thing in the mirror called me a coward. She called me stupid and a loser and wimp and all sorts of other things. She repeated all the reasons that I wanted to swallow them in the first place and all the things that are wrong with me. And I still wanted to die. But not then, not like that.

I put the pills back in the bottle. I put the bottle back in my pocket. And I went back to bed, putting the pills in their "safe spot" before turning on some music to distract me, slipping under the covers and trying to go to sleep.

So here I am, living my perfect life in my perfect home with my perfect everything all around me, hating every breath I take but unable to do what I so desperately crave.

Please God, make a bird so I can fly far, far away. -Forrest Gump
Preferably a duck or goose or something so someone will shoot me. - Me

Random Thoughts

I am still alive. I've gone kinda MIA online here recently. I guess I am not coping as well as I would like. But I am still kicking. To use the metaphor The Shrink used this morning, I may not be running this marathon, but I am still in the race. I am going to try to be more realistic about my expectations for myself and hopefully that will allow me more time and energy to resume my online activities.

A big thank you to the well-wishers and support I've received and the concern you have expressed. Your comments made me feel really good. It's so easy to feel all alone in this great big world and sometimes, even when surrounded by people who love me, I still feel like I am alone. Your comments helped.

Well, as I said before, he is gone. He has been gone for 2 weeks and my heart dies a little more every day. I am putting on as strong a face as I possibly can but I think it's killing me. I mark the days on my arm, a visible, tangible representation of the pain I cannot express. I told one person who said the most sensitive and non-judgemental thing I could ever have imagined. He said I must be in a lot of pain inside. (not a direct quote) I also got caught by Baby-Mommy - I can't really hide anything from her. She always seems to know. She was kind and supportive but worried and practically threatened to babysit me. I guess, since she was laid off on Thursday, she will be able to do exactly that.

So here we go. I have been writing this post for 5 days and just now giving up on calling it "done". Just wanting everyone to know that all is as well as they can be. I will try too write more later as I have actually had a lot of things on my mind just not the energy to do anything about it.

Good night and God bless us all, every one....

On Being a Statistic

Recently I was thinking about the phrase "one in a million" or any such large number. The biggest thing about those kind of statistics is that for every "one in a million" there has to be 999,999 others who aren't that one. Everyone is a statistic on one side of the equation or the other. Most are "fillers" that create that "one".

I will never be that "one" because I fall somewhere in the middle of almost everything. I am not the best or the worst of anything. I have worked quite hard to make sure that is what people see and expect from me. There is a small part of me that wishes I could be really really good at something, even the best. But mostly I prefer to take the middle ground. And I'm okay with that.

But I realized something the other night watching Kid-2 at gymnastics. While I would never say or even imply it to any kid, let alone any of my kids, I do wish they would each be good at something, really good. Kid-2 isn't very good at gymnastics. She's having fun and that's what's important, but in the back of my head, I wish she had some really strong promise.

It's the same with each of them. Kid-1 plays football but he's no quarterback. Kid-3 does gymnastics pretty well and plays baseball well - both above average - but neither so good as to be great. Kid-4 also does gymnastics but he's young enough that he's mostly playing and hasn't found his niche yet.

What is wrong with me??? I love my kids - they are the most important thing in my universe. And I don't like them any more or any less for not being "really good" at their activities. But I do feel disappointed - yet not in them.

It's almost like I am using them as a reflection of me. If they excel at something, it is like I am excelling at something vicariously. Perhaps this is projection. Maybe I am actually more upset at myself than I think I am about not excelling at anything and am putting that on them. It could be that I just want everything wonderful for them, including a sense that they have something special about them. Maybe it's some strange combination of them all.

Regardless of why I feel this way or whether it's "normal" or not, I feel deeply ashamed of it. Not of them, but of my feelings. There is nothing wrong with being on the big side of the equation. They are happy where they are. I have no call to feel this way. Now how do I turn it off?

He's Gone

He's gone. I last saw him at 5:19 this morning when he turned and waved before heading up the escalator towards his gate. I've spoken to him twice since then by phone and did web cam with him once. But it's the not the same. It's not enough.

I am here, alone with four and half kids and a stressed out roommate. The kids are upset. And I am sinking lower than I have been in over a year. I don't want to be here. I can't do this by myself. I keep waiting to wake up and I'm just not. I swear to God, if it wouldn't leave my children so damaged, I would be gone tonight.

How am I going to get through this and be the strong one for them? I can't do this. I don't want to do this. I can't breathe. I can't think. And I'm about to give up.

Please, someone rescue me... if you can't rescue me, kill me - now.

The God That Is Jensen Ackles

If I wasn't in love with him before last night's episode of Supernatural, I'm won over and hopelessly addicted now. As part of the overall mythology, last night's show sucked. As far character development for either brother, last night's show sucked. As far as the brotherly relationship, last night's show had a nice twist of the knife to the heart but that part lasted all of 30 seconds and didn't make up for the things that were screwed up.

BUT....

As far as Jensen goes - THIS EPISODE ROCKED!!!! They played him for comedy and he played it up big. The scream was so funny I watched it twice, giving myself an asthma attack from laughing so hard the first time. The way he got jittery over everything was a trip. His panic attack was funny. His reaction to Hallucination!Sam was dead on. The show was just hysterical. I love that guy.

But this had to be tops of everything I have seen:



All Jensen - no Dean. Did you see the laugh at the end? Dean never laughs like that - he doesn't have much to be that relaxed and happy about. But it suits Jensen wonderfully. (I think it suits most men wonderfully - to laugh and smile, wide and relaxed with pride and truly having fun. Hubby looks good that way, too, though like Dean, we rarely see that laugh from him.)

Two Songs with Great Lyrics

The songs themselves are a bit harder than I normally like best, but when I looked up the lyrics, the first one (The Gift) left me speechless. The other, Falling, is straight out of my head too.

This first one is how I have felt this past week, clinging to Hubby with the knowledge that he is leaving me and will be gone for longer than we have ever been apart since we met. For me, I think "The Gift" represents independence.

"The Gift" (Seether)

Hold me now I need to feel relief
Like I never wanted anything
I suppose I'll let this go and find a reason I'll hold on to
I'm so ashamed of defeat
And I'm out of reason to believe in me
I'm out of trying to get by

I'm so afraid of the gift you give me
I don't belong here and I'm not well
I'm so ashamed of the lie I'm living
Right on the wrong side of it all

I can't face myself when I wake up
And look inside a mirror
I'm so ashamed of that thing
I suppose I'll let it go
Until I have something more to say for me
I'm so afraid of defeat
And I'm out of reason to believe in me
I'm out of trying to defy

I'm so afraid of the gift you give me
I don't belong here and I'm not well
I'm so ashamed of the lie I'm living
Right on the wrong side of it all

Hold me now I need to feel complete
Like I matter to the one I need

I'm so afraid of the gift you give me
I don't belong here and I'm not well
I'm so ashamed of the lie I'm living
Right on the wrong side of it all

Now I'm ashamed of this
I am so ashamed of this
Now I'm so ashamed of me
I am so ashamed of me...

This next one, Falling by Staind, sounds like the things I tell myself when I am upset at how whiny and self-indulgent and generally pathetic I am when I feel weak or do stupid things like cutting that are going to get me into trouble or when I find myself wishing for a hero to rescue me.

Falling (Staind)
You
In your shell
Are you waiting for someone to rescue you
From yourself
Don't be disappointed when no one comes

Don't blame me you didn't get it
Don't blame me you didn't get it
Don't blame me you didn't get it

I already told you that falling is easy
It's getting back up that becomes the problem
Becomes the problem
If you don't believe you can find a way out
You've become the problem
Become the problem

You
All alone
Are you waiting for someone to make you whole?
Can't you see?
Aren't you tired of this dysfunctional routine?

Don't blame me you didn't get it
Don't blame me you didn't get it
Don't blame me you didn't get it

I already told you that falling is easy
It's getting back up that becomes the problem
Becomes the problem
If you don't believe you can find a way out
You've become the problem
Become the problem

I already told you that falling is easy
It's getting back up that becomes the problem
Becomes the problem
If you don't believe you can find a way out
You've become the problem
Become the problem

Falling is easy
It's getting back up that becomes the problem
Becomes the problem
And if you believe you can find a way out
Then you've solved the problem
You've solved your problem

It's Not as Easy as It Looks

On television, people are always cutting or stabbing others or themselves. On Supernatural, Dean has cut open his forearm a number of times - such as to attract vampires or prove he isn't a shapeshifter or whatever. And he just takes his huge knife and runs it across his arm horizontally and bright red blood begins to flow. In the book I just read, Second Glance by Jodi Picoult, several of the characters have cut themselves in a variety of places for a variety of reasons.

I have, as I have admitted before, been known to cut myself. (Although to the best of my knowledge, I have never tried to attract a vampire or been accused of being a shapeshifter.) Let me tell you - cutting isn't as easy as Dean makes it look. Perhaps it would help if I had a special effects team and some corn syrup but that kinda defeats the whole point. Maybe I just need a sharper knife but one would think that an Exacto craft knife would be sharp enough.

And yet it takes a remarkable amount of pressure to actually cut deep enough to draw blood. I find it infuriating. The hard part is not the desire to cause damage - that's the easiest part. It isn't some kind of self-preservation instinct - the closest I come to that is making sure I don't get caught. It's just applying enough pressure to do damage. Perhaps, like so many other things in my life, I am just not doing it right...

What I find ironic is that I have such a hard time doing actual damage and yet a slip of a paper gives me a nasty, bleeding papercut. *rolls eyes*

Value vs Worth

value: 1. relative worth, merit, or importance: the value of a college education; the value of a queen in chess (Dictionary.com)

as opposed to

worth: 4. excellence of character or quality as commanding esteem: women of worth.
5. usefulness or importance, as to the world, to a person, or for a purpose: Your worth to the world is inestimable.
6. value, as in money.

The Shrink and I debated today whether a person's value can be changed and/or changed by others. The comparison was how I value myself as opposed to how I value my children. During our discussion, I remained undecided and mostly listened to his thoughts and tried to process my own. If I understood correctly, it is his view that everyone is born with inherent value and the only way to reduce our value is to deliberately hurt other people or to believe it when others tell you you have less value.

I thought about this a lot. Then some more. And then a little bit more. In my head, I decided that there is a difference between value and worth, even though the above definitions would indicate they are basically synonyms. Here are my thoughts...

Value is the inherent worth a person has just by being a person. No one has to earn value. No one's value can increase or decrease. Even the most sadistic and evil person has the same inherent value as the holiest of saints. I guess that I see a person's value as the unconditional love that God has for all of us. Just like there is nothing my children can do to make me love them any more or any less, there is nothing we, as humans, can do to make God love us any more or less - and that is our value.

Worth, on the other hand, is how much we influence the world around us for better or worse. As a person contributes positively to the world, their worth increases. As they do damage, it decreases. If they fail to do good where they had the ability and opportunity, it decreases their worth. If they do their absolute best and fail to make a change, their worth increases. Intentions matter in the arena of worth, they matter a lot. Results matter as well.

So I think that a person's worth is a fluid thing. Someone who has done truly terrible things can make up for it and rebuild their worth. Conversely, someone who did great things can destroy it all. It is also dependent on perspective. A person may see themselves at a higher or lower worth than someone else. And different people may see the person with varying levels of worth. Even looking at the same objective facts, different subjective worths can be assigned based on the individual perceptions of each fact.

I guess that means the short answer, in my view, is that value is who we are and worth is what we do...

Nickels, Dimes and $500 Bills

In the midst of a financial crunch that will only get worse before it gets better, Kid-2 got a nasty cavity. We already owe The Dentist close to $1300 but as he is a friend of Hubby's family and we have been seeing him Hubby's entire life, he has kindly not sent us to collections. However, he is in a business, not a charity, and required a substantial payment on our account in order to see her. If we had gone elsewhere, we would have had to pay more and see a stranger and all kinds of other complications. So off we went to The Dentist. Three hours and $500 later... And believe me, we did not have an extra $500 to pay The Dentist. I drained the last of our savings plus an additional $250. Ouch.

Indeed, I was going through the online bank statements yesterday, trying to determine where our money is going. According to the budget I made up in my head, we should be doing just fine. But on the contrary, I have no idea how I will be able to pay both mortgages and the electric this month. So I'm looking at this and there aren't any big things coming out that aren't accounted for in my mental budget.

BUT --- there were a bazillion little charges here and there. $5 at McDonald's, $10 at the grocery, $7 dollars at another fast food place... Things of this nature. I truly didn't realize how much is actually being debited for lunches and the occasional pizza night. The other big killer is the overdraft fees. At $30 a pop, I am still grateful the items get paid but they come at a steep price and one that generates a vicious circle of fees and negative balances.

So the plan now is to tighten the budget and clamp down on debit purchases and set some limits with the kids and myself. I cannot impose them on Hubby as it will either get completely ignored or send him into a grouchy spiral and guilt-trips. But soon he will be gone and almost all of his expenses will be covered for a little while. (I think.)

The good news is that there are places to tighten our belts. This is not a hopeless cause. It may be uncomfortable, but it is not impossible. In theory at any rate...

I Am Not a God!

I simply do not understand why I seem to be the only person in my life that can keep up with the schedules we have. It's not like I do that much or get that much done. Mostly it's a matter of having the car in the right place at the right time. And yet my family is incapable of filling in for me, even occasionally. From what I've heard, when I was in the hospital last December it took 3 people to keep track of our schedule including one working full time, one working part time and one not employed at all.

Last week I tried to get Hubby to do the first round of school drop-offs. He couldn't get it done, several things got skipped and he was very frustrated by it all. Same with Baby-Mommy. I needed her to do the second round of drop-offs one day so I could go to physical therapy. By the time I got back, she was fuming mad at my kids and declared our mornings impossible. And that was just one half of just mornings. That didn't include any of the rest of the day.

WTF?!

I am not a god here, people. The schedule isn't that unbearable. I can't seem to make myself do the rest of the stuff that needs done, but even the small amount I do get to is apparently too much to ask of anyone. So I'm wondering if they are wimps or if I am a poor judge of what if complicated.

Mornings go like this:

6:00 - Alarm, wake up Hubby
6:20 - second alarm, wake up and poke and prod Hubby
6:30 - alarm, begin growling and snarling at Hubby so he actually gets up
6:50 - get up and dressed
- Kid-2's BFF arrives
6:55 - wake up Kid-1,
- check to make sure Kid-2 is up
- see if Kid-3 or Kid-4 want to get up yet
7:00 - say rude things to Kid-1, threaten to refuse to take him to school if he doesn't get up and stomp out of room frustrated
7:10 - yell up the stairs for Kid-1 to get up, remind to do bathroom basics
- remind Kid-2 to eat and do bathroom basics
- ingest large quantities of caffeine
7:15 - remind Kid-1 to take medicine
- see if Kid-2 has homework and if anything needs signed
7:20 - 10 minute warning, growl about anything not done
7:30 - check backpacks, coats, cell phones, lunch money, instruments, etc
- head to car
7:35 - take Kid-1 and Kid-2 to school.
- check after school activity schedule in car, remind of any appointments or weird schedule stuff
7:50 - wake up Kid-3 and/or Kid-4 if not up
8:00 - fuss about clothes that are clean AND match AND are okay for the weather
8:05 - check homework is done, signed and in backpacks, put backpacks by door
8:10 - fuss about breakfast and bathroom basics (20 minute warning)
8:15 - 15 minute warning, check for matching socks and appropriate shoes
8:20 - 10 minute warning, wake up Kid-2's BFF (asleep on couch)
8:25 - 5 minute warning, check coats, bookbags, homework, lunch money, papers
8:30 - head towards car (break up fights over who is sitting where)
8:50 - morning is done!

See? It isn't that tough and it all lines up neatly. At this point, if I am lucky, Baby will go back to sleep before Baby-Mommy leaves to go work out or study or therapy or whatever she is doing that morning. If she does go back to sleep, so can I.

Now, I will admit that afternoons get sticky. On any given day there are school pick-ups at 2:45, 3:15, 3:25, 3:30, 3:45 or 4:00. Every day at 4:00, snack time and play time are over. Homework must be done. Chores must be done. And afternoon medicines must be dispensed. Evening activities change each day:

Monday: Kid-1 volunteers at the library from 3 - 5
Kid-2 choir leave house at 4:25 for 4:45 drop-off. Pick up again at 6:30, returning home about 7.

Tuesday: Kid-3 has choir with Kid-2's BFF. (Leave house at 4:30) Pick up at 6, returning home about 6:45
Kid-1 has Boy Scouts from 7 - 8:30

Wednesdays: Kid-2 has gymnastics, leave house at 7:30 return home about 9.

Thursdays: Kid-3 and Kid-4 both have gymnastics at 5:15 immediately followed by Cub Scouts at 6:30. Leave house at 5, return about 8.

Fridays: extra late pick up for Kid-2 from school at 4:30/5.

So, yeah, evenings get a little complicated, trying to figure out when to get who and who to leave the others with and when to make and eat dinner. But it falls into a routine and it isn't that big of a deal. With all the rushing here and there, I don't get much housework done. I am just too tired, and my day is too fragmented and I am seriously low on motivation. So Baby-Mommy keeps telling me to make them quit activities and Hubby says he can't possibly do a schedule like that.

What they don't seem to understand is that the running isn't an issue for me. It makes me feel good to have them happily involved in activities and knowing that I can help with that. Everyone says they are so willing to help but all they are willing to help with is the driving. That's the one part I do like. If someone really wants to help, they should do some laundry or watch Baby while I go grocery shopping, or help orchestrate Family Cleaning Day. But that's not what they want to do and I am not willing to give up the parts I enjoy to replace them with things I despise.

Bottom Line: I don't care what they say, my husband is leaving me in a week and a half and I am about to become a single parent. And all I want to do is sleep...

List of Things I'm Going to Whine About

I don't have enough time right now to complete the posts that are mulling about in my head. But I need to vent a little so I am going to do micro-posts in this one...

I Am Not A God! The things I do around here I do every single day. Each of my four kids has a minimum of 2 extra-curricular activities. I watch Baby a lot. And I have a couple of websites that I have to do daily maintenance for. It's exhausting. It's frustrating because it never ends and everything never gets done. But it is completely possible to do the things I do (not counting the things I don't do). So why is it that the last time I was in the hospital it took THREE PEOPLE just to do what I do every day? Why is it that given the same amount of time and resources as I am, a detailed list of what needs to get done and extra cooperation from the kids... neither Hubby nor Baby-Mommy could run even the morning routine? I'm not a god. So why can't they do most of the stuff I do?

Nickel and Diming: I am trying to set up a better budget. We are drowning and by my calculations, we shouldn't be. I am about to drop $500 to take Kid-2 to the dentist and I have no idea where it is going to come from. I was looking over our online bank statements and I can't believe the number of pissy little debit charges. Lunch here, quick grocery run there, hardware store, fundraiser products, haircuts..... these little charges are adding up quickly and I don't know how to reduce them without treating Hubby like a child.

Slash and Burn: The suicidal urges are so strong. But they are effectively blocked. This means they are building up like a fast river unnaturally dammed. Cutting and burning sound so reasonable. Punish the flesh for the sins of the soul. I have such violent imagery in my head the majority of the time. The only thing stopping me is the fear of what would happen if I were to be found out. Because I'm not doing things like this for attention. I'm doing them for revenge and punishment. The water is rising behind the dam. A flood is coming...

WHOA! I have curly hair!

My hair was very long. It reached down to the middle of my back, about 4 inches below the bra line in back. My split ends had split ends who also had split ends. I have been talking about getting my hair cut for close to a year. I was going to get it done on my birthday, along with the tattoo I've been wanting since high school. But we had no money so I didn't do either. I have been talking about getting my hair cut short ever since then.

Like so many things, I think about it, plan it, picture it, imagine every little detail of it - but do nothing. Then all the sudden one day, without telling anyone first, I will go and do the thing I have silently been contemplating for so long. It leads people to think I am very impulsive since I rarely share my background processing with anyone as I stew over it in the back of my mind for months. To others it looks like I just up and decide to go do something as drastic as cutting off 13 inches of hair.

Yup. Thirteen inches I had cut off this morning. And it is still about an inch below my chin. I had enough cut off that I could donate it to Locks of Love. That felt really good. And so far, almost everyone loves it. The kids raved about it. Hubby practically gushed over it. Baby-Mommy was shocked but decided she likes it. My mother and I squeed over it. (She says it makes me look 10 years younger.) Daddy doesn't like short hair but said it looks good anyways (very high praise coming from him). The only one to not like it is Hubby's-BFF. He really likes long hair and really dislikes short hair. Oh well. He's not my Hubby or my boss and we all love it.

The thing that surprised me is that when I washed out the straightener gunk the hair place put into it - it got all curly! MY hair is curly when left to its own devices. Before, the ends were too spilt and damaged to curl nicely and the rest was too heavy and pulled the curl right out. But now that all that weight is gone and my hair is healthy and happy, it's positively curly.

I actually rather like it. Still getting used to it, but I like it. So far, no one that I am around frequently has failed to notice it. I am curious to see if The Shrink will notice. Sometimes I feel like I am nothing but a chart to him and if he doesn't notice, that feeling will be confirmed. I do hope he notices. It's discouraging to acknowledge the inherent fact that he is much more important to me than I will ever be to him (and rightfully so).

I had a dream over the weekend where several people that I am nothing special to ended up, in the course of some really bizarre events, telling me that I am special to them and always have been. I woke up horrendously embarrassed but with warm fuzzies. It's ironic that I work so hard to be invisible yet almost silently cry out for people to notice me. It's like I want to see if I am special/important/good enough for people to take the extra step to see through my invisibility cloak. I know with my head this is illogical and unreasonable, but the urge is still there.

But now the urge is to go to sleep!

Just One Thing

I have 1,000 Little White Pills and 1,000 reasons to take them. I have said in the past that I also have 1,000 reasons to NOT take them. What I didn't say is that those of those 1,000 reasons, only 3 or 4 even hold any weight. Of those 3 or 4, only one carries enough weight to keep those 1,000 pills in their bottles: I don't want to destroy my children.

I was reading a book that was a practitioner's guide to pathological grief in children. (Basically that is grief that is big enough to interfere in the children's life.) I have known for a very long time that having a parent that commits suicide increases a child's likelihood of committing suicide themselves by astronomical proportions. But in reading the chapter on helping these children cope with the suicide death of a parent... wow. It is so much bigger, stronger, harder, more painful and more permanent than I had imagined.

I'm sure Hubby, my parents, my Guardian Angel and Baby-Mommy would all be hurt if I were to swallow my little white pills but frankly I think they would recover. I think a few of them, after the initial shock, would actually be relieved to not have to deal with my BS melodrama anymore. I think it would break my mother. It might take the others a while to move on, though not too long. I doubt any of them could ever forgive me.

But the children... the damage to them would never quite go away. It would set them up for a lifetime of severe emotional problems. I can't do that to them. I already feel like I am failing them in so many horrid ways. I can't add that to their plate, no matter how desperately I want it.

So, in the end, of those 1,000 reasons not to take my 1,000 little white pills... only one of them matters. I would do anything for my children. Including live.

God Grant Me the Serenity

God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change,
The strength to change the things I cannot accept,
And the wisdom to know the difference.

The Shrink has had me on edge, to the point of paranoia, about leaving Hubby and Baby-Mommy alone together for fear of their misbehaving. He has a point. This has happened before with Hubby and a girl that was living with us. And Baby-Mommy's judgement regarding her romantic relationships has been known to be questionable at best. All of my instincts tell me this is not a threat but The Shrink has some incredibly intuitions about things that surprise the heck out of me.

So I've been spazzing a bit. I've been staying up later than I want just to not leave them alone. I've been having nightmares and nightmarish daydreams about what could happen. The fear has been gnawing at me constantly, intensifying any time I see either of them.

I can't live like this.

This week I have been really struggling with Hubby's imminent departure. He will be gone for SIX WEEKS and I am really struggling with this. One of the things that has me upset is that I won't be there to make sure he doesn't stray. He will have every opportunity and I will have no way of finding out.

Last night, after I had taken a handful of little white pills and was waiting for the relaxation to kick in, it occurred to me if he is going to do something, he is going to do something and there is nothing I can do about it. Following this line of thinking, I realized that the same, ultimately, is true of him and Baby-Mommy. If something is going to happen, they could find a way to make it happen. It is true that leaving them alone at night under the same roof increases the possibility of something happening but there is a much greater chance of something happening while he is gone at training.

Que sera sera!

If he is going to cheat on me, he is going to cheat on me. I'm done babysitting them. I just don't care. If it happens it happens. I don't think they would do that to me, to each other. But if they do.... que sera sera.

What's Wrong?

I love how people have taken to assessing my mood. I think we all do it to others to some degree, size a person up when we see them to determine how they are feeling which in turn determines how we behave. But most people, most of the time, keep the results of these observations to themselves.

Not around me lately. It's like people feel the need to tell me how I'm feeling, in case I don't know or something. What I find most amusing is that everyone except my bff, Baby-Mommy, seem to be wrong almost all of the time. But this is good as the comments I generally get are, "You sound good today." and "You look like you're in a good mood." and "You look good today." This is good because that means the face I put on for others is working. Most of the time I just smile and give an indication that they are correct without actually confirming it.

Baby-Mommy, on the other hand, takes one look at me and says things like, "What's wrong?" or "Rough day?" or "Hang in there, it's only 7 in the morning." This morning she greeted me with, "Not so grumpy today, huh? You look too tired to care." And she was dead on. It's ironic how well she knows my moods. She predicted every single crash I've had since she moved up here. (Which makes me nervous as she seems to think I am headed for one now.)

What makes this ironic is that Baby-Mommy doesn't do social cues very well. She rarely knows when she's crossed those fluid and invisible boundaries people set up. She is too open with some people and not open enough with others, she hasn't learned how to play the game of knowing what approach to take with people. She has zero respect for people's time and when she makes a faux pas there, doesn't know how to handle it appropriately. She does fine in a business setting between agent and customer but as soon as social aspects get involved, she gets a bit hazy.

And yet she reads me like I'm an open book. I cannot, no matter how hard I try, bullshit her about my mood. She may have no idea why I am in the mood that I am in, but she can correctly identify it. This gets sticky when I am trying to pretend I am fine and actually am not. It provokes the question:

What's wrong?

That is quite possibly the most evil question in all of the English language. (Although "Where do you want to go for lunch?" comes in a close second. *evil wink*) I can't actually tell people what is really going on. The consequences are unacceptable. If I tell Baby-Mommy that I am a few steps below depressed, having to work very hard to keep from doing some serious physical harm to myself and trying to figure out when in the crazy schedule of my life would be the best time for me to drug myself into a stupor and lamenting the fact that I can't just finish the job because of my kids but I am counting the minutes until they are gone so I can just die............... Yeah. That wouldn't go over so well. Let's look at what each of those items would provoke.

a few steps below depressed: This would lead to a discussion of why, which involves a great deal of self-loathing. She would then offer up a slew of compliments to get me to not hate myself, none of which I would believe. Then I would feel more guilty for not feeling better.

having to work very hard to keep from doing some serious physical harm to myself: First it would worry the hell out of her. Then she would go into protective mode and put measures in place to prevent me from being able to hurt myself. This would certainly involve not letting me stay up by myself or go anywhere by myself. It may even go so far as to trying to get a fucking babysitter for me instead of me babysitting Baby. And she would tell Hubby. Hubby would flat out freak and debate whether or not he can/should go away to train school. Then, not only would I not be able to get the satisfaction of seeing damage done to my body, I would have everyone stressed out.

trying to figure out when in the crazy schedule of my life would be the best time for me to drug myself into a stupor: First, she would tell Hubby, who would freak and do the whole train debate. Then she/they would take my pills away. And lock them up. And I would have to ask for my pills like a 3 year old. Grrr.

lamenting the fact that I can't just finish the job because of my kids but I am counting the minutes until they are gone so I can just die: This would create the biggest problems of them all. I don't even tell The Shrink that I feel this way. Everyone would go into panic mode. I would get endless lectures on the reasons that I shouldn't kill myself now or later. And there is a good chance that they would try to hospitalize me. If that happens, there is an equally good chance they would ship me down to the state mental hospital for 3 - 6 months or more.

That absolutely CANNOT happen. While a small part of me thinks that the time away would give me perspective and let me get my head on straight, the rest of me knows that I would not, will not, cannot let that happen. I've seen what happens when I'm not here - they can't keep things going with the kids. And everyone stresses out beyond their capacity. Plus the cost. Plus the fact that Hubby would refuse to go away to train school. And the damage it would do to the kids. And my mother. And the trust I will never again regain from my family. It is simply not an option.

So... what's wrong?

I'm just tired. I have a headache. Kids are driving me nuts. I'm worried about money. I don't feel good. Or my personal favorite - Nothing. (Followed by a swift change of the subject onto something that has to be handled to avoid coming back to it.)

Deify by Disturbed

Whoa. I always get this tune stuck in my head... "Deeeee-ify yooooou!" I decided to look up the lyrics tonight. They are anti-Bush. I don't do politics so I immediately read something completely different into them. I don't want to spell out what it was, but I had some pretty intense flashbacks just now.... It's so - HIM! (*runs off to cower in a corner*)

"Deify"

Man1: That's what I believe got him re-elected, is the people knew that you could believe what he said
Man2: Well, that's a repressive comment
Bush: Our country is strong
Man3: But how many people march, it's like going to...
Bush: We go forward to defend freedom
Man4: ...the government's side
Bush: And all that is good, and just, in our world

All my devotion betrayed
I am no longer afraid
I was too blinded to see
How much you've stolen from me

You want to know why I feel so horrified?
I've let my innocence die
You want to know why I can't be pacified?
You made me bury something
I won't be sleeping tonight

I only wanted a blessing made
Now I've been labeled a renegade
It seems so clear now what I must do
You're no immortal
I won't let them
Deify you
They view you as the new messiah
Deify you
Renew belief in some demented man

You want to know why it seems the passion's died?
We've all been living this lie
You want to know why my will's been fortified?
You've made me hunger again
Good luck sleeping tonight

I only wanted a blessing made
Now I've been labeled a renegade
It seems so clear now what I must do
You're no immortal
I won't let them
Deify you
They view you as the new messiah
Deify you
Renew belief in some demented man

All my devotion betrayed
I am no longer afraid
I was too blinded to see
How much you've stolen from me

Deify you
They view you as the new messiah
Deify you
Renew belief in some demented man

When You're Gone

I've been behind you all the way, supporting your pursuit of this job with the railroad. I know why it is so important for us. We need the benefits badly and a stable income in this faltering economy will hopefully keep us from going under.

And I think this change will be good for you, too. You've been at this job for too many years with too few changes. You have nowhere to go there - there is no advancement potential - and the boss not only takes you for granted, he makes your job more difficult than it needs to be. The railroad is nothing like that. It's something new and different all the time, yet familiar also. And who hasn't had, at some point, the urge to just jump on a train (or similar) and take off?

It won't be easy for you. First you have to go be isolated away from everyone and everything you know and be expected to read and study and focus. Whether you have a job or not depends on your success here and I know you will feel the stress of it. Once you do get back, you will have some major adjustments ahead of you. Our family will have learned how to operate on our own, without you. You will be in and out and unable to schedule anything with any degree of certainty. But most of all, your sleep is about to become random and chaotic and that is not something you have ever dealt with well. Still, I think, with time, we will all adjust to this and get into a pattern of behaviors that mostly work.

I have supported you on every step of this journey. It is very clear that I am the only person who sees at least as many negatives in this as positives. So I have adopted an optimistic demeanor about it, stocking up on things to say to people when they ask. I tried the honesty route, telling people I'm scared to death of this. It backfired. It led to endless pep talks and listing of the positives involved. I already know those and don't need them repeated to me again.

It is so much easier to give people what they want than what they think they want. They don't want to know how I'm doing. They want to know that I am doing well. They don't want to know how I feel about this. They want to know that I am looking forward to it. Answering the questions people ask (inevitably and without exception) leads to an invalidation of my personal truth. The very best I can expect is a joke about it but most often, people will try to convince me of the answer they want to hear. And I end up feeling that I am bad and wrong (and all those other adjectives that fill my head) for not feeling how they want me to.

The truth of this particular matter is that I am still (and always have been) scared to tears. I am an extremely selfish individual with very a strong lazy streak. And while I see all the positives this may bring, I also see all the things it will destroy and/or take away. And, to me, those weigh heavily on my mind and heart.

The big things are obvious...

You will be completely gone for 6 weeks including Thanksgiving, the kids' first choir concert, Kid-4's birthday, your birthday, and the scout popcorn sales you said you'd handle. We haven't been apart for longer than 2 weeks since we got together 16 years ago. To use a cheesy cliche/quote: You complete me.

I have no idea how this is going to work financially. You just told me that we will not have health coverage for 3 months after you start. You said we'll do COBRA and I have no idea how we can possibly afford that. We can't meet our bills now, even with the substantial help we get from my parents.

There is no way logistically or practically that I could get a job to make ends meet until things come together. Do you even know how far behind we are? Your "salary" during training will be less than what you take home now, even considering the difference in health insurance and deductions. Once you get home, you will be on "training pay" which is still right at what you bring home now and not enough to get us caught up on everything that will have fallen even farther behind.

Expenses are likely to go up significantly. Your truck is on it's last breath - something will have to be done about it soon. Gas costs are going to rise for us with your driving so far to the train yard. Your lunch costs are going to go up as you will have to be getting many more meals out. I am trying to get us eating better and that is rising those costs, though my parents are footing most of that. We will need to pay for your cell phone now that work won't be covering it. You want to do something about a movie rental thing so you can watch movies on your laptop while you're gone - that's going to be a near impossibility.

And there are the extras... The kids need winter clothes. Kid-4's birthday is coming up. We have a big party planned for his birthday and your going away. We have our overnight guest coming for a week this month. And this big one, the one I am most worried about: Christmas.

They are already losing their father this Christmas as you will more likely than not be working on Christmas. I hate for them to lose the style of Christmas to which they are accustomed as well. Kid-4 still believes in the magical, come-down-the-chimney, media version of Santa Claus. He won't understand why last year Santa brought tons of stuff and this year Santa barely visits at all.

Those are the big things. I'm worried about money. I'm worried about being overwhelmed with everything I have to do basically on my own. I'm worried that I will fall apart and there will be no one there to catch me. I'm worried that we will suffer as a family and as a couple from the distance and time. I'm worried about all these changes at once.

But there are a thousand little things too.

When you're gone, who will hold me in the middle of the night after a nightmare without asking me what it was about? When you're gone, who will call me every day at lunchtime just to see how I'm doing? When you're gone, who will quote movies back and forth with me? When you're gone, who will give me long tight hugs for absolutely no reason just because I need a hug? When you're gone, who will smile indulgently while I babble? When you're gone, who will always know how to fix anything from the computers to the cars? When you're gone, who will take kids places on Saturday mornings so I can sleep? When you're gone, who will talk to people on the phone so that I don't have to? When you're gone, who will cover for me when I have a headache? When you're gone, who will help me figure out what to do about a problem with the kids? When you're gone, who will tell me they are just normal siblings when I don't know because I've never been there? When you're gone, who will force us to do Family Cleaning Day when I want to skip it so bad I ache? When you're gone, who will get angry and frustrated at people doing things so that I don't have to feel those emotions? When you're gone, who will tell me I'm beautiful, know it isn't true, but really believe it anyway? When you're gone, who will tell me it's going to be okay, without having any clue how, and have me actually believe it?

Please, God! Let me wake up from this horrible nightmare or go to sleep and never wake up!!! I don't wanna be here anymore.

1,000 Little White Pills

***NOTE: I DO NOT ADVOCATE SUICIDE FOR ANYONE FOR ANY REASON. IF YOU ARE FEELING SUICIDAL, PLEASE CALL 911 OR YOUR DOCTOR OR A FRIEND OR ANYONE WHO CAN HELP YOU THROUGH THIS DIFFICULT TIME.***

1 little white pill calms down the trembling in my hands from the Lexapro.

2 little white pills heads off most panic attacks

3 little white pills make me calm

4 little white pills make me relaxed

5 - 8 little white pills make me not give a shit

8 - 10 little white pills let me fall asleep quickly and stay that way for a while

10 - 15 little white pills send me to a place in my head where everything is soft. It also causes amnesia and concerning behavior for 24 - 36 hours.

15 - 20 little white pills will very likely land me in the psych ward as I cannot hide that I took them.

20 - 25 little white pills will land me in the medical hospital

25+ little white pills will put me on a respirator

25+ little white pills plus a few other types will put me into a coma

25+ little white pills plus a few specific pills will kill me

It took me years of pushing the envelope a little bit at a time to figure out these thresholds. By the time I did, I realized that I cannot take this path. The damage it would do to my children would be profound and irreversible, quite possibly fatal. The damage it would do to other loved ones is huge and devastating.

That doesn't stop me from wanting to do it.

The "Happies" are gone and I am sinking fast. I had a day of the controlled-energy-annoyingly-hyper stage. I have gone through the sleep-to-catch-up phase. I went through the hey-where's-my-energy-but-still-okay part in only about 6 hours. I had a full and intense day of don't-mess-with-me-or-I'll-bite-your-head-off mood. (That sucked.) I am now in the crying-because-I-don't-wanna-do-this-anymore phase. If my past pattern repeats itself, I will soon go numb-so-I-don't-have-to-hurt and that will drop into despair and then sink further into I-don't-even-have-the-energy-to-be-depressed.

Right now, I keep finding myself standing in the kitchen in front of the medication baskets that keep the family's prescriptions organized. I stare at my bottles of little white pills. I don't touch them, not yet, though I will probably end up with a bottle in my pocket within the next couple of days. I just stare at the bottles and imagine the sinking, relaxing feeling of taking so many of them that I lose count. I breathe deeply and remember the strange sensation of forgetting to breathe and the step further of forgetting to breathe and forgetting that I've forgotten and really not caring at all. I can almost feel the way the room spins in slow, blurry revolutions interrupted by long, dark grey blinks.

And then I realize that there are tears on my cheeks. I am so frustrated. I try and I try and I try and I do so much but when I look at what I've done, there is still so much to do. I've barely made a dent. It seems so wrong that simply living life should be so very difficult for me to do. All I want is to close my eyes and have them not open again. Even my very best is not enough and I don't think it ever will be.

I am allowed to take 4 little white pills a day. They are very low dose (.5 mg) so I don't get addicted to them. I almost never take all 4. Right now, I take 1 in the morning, every morning, because otherwise my hands are so shaky my handwriting, typing and other fine motor skills are impaired. I will take others as needed. I am very confident that I am not now, nor am I in danger of becoming, addicted to them. Most days, I only take 1 or 2 and before the Lexapro, I took 1 or less a day.

But I get them filled every month without fail. And I have been doing this for a very long time.

I sat down (mentally) and figured it up one day. By my calculation, I have somewhere between 1,000 and 1,500 little white pills. There is absolutely no good reason for having that many little white pills on hand unless one intends to do something rather permanent. I know this. But I won't get rid of them, even though I have taken suicide off the table until my children are grown and have flown the nest.

Somehow, having 1,000 little white pills on hand makes me feel a little less trapped. I know there is a fire escape and, even though I don't plan on using it, it is there, like a security blanket tucked away in the closet. I'm not using them, but I know they are there, just in case.

And so I stand at the counter, and I look at my bottles and I wish it were an option. I go through it all in my head, the feelings and thoughts and sensations. I wish I could talk to someone about it that wouldn't freak out and throw me in the psych ward, or tell me to get rid of them, or give me The Lecture about all I have to live for and blah blah blah.

I don't need The Lecture. I have 1,000 little white pills...... and 1,000 reasons to not take them.

But oh how I wish I could!