It is coming on fast this time. I can feel it. I suppose it is a positive thing that I know when my dark times come. I can give people warning. Although, I imagine if they look hard enough it is easy to see it coming. I told Rob to be on the look out and he is. He’s kind of treating me like a fragile package which is smart for him because right now I’m mostly like a time bomb. You never know if I will react by screaming in your face or simply breaking down into tears. Although thinking about it, I’m not sure he really needed me to tell him. I think the other day when I looked over at him for no reason and said, “it would feel so good to punch you in the teeth right now,” with a dead serious smile on my face, he knew…in fact that might have been a dead give away huh?
I called my pediatrician yesterday just to verify that I really really can’t take anything. I asked about Ativan, Prozac and Zoloft. She said they were all classified as, “not enough testing done, could cause long term negative effects,” meaning she absolutely could not advise me to take anything. Her advice was to stop nursing. Which, awesome, yes let me stop eating my child who has a food aversion and refuses to eat anything but boobs.
I am happy though that the people in my life have finally stopped trying to offer me suggestions. I’ve been dealing with this for at least 15 years and personally I think I do a pretty great job of handling it with out medicine. I’ve tried everything and, for the most part I know what works. Honestly, when people make suggestions to me it makes me sad, it simply makes me feel as though they think something is wrong with me. I function fine, I go to work, I shower, cook and clean and act human, and yet they feel so bothered by me they have to tell me how I should change. I think it would simply be easier to allow me to work it out the best way I know how and just be there to listen. I guess, I tell you this now, so that if you have someone like me in your life it can serve as a warning, stop trying to tell them how to be different. You may think you are offering helpful advice but honestly to them, you might as well be screaming YOUR DOING IT WRONG PLEASE CHANGE WHO YOU ARE TO SUIT MY NEEDS. Just because you may be uncomfortable around a person like me doesn’t mean you need to tell me how to be different, either leave, or learn to deal with it. I’m not harming anyone so why on earth would you waste so much energy telling me I’m not handling my life right? It is a relief to have the people I have in my life. They simply act like a friend, listen and let me work it out myself.
I love when people ask me about it though. When they try and learn how I work instead of just sit back and judge. Katie spent a good 20 minutes on the phone asking me about stuff today. About my insomnia and my photographic memory that never stops. I was telling her about my mind. How the memories never shut off. I spend my day clicking through images. Remember those old school toys with the slide things you put in them, and then you would click through and see different pictures. That is exactly how my head is, only someone else is in charge of the clicking not me.
The worst part is, they aren’t even always worth while memories. For example, at least once a week I find myself remembering the time my friend Sandy’s mom asked her to make toast. So I went with her and watched as she slathered bread with margarine and then shoved it in the toaster. Butter was dripping out all over the counter and I was massively grossed out. This is a pointless memory yet I have to re-live it weekly. This is part of why I never sleep. The sleeping pills never did anything to shut down my mind. Can you imagine trying to sleep while your brain is busy replaying images of the time you went to Taco Bell and ate a taco, no not that time, the other time. Or how about trying to sleep when your mind won’t quit playing the time that guy brought you chicken noodle soup because you were sick, but you didn’t eat meat, but you didn’t want to make him feel bad so you ate the fucking soup anyway just to be nice. Yes. It is hard living in my head. The memories, the slide shows, they never stop and they span back to when I was about 3. Maybe earlier, because the memory that plays the most often of all is when my dog got stolen when I was very very little. Followed by the stupid memory of this sticker my dad had that said Phishlips. On my fucking deathbed I’ll still see that goddamn sticker in my head.
I hate the feeling of wait though. I hate knowing it is coming and having to just sit here and wait. It’s mostly here but the worst is yet to come. I never really talk about that time. That is when people really start worrying or feeling sorry for me. I know I’m thankful I found the man I did. He’s a special kind of person for dealing with this crazy. I’m trying to be more aware this time. More aware with the kids. If I sense myself getting angry or moody I’ve started letting Rob handle bed time for Brandon or having him hang out with him. It is easier then blowing up over nothing, yelling and then feeling worse then I already do because I’m a terrible mom who yells. It works well and I’m able to make sure every second I spend with my kids is happy and fun and relaxing.
I guess that is why I finally decided to entertain the idea of medicine. While I know I’ll still always have these periods, I also know the meds will help enough that I won’t have to walk on egg shells around my kids and family. I can’t wait to not be the mom who yells. I’m hopeful at the prospect that my kids will always remember a smiling dorky mom who just loved to play and hang out with them. I’m hopeful they will remember only fun story times at night, and games of tag, and cooking in the kitchen and never ever remember me having a full fledged melt down because the toothpaste fell off the toothbrush or because their hair wouldn’t comb just right.
Anyway, you are warned, I have no idea how my future posts will be. I’ll try to keep it light and fun, but there are no promises. At least now you know.