Monday, December 11, 2006

Like a cheap sweater

I know that you are probably so sick of my whining that you can barely stand it. Hardly anybody is even commenting anymore. I have a feeling that most everyone is adhering to that childhood rule "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." And quite honestly, I appreciate that. Harsh words might just send me over the edge at this point. And I am just barely hanging on by my fingernails right now.

I was looking at my posts from this time last year and realize that I have almost completely lost my funny. I even blogged some about my depression last fall, but at least I had some perspective. Or from my writing, I seemed to, anyway. It's like a whole lifetime ago, reading that. I suppose a lot has happened and my whole life and reality changed in the space of a few weeks there. But golly. I just am not holding up well under the pressure. Last year, I spoke of how I felt like I was being dragged under and needed help coming back up. I really thought that I had overcome most of that. I thought that with my thyroid being treated, that I was doing so much better. But over the past couple of months, my crazy has returned with a vengeance.

I went to the doctor a few weeks ago and asked to have my antidepressant dosage upped because I was feeling like I was going under again. For a week or two I was feeling so much better. I was cleaning the house, enjoying my kids, being a Mommy. But as Thanksgiving approached, I found myself sinking faster than I ever had. I get home from picking the kids up from school some days and go get in my bed. SugarPlum, bless her heart, entertains the boys for me and come to tell me when it's time for me to make dinner. This isn't every day, but FAR more often than it should be. No nine year old should have to take that much responsibility for her family.

I have days where I get stuff done. I will get the whole entire kitchen clean. Or I'll sort through two rooms worth of clutter. But it's never enough to get caught up. Which is why I was so relieved that the whole family wasn't coming here for Thanksgiving. I had decided that it was better to make the drive to Gram & Gray's than to try to get this place up to snuff. But by Wednesday morning (when I had told my parents I would be leaving) I had nothing packed, the house was still a disaster & needed to be at least tidied up as we were having a kid come and stay here to dog-sit. I needed to clean out my van and fold the laundry. And I was paralyzed. I hid in the guest room and cried for a good half hour. I had no idea why I was crying other than I felt like I was losing my mind & didn't know how to rein it in. I seriously contemplated staying here and having turkey sandwiches for Thanksgiving. Eventually, I could hear the kids screaming at each other on the other side of the house and went in there to keep them from killing each other. They saw my red eyes and puffy face and got very somber. I started crying again and told them that i couldn't get this done on my own and that I needed their help if they wanted to go.

We finally hit the road at about 2:00, which was when my parents expected us to be arriving not leaving. My mom started to give me shit about it, but I just got off the phone with her quickly. I didn't need her help. I was still such a mess that when I got behind a truck that I couldn't pass (crappy two-lane roads), I was on the verge of tears over it. It was one of the longest three-hour drives of my life.

Unraveling. That is what I feel like I am doing. Like somebody has hold of the yarn that makes up the sweater that is my sanity and is pulling every so often so that when I turn around to look, there is less and less of it.

That is what I wrote the week after Thanksgiving. And things just kept looking more and more bleak. I finally went back to the doctor this past Friday and told him everything that had been going on. I was desperate. He doubled my antidepressant dosage (from what the other dr. had increased it to in November), and had me get another thyroid check as well as testing for some auto-immune and auto-inflammatory diseases. He asked me if I had been getting much exercise and I told him no. When he asked why, I responded, "Because I don't want to." I didn't feel the need to make excuses. HELLO? Did you hear the part about the depression? Yes, I know that exercising will prompt a change in my brain chemistry resulting in me feeling better. I am a well educated woman. Who is suffering from depression. And when my Crazy and my Lazy get together? There will be minimal physical activity, I can assure you.

Sitting there, talking to the Dr, I ticked off all of my symptoms: weight gain (seven lbs in about two weeks - this is what prompted the exercise question), irritable, withdrawing from activities (I quit working at the church on Thursdays and stopped helping at GA's), not getting much of anything done in my house and in the past few weeks have only managed to shower once or maybe twice a week (I know, EWWWW!). I felt like one of those freaking commercials for depression. Ridiculous.

So, he wants me to try this increased dosage and come back in about three weeks. But already I can tell a HUGE difference. Which is good, because I didn't want to be this way when SD gets home (IN TWO DAYS!! YAAAAAY!!!!). And I really feel like I need to be on my game because my SD's dad (aka PopPop) - always a joy to have about - comes for a visit next Sunday. But, mostly, I couldn't do this to my kids any more. They need a Mommy who is present. Who wants to spend time with them. Who doesn't hide in the guest room and cry.

Time to get out the knitting needles and put the sleeves back on that sanity sweater. Okay, is it just me or is it time to give that metaphor a well deserved break? Or burial.

Hopefully my funny will be back soon. I enjoyed having a sense of humor. I suspect that SD packed it in his suitcase and took it to Turkey with him. Please bring it back honey, okay?

(Heh, did you know that if your finger slips just a little bit, you can end up typing hiney instead of honey?)

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