J

I am almost done with my Bachelor's in Psychology, I just have two quarters left. There are many days that I feel like I should have noticed so much sooner, especially with my current educational background. But, that is not a road I want to go down... the "I should have," or "If I wasn't so busy I would have" seen a potential issue earlier. I do not need the guilt from that.

A few months ago my dad and I were on our way to see a Yankee game, and he haltingly asked if I had noticed anything going on with my son, J, lately. He was four, and I mentioned how J had been getting more aggressive and independent in his behavior and in voicing what he wanted to do (or to not do). My dad kept gently prodding, and I was getting irritated because I felt like there was something specific he wanted from me and he was just beating around the bush. I kept racking my brain trying to think of what the "right" answer could be... and right now I cannot recall if I came up with it, or something very close to it. Either way, my dad mentioned that he noticed J kept tossing his head to the side. We talked about it, I told him that I had noticed it and it seemed to be happening more often... but I had been hoping that it was related to J's hair length - he kept asking to grow it and saying that he did not want to get his hair cut, so we let it grow, and at this point it was hanging down to about the middle of his ears. 

I did not tell my dad that I had mentioned the head tossing to my hubs just a few days prior. I did not tell him that I had been mindful about watching J throughout the day more to see how often it happened or if something caused it. I did not tell my dad that when I first noticed it and saw that it happened more frequently that I began to wonder about spectrum disorders or other mental health issues. I did not tell him that I hoped it was just anxiety or stress related... I could not say any of this, because as I listened to my dad he brought up the Autism spectrum... he said that he thought it was a neurological tic... and he mentioned that he began to notice it about 18 months ago. 18 months! All of the air was sucked out of my lungs - how could I not see it?! For eighteen months?

I struggle socially, I did not when I was a kid. In fact, most of my report cards had the hallmark phrase of "she's a delight in class but she talks way too much" on them. I can not tell you the exact time that anxiety took up residence inside of me... but, I know that I was an adult. Married. I do not generally talk to strangers now, there are sometimes weeks that go by that I will even really talk to people I know - outside of the ones that I share living space with. 

Since anxiety came along though... I struggle hardcore. Daily. Especially if I have to leave the house and interact with other people. And, I see J struggle. He hangs back around other kids. He does not want to go into Sunday School. He does not want to go back to preschool. He plays by himself. He does not look us in the eyes while talking to us, or while we are talking to him. He laughs when he's nervous. He laughs when we discipline him. Over the past year I have noticed that he will break down into a sobbing mess over the vacuum being turned on... or other seemingly normal things. Until three or four months ago he did not really do imaginative play, I mean... if he did, it was completely internal. He has only recently started playing like that with his sisters, and he does not last long with it. 

He is super smart though, so, so bright. He has a huge vocabulary. He loves taking things apart and putting them back together. He loves anything that spins, he always has. He knows his letters, colors, shapes, numbers. He can point out the United States of America on a map, and can show which flag is the USA's in a lineup of 50+. He knows some Spanish and is eager to learn more. Developmentally, we have always heard from his pediatricians that he's very bright... and until recently I honestly did not know that children on the spectrum could be bright. I am embarrassed to even write that here for all of you to read. But, I just assumed that because kids on the spectrum tend to be hyper-focused on some thing, that they were then mentally incapable of focusing on other things... and my brain translated this as a mental deficiency. 

Now... I am only an undergrad student. I am nowhere near being capable of saying, "Yeah... this is definitely autism, or Asperger's." Over the past month and a half I have made several phone calls to all sorts of places - even phone calls are something I dread because they mean having to talk to other people - and J has an appointment coming up at a diagnostic and learning resource center. Unfortunately they do not do spectrum diagnostic tests there, however they do other screening and can work to create an IEP quickly if he will need one for school. He has an appointment with a pediatric psychologist who will administer diagnostic testing for spectrum disorders, as well as a host of other things including ADD, ADHD, ODD, anxiety, etc. 

I am anxious for some answers, especially answers about what we can do to help him manage the anxiety I see in him already... more to come within the next couple of months on this.  

The thing about my depression is...

• There are many times it seemingly comes from No Place
• I have lived with it for so long that not experiencing it for even a short length of time gives me anxiety
• It is evolving
• Anger comes now, too
• I don’t want to talk to you when it is bad… it does not matter who you are
• The darkness screams for me to self-harm
• I become numb towards everything … and everyone
• It is exhausting to try to focus
• Fighting the awful and harmful thoughts leaves me absolutely drained
• My kids will never meet the person I was before depression and anxiety took over
• It’s increasingly difficult to me to remember that person

I have had messages, texts, and comments on my most recent picture post. The post was how I chose to reach out… Talking about depression and anxiety – or mental health in general – is something that can make the person experiencing it feel worse. I feel like I am always complaining, and like I truly have no reason to because there are people that are worse off. There is still a lot of stigma around mental health and disorders. It is frustrating for me to try to justify why I feel this way to you, because I do not know why. I do not know what triggered the spiral. Well-meaning people can say the dumbest and most hurtful things to others and not comprehend how unhelpful they are being. So, please do not take it personally that I am not answering phone calls or liking your comments/replying to them. I am in a deep, and very dark, place right now. I know that some of you are concerned, and I know that I am loved – but it is impossible for me to believe these things while the depression is raging. When the rage settles down, know that I am reading your comments, texts, and private messages.

I cannot give up, as it turns out I recently learned that *I* save/d someone else by simply existing. My kids need me. Cory needs me. Knowing these things, however, does not make holding on any easier. It does not lessen the hell that comes when your brain demands self-harm or self-destruction.

Depression is a disease that results from a chemical imbalance in the brain. There are many people that do not recognize this, though. They refuse to accept it. I have been told to “just get over it,” that I “act like [this] to be the center of attention,” and that my life is so much better than it could be, so I am being selfish by acting depressed. As an adult I pride myself on being honest… but, I have started lying occasionally. It is so much easier for people to accept that I could cancel plans, or cannot go do something, because I have a cold, or a stomach bug, or even a migraine than it is for them to accept that I cannot do something because of my depression.

I made an appointment with a different therapist, maybe she can help. In the meantime, know that your messages are being seen. Reach out if you are struggling. There is no shame in asking for help.

How Charlotte saved my life

Note: There will be much in this post that none of you know, including the people that I lived with at the time. Please know that what you read here has not been written to make anyone feel bad, or to put any sort of blame on anyone. It is the true and accurate account of how my life was saved. 

Moving to Florida with a one and two year old while pregnant with another baby is by far the most difficult thing I have ever done. There were several sources of stress: we had not sold our home in Ohio yet, the kids and I left almost a week before Cory did, everything we owned went into storage, we moved in with family, Cory's new job was over an hour away from my parents', and so much more. My parents housed us when we relocated, they did so out of love and because they wanted to fill that need. But, it was difficult. Their house was not baby-proofed, they have a metal spiral staircase in the middle of their living room, their television was within reach of Jacob and Maddie. The Withlacoochee river is at the end of their not fenced backyard. My dad was working from home... making phone calls, supervising the therapists that report to him, Skype calls, and trying to do his own client notes. I constantly felt as if I had to keep the kids silent from the moment we got downstairs until my dad had left to go see a client, or until my mom got home from work in the evenings. It was the middle of August, and all of the kids' outside toys were in storage, so even going outside to play did not last long. I felt like such an awful person, and like a failure as a mom. It seemed like I was always chasing my kids away from the television, plugged in power cords, the staircase, my dad's office, the cabinets with glass dishes and storage containers and cleaning products, the trash can, their dogs' food and water bowls. And I screamed, a lot. It felt like I was screaming all the time at them. Every day I told Cory I could not get through another day, I would not make it. Every day I reminded him how he got to go to work, meet people, socialize, and learn new things while all of my friends were over a thousand miles away and the only thing I was learning was that I did not have what it takes to be a good mom. I was exhausted, depressed, angry, bitter, and eventually very resentful. I know that this does not paint a pretty picture, but... it was not one at the time.

I sank deeper and deeper into my depression, and was constantly on edge even when I did not take my anxiety into account. By the end of the month I had holed myself up behind steel walls, I did not talk unless I had to. This was probably the only time in my life that I had managed to not relay my thoughts and emotions through my eyes. In September we moved into a rental, we could barely afford it. Cory's dad took over paying our mortgage on the Ohio house because we could not pay it and rent. The kids, or I, took turns being sick. Our stuff came out of storage, but most of it went into the screened in lanai because the house was small and could not accommodate it. Cory would take the kids outside when he got home, and they loved that. I sat inside because it was so hot, and I was still miserable, exhausted, depressed, resentful... and I began to plan my suicide. I knew that initially Cory would struggle, and the kids would not understand... I believed it was best to do it after delivery because they were so young that they would not remember me, so it would affect them less than if I waited until they were older.

I considered many options for leaving this world, and began to narrow down what I thought I could tolerate. The one thing that I knew for sure was I would wait until after the baby came, because regardless of how crappy a person and mom I was - I knew that she deserved to live. I could kill myself, but I was not going to choose to take her with me. I planned to leave, after one of my last OB appointments and just drive as south as I could get. I was going to have the baby, and ask the hospital to call Cory once I had been discharged to tell him to come get her. And then I was going to slit my wrists and that would be it. And then, at my next OB appointment my doctor offered to induce at 39 weeks because she knew I had two young kids at home and that I had not had issues with delivering either of them. I was so relieved, because her offer meant that I only had five more days left before I could stop my pain and misery. I called Cory and my parents on the way back home to tell them about the scheduled induction. Things would have to jostle a bit, I would need to walk away from the hospital while I was alone with the baby... but I felt prepared. We had flown Katie and Zane down to be with Jacob and Maddie while we went to have the baby, and there was no immediate plan for when they would fly back home... so I knew that Cory would have a bit of help adjusting to another kid on his own.

Labor progressed slowly at first, but my parents and Cory were there. I remember being thankful that my dad was going to see Charlotte be born, my mom had been there for Jacob's birth but my dad had not been able to come. It felt right to me, I felt relatively at peace. I was surrounded by the people who loved me at my best and at my worst, and I knew they would be fine together when I was gone. I knew that my kids, and Cory, would be well loved and taken care of. And I knew that nobody would have to deal with me bringing them down anymore. I rested when I could during labor, but delivery came faster than we expected. Someone called the nurse in to check because I felt like something was wrong, and she paged the OB right away and got some other nurses in there. They were lifting me and moving quickly, trying to keep Charlotte in until the OB arrived. A doctor I had never met before walked by, peeked in because of the commotion and gloved up faster than I had seen anyone glove up before. Charlotte's head was out already, and thankfully this doctor came by just in time to help with the delivery. I had not pushed, at all, that little stinker had delivered herself! My OB made it into the room in time to deliver the placenta.

Jacob did not nurse, I had such difficulty trying to get him to latch. Maddie latched well, but because of her PKU we stopped nursing almost right after getting home from the hospital. Charlotte latched. She was a pro at nursing. The first time she latched her tiny fingers had somehow curled around mine... and I knew that I would not take this away from her. If she was going to need me to eat, I could wait a little longer to end my life... after all I had already waited several months because of her. Around the end of June, Charlotte stopped nursing well. In fact, she really became uninterested, and eventually she refused to nurse at all. By the time that happened, I had already entered therapy. Cory and I were doing marital counseling, too. I had started an anti-depressant and was beginning to feel a little better... and the plan I had made to end my life was dissolving.

Today, my spunky and rebellious princess turns two. Two years ago I had no plans to be alive days later, in fact I was so sure that I would not be. As I sit here getting this story out, most of it feels so far away and nightmarish. But, I know it happened. The tears spilling down my face as I sat here staring at this blank computer screen, knowing that I needed to get this out, remind me that this is my history. J, M, and C... I promise that I will do everything in my power to ensure that it does not become your destiny.

All my love. All my life.

Better late than never...?

I have had the best of intentions for getting back onto this blog and updating about how Experiment #1 went! I have had those intentions for almost three weeks! Life with littles, right?

Okay, so I noticed at the end of the experiment that I was significantly calmer and actually patient with my children. All of them. Even the one that normally grabs a hold of my last nerve and tries to rip it into a gazillion pieces before the day is over. I was not yelling (half as much), I swore a lot less, and I was becoming a bit more proficient at writing with my left hand. My husband noticed a big difference, which is a bit ironic... because towards the end of the two week experiment I was cool as a cucumber - and he was losing his marbles over every single thing. I'm all, "Honey, don't yell at them. I've worked so hard to not yell at them. Please stop yelling at them." I advised him to do the two week challenge. I am thinking he must have, because he is much more level-headed now.

We hosted Thanksgiving this year. But... exactly 10 days before Thanksgiving we decided that we wanted to rip some walls in the kitchen in half. And, so we did, well... we started to. The biggest one that was being converted to a half wall was ripped down, but we didn't have time to make it aesthetically pleasing before turkey day. So, hubster slapped down a piece of wood from out in the shed on top of the half wall and we called it a day. THEN, we ripped cabinets off of two walls, and relocated them to another wall... five days before Thanksgiving. Listen... I feel as if we are do or die people. Well, I am. When I get something into my head, I'm all gung ho "get 'er done!" After almost 20 years of loving me the hubs has stopped fighting this. Even though there's a hole in our ceiling in the kitchen and in the walls around the half wall, and there was a slew of drywall mud up, and wallpaper half-ripped down, and missing flooring (from underneath where the cabinets were)... everyone had a good time, they all said they really like the direction our kitchen is headed in, and nobody needed to sue us or our home owner's insurance company for an accident - or plaster in their food. I'm calling it a win.

I just finished my fourth class at Walden, I have nine more classes until I graduate with a bachelor degree. Yesterday started my fifth class, and thankfully - thus far - it is far easier than I anticipated it would be. I have half of this week's assignments done, and half of the reading done and it's only day 2 of class.

Experiment #1

Some Most days I feel as if I have the shortest fuse in the world. I understand that it is unladylike to admit this. I know that some people will not believe it. I am fully aware that I am setting myself up for criticism... but, it would be deceiving and a disservice (for my children, especially) to only put the feel-good, happy, celebratory stuff into this blog. I have anger issues and I have been controlled by that anger for longer than I can recall right now. 

I love my kids. I love my hubster. I would lay down my life if it meant saving any of theirs. But, there have been countless times that I have yelled at each of them. I have said (and yelled) hurtful things. When I become angry it feels like there is a volcano inside me that is no longer dormant, and all of a sudden there is hot, hurtful, raging, word lava spewing from my mouth. I know... I know. 

* A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger

* Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry

* The words of reckless pierce like swords, but the tongue of the wise brings healing 

* The soothing tongue is a tree of life, but a perverse tongue crushes the spirit 

* Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs that it may benefit those who listen

I know that the Bible says all of that... and more about keeping your tongue in check. I know that our children learn about the world and how to respond to it (and to others!) by watching us. But, guys! I just have not been able to get a hold of this anger and extinguish it. 

I have tried: praying before speaking, counting to 10 (or 20... or 50), walking away to cool off, time-outs for the kids and Mama, whispering, taking it out on my body bag, screaming into a pillow or mattress... it is not like I am not trying to reign it in! Punching the body bag helps some, but I cannot just walk away from most situations and put on the straps and gloves and go at it. Especially if the kids are involved, that does not teach them anything... of course, yelling at them only teaches them to yell, too. So, I yell... they yell, they go play and I go to the kitchen and stuff my face with food so that I can make the guilt for yelling at them (and the anger I still feel, it takes me awhile to come down) simmer down. It is an awful cycle. Please do not misunderstand, there are days where nobody gets angry and everything is awesome. There are days where I get angry and I vent to Katie or Rose about it, while chewing on my cheek or lip instead of outwardly unleashing the anger. While these things may help me calm down quicker, none of them have been successful at lessening the anger. 

Several days ago I was on Pinterest looking up anger management. I read something that I was a bit skeptical about, but because I am a psychology major I was also intrigued. One of the pins titled Did you know? had this on it, "Using your non-dominant hand to do habitual tasks for two weeks can help calm your temper. Studies show people with anger issues also lack self-control, which can be strengthened like a muscle, and the annoyance of doing things with the wrong hand can gradually improve the ability to manage anger." Interesting, yeah? 

Well, Katie and I had been venting to each other that day... so I sent her the pin and asked her what she thought. We ended up agreeing to try it for 2 weeks. She is using her right hand for the two weeks, and I am using my left hand. We did put some caveats on it such as, not using our non-dominant hand for things that could cause bodily injury (chopping food and shaving, etc.). We write out the alphabet, and the date, and sign our names with our non-dominant hands. It has been a hilarious experiment, but it has also been a bit surprising. Over the past few days I have not blown up, or even felt as enraged, as I had been lately. She said she has noticed a difference, as well. Guys, this is technically only day 3/14! It is possible this is entirely a placebo affect, but ... what if it's not? I will keep you updated on this, because if I have found a way to help me manage my anger... I'll be a right-handed lefty for the rest of my life, even if it means I will have toddler-style handwriting!