Aunt Lorraine

I don't know where to start.

I know it has been a seriously long time since I've blogged.

Until tonight it has also been a really long time since I talked to my parents or my sister Debbie.

I don't know where I am mentally.

On one hand I feel better than I've felt in a long, long time. I feel like me. I feel happy and confident and not depressed.

You would think that's a good thing.

But the days that I feel the best....I feel the worst.

Doesn't make sense, does it?

Christmas was great. For Christmas I planned a series of trips for the family. Link got a trip to Dublin with me in January. Hannah got a trip to Paris and London with me in February. Jake got a trip with the whole family to Niagara Falls in April.

I was happy. I was excited for our travels. I had actually paid for almost all of Christmas with the debit card and not the credit card.

And yet.

I cut.

I cut myself on Christmas. Two long slashes along my arm.

Why?

I don't know.

It had been one of the happiest days I've had in a long time.

But I did.

And then a few days later I was curled up in the fetal position afraid to take care of my kids while Link was at work.

Then New Years Eve came along.

Once again, it was a good day. We had Lincoln's brother and sister-in-law over. There was good food, a few drinks, and a fun time playing cards.

But the night ended in tears, a lot of cutting, and me in the treehouse by myself praying to a God I don't necessarily believe in.

I think about this blog all the time.

I have notes all over my desk about funny conversations that I've had with the kids. About things that are happening at work or at home.

And yet, I don't care.

I don't want to blog.

For a long time this blog was very enjoyable for me. I loved the fact that it's a diary of my kids' childhood.

And maybe that's why right now I don't want to record what is happening.

I'm happy and yet apparently I'm miserable. Maybe subconsciously I don't want to record what is happening in my life right now.

If I have learned nothing else over the past year, I've learned that depression is not something you can control or even understand.

And apparently it's not something I can conquer.

At least not yet. But I'm going to keep trying.

So, what does this have to do with Aunt Lorraine?

I don't know.

I was reading a book tonight and it made me think of her. How she lives in a very, very, VERY small town in Iowa and lives a fairly simple life with Uncle Bob. She is always warm and welcoming and even if you drop by without a moment's notice she'll lay out a spread of food like she has been expecting your visit for months.

She symbolizes home. And comfort. And family.

And whatever it was that I was reading earlier that triggered my memories of her got me to blog tonight about my problems.

I guess, in that way, she still symbolizes home, and comfort, and family.

And that's what I need to hold onto.

Memories and Regrets

Over the last few months I have worried about how my depression has affected my kids in many different ways. I must admit, one of those ways is the fact that I haven't been blogging about my kids and the funny things they do and say. I love going back and choosing a random month from the archives and reading about something the kids did that I had completely forgotten about. The fact that so many memories haven't been recorded in the past few months makes me incredibly sad. I know that despite the misery of the past few months we've had some great times as well. At best I manage to write up a quick recap on Facebook but I haven't committed much to keeping up with the blog. I just haven't had it in me and that makes me sad.

A few weeks ago, during one of our regularly scheduled Friday night Mexican dinners with my friend Tracy, I somehow started thinking about how when Jake was first born Hannah used to always want to play "baby on the doorstep." It was a big elaborate game we would play where she would pretend that she found Jake on the doorstep and we had to bring him in, decide to keep him and then I would always suggest naming him Henry which she always rejected. That game went on for months and yet it was something I haven't thought about in years. I didn't have the blog back then so of course I never wrote it down anywhere and I'm glad that I can do it now. It does make me sad though to think of all those other memories that I never recorded the past few months.

Another memory that I had forgotten about until that night was "Hecuba Buttmunchkin". When Hannah was little we always used to call her buttmunchkin (and still do sometimes). I used to tease her that her real name was Hecuba Buttmunchkin and she would get so mad at me. I told her that it was what was on her official birth certificate and she wouldn't be able to convince me otherwise. It used to get her so riled up and always made me laugh.

You always think, in the moment, that you'll never forget that funny joke or special thing that the kids did, but you do. Even when it's a game you played for months and months and you figure you'll be playing that same game until they're old and gray, you don't realize until years later when you're sitting around eating enchiladas that one day that game just stopped.

And that's just depressing (pun intended).

Still alive

Wow, it has been two and a half weeks since I've posted last. Is anyone still out there?

So, let's see, what has happened in those past two weeks?

Oh.....

Right.....

I committed myself - at my doctor's suggestion - to a psychiatric hospital.

The good news is, it was one of the top three psych hospitals in the country with such famous alumni as Sylvia Plath, John Nash, Steven Tyler, and pretty much the entire Taylor family including James Taylor (at least according to Wikipedia).

So I spent roughly 48 hours in a locked facility that, once admitted, I wasn't allowed to leave without a doctor's approval. And if I wanted to force said approval I had to put it in writing and then they had three business days to approve my discharge or petition the court to keep me there.

Wow.

That's some serious business.

So how did I end up at McLean?

Well, it all started by chewing on the inside of my lip.

Which evolved into me biting on my tongue until it was so sore I could barely taste my food.

Which then evolved into me using a scissors to scratch - not cut - a couple dozen marks on my left arm. Some drew blood, most didn't, but it didn't matter. It looked like my arm lost a battle against 100 angry kittens.

And all that got me a round trip ticket to the Nut Hut.

Luckily I was the least nuttiest nut in the nut hut and I was released after 48 hours. I didn't spend much time with the doctors or attend a lot of therapy sessions but I think it did the trick none the less. I like to think of it as the "Scared Straight" program for crazy people. Because as much as I know I needed the help - and the adjustments they made to my meds were possibly life saving - the worst part was knowing that I could lose my freedom, my ability to see my kids whenever I wanted to, and that there were people - of all ages - that have it a lot worse off then me.

So now I'm home. I've had a really good week and I'm starting to feel like myself again. Am I cured? No. But when I start to feel overwhelmed I sit down, think about what is bothering me and why, and come up with a game plan to tackle it so that I never, ever end up back there.

It's time for a step back

I haven't written much about my battle with depression on the blog. I haven't even mentioned it since the end of June to be exact. And those of you that read this blog regularly, you've obviously noticed I don't post nearly as often as I used to either. Unfortunately, despite a supply of pills and a great psychiatrist, this battle is one I'm slowly losing....for now.

I feel like I'm broken and I don't know how to fix it.

I do feel like I'm in good hands with my doctor though and I know that Lincoln and my family and friends will be with me through it all but it's still a tough time. As someone who also once suffered from depression told me, "it will get worse before it gets better, but it will get better." That's what I'm hanging all my hopes on.

Today I spoke with my bosses about taking a leave of absence from work. I need time away from the office to get away from the stress there and try to get stuff in my personal life and around the house in order. I just feel like there is so much piling up that I'm going to get buried under it all and it makes me feel like I'm suffocating. After I spent last Thursday, in my pajamas, at my shrink's office, I knew it was time to ask for some time off work.

I talked with my bosses today and they both immediately agreed to this new situation. They've been wonderfully understanding through this whole process and I couldn't ask for anything more from them.

I told Lincoln, and my mother as well, that you can tell when I'm slipping into a bad spot. I stop answering emails, I stop opening the mail, and I stop blogging. Those are the "superficial" signs of my mood. I think the eyes that won't stop crying, the lack of showering, and the long periods curled up by myself in the bedroom staring at the TV are two clues that Link sees way too often.

My mom is coming out next Sunday and staying for two and a half weeks. I've asked her for help getting my life back together but I told her I need to be able to walk away and hide when I feel like it. I know she'll be very understanding even though it will be frustrating to her. It's hard for anyone to understand when they haven't been through it before. Heck, it's hard for me to understand. And like I told Mom, I'm learning my way through this too so just follow my lead. I'm just glad she's going to be here. As wonderful as Link is, sometimes I just want my Mommy.