Happy Thoughts

* The job search is still going well.

* I had to call the IRS today and it wasn’t painful AT ALL. The rep was even FUNNY. And I also got that glorious feeling of relief to have An Issue be over and done with forever and ever, amen.

* The Blathering is coming up. Well, not exactly “soon” but “soonish” and I’m going to get to see so many awesome people. And hug them and make them wicked uncomfortable because “who is this stranger and why is she hugging me?!”

* I wrote, and sent, a difficult apology email and the recipient was very gracious in her reply.

* We’re not going to Cleveland this summer. This, in and of itself, is NOT a happy thought. This is a downright terrible thought and makes me very, very sad. BUT, not having to worry and agonize over the logistics is a happy byproduct.

* Since we’re not taking a big summer vacation, we’re going to try and take Maddie to the Gulf Coast for her first trip to the ocean. Sam’s still a little young, so he’ll probably get some alone time with Grandma and Grandpa.

* The combination of my increased antidepressant dosage and my self-help book seems to be doing me some good. I don’t feel bleak or hopeless or “emotionally botoxed” anymore. I feel, well, good, actually. This is the happiest thought of all.

How do you do it?

Gerald and his contract employer have come to the point where it’s best for all involved for them to part ways and move on to new things. This is great for him, but kinda scary for the family to lose 1/3 of our income without any other way to supplement it.

We’ve talked about me going back to work full-time if the salary was enough to justify the cost of childcare for both kids. I’ve had an interview and two more requests for interviews, so things look promising on that front.

BUT

I can’t wrap my mind around how I’ll actually make it work. How in god’s name am I supposed to get myself and two kids ready every morning, work all day, take a 1/2 hour lunch so I can get out of there even sooner to pick up the kids, get everyone home, cook dinner, bathe and get both kids to bed. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? As it stands now, I’m responsible for about 98% of the kids’ daily care and the running of the household. This can’t continue if I’m also going to be working in an office all day.

Gerald would prefer for me to stay home if it was possible. He’ll have to disrupt his beloved work schedule to enable us to carpool if I get a job in the city because taking my minivan all the way to Dallas and back everyday will bankrupt us right quick. He’s also going to have to pick up more responsibilities around the house and in taking care of the kids. This is kind of a lot to ask a guy who doesn’t want me to work in the first place. He likes the way things are now, but knows that this is something we need to do right now.

Please don’t misinterpret this. He’s not mean, or ugly or pouty about it at all. But I know it bothers him and I know he’s stressed about how it’s all going to work. And so am I. I’ve never worked full-time with kids before. I have no idea how y’all make it work. Would you please share some of your tips and secrets with me? And maybe throw in a “Don’t worry! It’s not as hard as you think it is!” Even if it’s a lie.

New Agey Self-Help Crap That Isn’t Crap

I saw my GP last week for a med check on my Pr0zac. I felt better, and so close to good, but still far enough away that things were bleak. We talked for a while and she decided to up my dose from the lowest to somewhere in the middle. We also spent 15 minutes or so just talking about what was going on. She made the recommendation that I think about some behavioral therapy to deal with the guilt I’m feeling about my mothering skills (or lack thereof).

Seeing a psychiatrist or counselor isn’t really something we can work into the budget right now, so she recommended a book. This book, in particular. I downloaded the audio version and listened to the first three sections last night.

You guys, Dr. Amen GETS IT. I was in tears when he got to the chapter on the deep limbic system, which is what’s wonky in my brain. He listed 10 symptoms of an overactive deep limbic system and I have EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM. I’m only about halfway through the non-medication prescriptions that he outlines to help change the brain’s behavior, but I’m already practicing the first of them. (FYI, he also recommends medication to his patients and the combination of meds and “rewiring” the brain helps so much more than one or the other. Luckily, Pr0zac is the drug he recommends most for this type of brain wonkiness, so I’m good there.)

I get caught with ANTs – Automatic Negative Thoughts. I get trapped in a loop of negative thinking that colors my outlook on everything in my life. I perceive almost every interaction and conversation with others as negative when it’s actually neutral or even positive. And I believe the lies my brain tells me. I NEVER question the validity of these thoughts. Dr. Amen says the best way to stop ANTs is to talk back to them and crush them. Whenever I have a negative thought, I’m supposed to write it down and then write a logical, rational, non-emotional reply. I’m supposed to confront my thoughts when they lie to me instead of taking everything I think as the God’s honest truth. I’ve been doing it all morning and I’m already noticing a difference. Luckily, I have a few very stressful situations going on right now that would normally send me into a tailspin of self-loathing and depression, so I’m getting a lot of practice.

I don’t normally go in for the self-help stuff, but I’m amazed at how much Dr. Amen understands what’s going on in our brains. It was like he’s known me for my entire life and knows all my secret, scary thoughts and is offering help in stopping them. If you’re suffering from anxiety, depression, aggression, ADD or substance abuse, PLEASE read this book. If you’re willing to approach it with an open mind, you just might find some life-changing information.

The Poop Story

Just in case you thought I was being ironic or misleading with my title, let me assure you that this is a story about poop. So stop reading now if you’re going to get all grossed out and mad at me because I made you read about poop.

Last week, the kids and I stayed with my in-laws in South Central Texas. (Why yes, I am indeed the awesomest daughter-in-law who ever lived because I voluntarily drive my kids five hours each way to visit my in-laws WITHOUT my husband. This is only because my in-laws are equally as awesome and I adore spending time with them.) My in-laws live on a fairly large plot of land at the cul-de-sac end of a neighborhood. Their yard backs up to woods full of deer and the creek tributary of the Guadalupe River. They have hens and a duck and two dogs. My kids LOVE it there. Every morning, they get their “Nana Walk” to let the chickens out for the day and to explore the property before breakfast. Sam mostly rides instead of walks, but you know what I mean. Maddie gardens, swims, rides her bike and a toddler car thing that’s two times too small for her but she refuses to stop riding it even though her knees drag the ground, and generally makes a mess of herself. She routinely needs two baths a day while we’re there. Sam still only needs one, thank goodness.

That fateful evening, it was Sam’s turn for a bath. I took him into our room, stripped him and stepped into TILED hallway to take him into the bathroom. As soon as my feet left the carpet, I stopped in the hallway and said something to my MIL who was there to admire Sam’s nudie snudie booty, of course. As I was holding him, I thought to myself “Why do Sam’s testicles feel so squishy all of the sudden? WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?” I pulled my hand out and stared at it, willing the image to be caused by a stroke and not real. And then I heard it. PLOP. PLOP. PLOP.  I closed my eyes and said “He pooped, didn’t he?” My MIL was laughing so hard she couldn’t even answer me. I stood there with my hand full of poop and poop all down my shirt and pants and wished for the Earth to swallow me. My MIL tried to hand me a paper towel for my hand, but again, was laughing so hard that it took her three tries to hand it to me. I dumped Sam in the tub while my MIL cleaned up the poop on the floor as penance for laughing at me.

I got Sam cleaned up, burned my clothing and got him to bed. 15 minutes later, I heard him crying and went to investigate. He had thrown up his dinner all over himself and the pack ‘n play. Necessitating, of course, another bath. My MIL couldn’t even muster up a chuckle over the second incident; however, when she made me tell the story the next day, she laughed just as hard. I think it was almost worth it just for that alone.

The Boob Situation

So, I went yesterday for my semi-annual breast cancer screening and to have my boob issue addressed. I was nervous, but ultimately sure everything was going to be fine.

Turns out, everything isn’t exactly fine.

The good news is that the doctor didn’t find any lumps. Yea! The bad news? The boob issue may be Paget’s Disease. (The breast one, not the bone one. As my husband learned via Google.) I’m scheduled for an MRI this afternoon. Based on those results, I’ll either be having a biopsy right away or in a month. (If the MRI shows thickening of the nipple or DCIS, the biopsy will be right away. If it doesn’t then she’s going to give the issue a month before doing the biopsy in the hopes that it might clear up all on it’s own.)

The part that worries me the most is that the doctor didn’t give me any other options as far as what the issue might be. She just talked about Paget’s and getting me in for testing right away. It’d be a lot easier to tell myself that it’s most likely not cancer if the doctor had told me that. If she would have given me a presciption for something and said come back if it doesn’t clear up, I could breathe a sigh of relief and go on about my business. But no. Now I’m stuck in the endless “omgwhatifIhavecancer” loop. The only saving grace is that things seem to be moving quickly so I don’t have long stretches of waiting.

I keep repeating something I heard in a sermon on Sunday at my niece’s dedication: “Ain’t no use worrying about things you can control, because you have control over them. And ain’t no use worrying about things you can’t control, because you can’t control them.” I’m concentrating on the things I can control and reminding myself that worrying doesn’t cure cancer or infections or whatever else. All worrying does is waste valuable brain space.

Conflict Avoidance

I once heard someone say “I can hold a grudge like it’s got a handle.” I love that phrase. I wish it were true of me, too. I know that sounds odd because who wishes they’d be able to hold onto anger and let it get all festery and crap? Me, that’s who.

I dislike conflict so much that I will often always apologize even when I’m not in the wrong just so the fight/disagreement/argument will be over. (To be fair to myself, I’ll also tell you that I’m pretty damned good at owning my own mistakes, too. When I’ve said something hurtful or rude I know it immediately. It usually takes me a few minutes to process the anger, then pride and then shame, but I’ll apologize for what I said.) Anyhow, when I apologize just to end the conflict, I end up with such mixed emotions. Relief that the incident is over. Anger that I apologized and admitted blame that I don’t believe is mine. Shame that I lied about being sorry just to stop the fight. In keeping with my “grass is always greener” state of mind, I think it would be better to be able to hold a grudge and not apologize when it’s not my fault. To be OK with being angry at someone else’s behavior without having to make it personal. To not always have to make everything OK again.

I’m struggling with these issues this week after The Email. I’m fighting the urge to email and try to make everything alright. I keep telling myself that I don’t really believe I owe anyone an apology so I’d be doing them, and me, a huge disservice by apologizing when I don’t mean it. I’m trying to be OK with the fact that someone is upset with me and doesn’t want to be my friend anymore and I don’t know why. I’m telling the voices in my head that I don’t deserve that and I don’t have to grovel to make her like me again.

I’m trying. I’m not doing it perfectly, but I’m trying and that’s progress.

Still crazy after all these years

You know what I find to be the single most frustrating thing about depression? Not being able to just snap out of it already. It’s not as though I want to be miserable. I very much want to be happy. And yet, no matter what I do, happiness eludes me. It’s not like a normal person who has a bad day or two and can do sweet things for themselves and cheer themselves right out of a bad place. With depression no matter what you do, you simply cannot change the way you feel.

It must be so hard on the people around me. From all outward appearances I’m miserable with my life and they can’t help but feel like I’m miserable with them, too. The thing is, my misery has nothing to do with outside influences. No matter where I was, or by whom I’m surrounded, I would be depressed. And that’s a really hard thing to get people understand. Depression cannot be understood by someone who’s never experienced it.

The other day I was listening to Pink’s song “Fucking Perfect” and there’s a line in it that says “change the voices in your head. make them like you instead.” That made me cry. The voices in my head have hated me for as long as I can remember. They consistently tell me I’m a terrible wife and mother. Worthless. Broken. Unlovable.

It makes me so sad that I feel this way about myself. After all, those voices in my head are all my own. What could I have possibly done to make myself hate me so much? Why do I have to have an inner voice that’s so negative? Other people don’t have that. Other people genuinely like themselves. How do I get that? Because I really do want to be happy. I want it so very much.

Reason #4578 why depression and anxiety suck.

Earlier this week I received an email from a friend that really shook me. It was out of line in every conceivable way and was the most unexpected email I’ve gotten in a very long time. Days later and I’m still fretting about it. Allowing it to keep me awake at night and cloud my mind with doubts about all of my friends and how they really feel about me.

In a fit of pique, I quit twitter and no one noticed.

Of course, this sent me further into a downward spiral. I make no secret of the fact that I have very few brick and mortar friends; however, my internet friends mean just as much to me. Now I’m thinking maybe they mean too much to me. Maybe I’ve put too much effort into maintaining friendships with people who don’t consider me a “real” friend because we can’t see each other frequently. Maybe I’m simply an entertaining way to pass the time and easy replaced with whomever’s next in line.

I’m trapped in a whirlpool of negative thoughts and self-doubt and I can’t swim out. All because of one stupid email and wonky brain chemistry.

The End… or is it?

I think I may be done blogging. This blog is four and a half years old, but it’s certainly not my first. I’ve been blogging for almost seven years now.

I don’t feel like I have anything left to say to you. I find myself keeping things to myself more and more these days.

BUT

I can’t seem to just quit. First of all, being a blogger has been part of my identity for so long now that I’m afraid to stop. Who am I if I’m not a blogger? Secondly, and most importantly, I’ve met so many wonderful people that I never in a million years would have met if it wasn’t for my blog. I don’t want to cut myself off from the opportunity of meeting more new people who may become good friends. I’d be lost without my besties and I’d never want to close the door on new friends.

BUT

I feel like I need to be present more for my kids. I think I use blogging as an escape. (Reading, mostly.) It lets me connect with other women like me but at what cost? I don’t seem to be able to balance it like I think I ought to. And no, there isn’t anyone judging me (out loud, anyway) I’m judging myself and I KNOW there are times when I ignore my kids so I can check your posts. And that bothers me. I get one shot at this motherhood thing. I don’t want to screw it up by not being present with my kids.

BUT

BUT

BUT

So, I guess for now I’ll be around, but not as much. I’ll try that for a while and see how it goes. Maybe I’ll be back and maybe it’ll be time for All Dressed Up to finally leave the building. We’ll see. I’m not saying goodbye just yet. More like, “see ya later, alligator.”

To Read or Not To Read

My mother used to collect antique tins. My friend, Jennie, is looking for vintage tea tins. Fate, no? I know that my mother would rather her beloved tins go to someone who will love and appreciate them as much as she did instead of being packed away, out of sight and out of mind. I asked my dad if he had them because I don’t remember what happened to them after she died. That whole time is really blurry for me. I do know that I got quite a few of her things, but didn’t remember seeing her tins amongst them. My dad said he had a box of her/their things in his office that he’d check, but he was pretty sure he gave them to me. I opened and went through the two boxes that I have of hers to check for the tins without a second thought. She’s been gone for almost six years now. The pain isn’t fresh and the wound isn’t raw anymore.

The first box contained the Harley Davidson ‘do rag I bought her when she was first diagnosed with cancer. I figured if she was going to be bald she ought to be bad ass about it. Needless to say, she never wore it but kept it nonetheless. The box also contained mementos from my childhood. Things I had made for her, pictures of me in the paper, school photos, that sort of thing. It also contained her journal. I opened the journal and read enough of the first page to ascertain that she began writing under the advice of the therapist she started seeing when she was diagnosed. I quickly closed it, feeling overwhelmed.

My first thought is that I don’t dare read it. These are the private thoughts, dreams and very likely the fears of a 48 year old woman facing cancer and being across the country from her entire family. I would feel like I was violating her privacy if I read it. The next thought I had was that she’s dead and she’s not going to feel violated or upset or any of those things. She doesn’t feel ANYTHING anymore so it seems silly to try and preserve her privacy.

Then, I’m afraid of what I might find. Will I find something horrible written about me and my undoubtedly selfish behavior? Will I read something that changes my opinion of my mother? Shouldn’t I remember her as I do instead of polluting those memories with things that were written during her darkest hours?

But then I think of all the things I don’t know about my mom. All the questions I never thought to ask while she was still with me. Will I find those answers? Will I learn more about the woman she was outside of being my mother? I blog partly for my children. I want them to know who I am. Who I was while they were children. See me as a person separate from them. But the difference is that I blog publicly and know that others will read these words. My mom wrote in a bound journal for no one but herself and that changes things for me.

So, I sit here with her journal on my coffee table and her ghost thick inside my heart. And I wonder if I’ll ever have the courage to read it.