Catch-up

Since I've been out of the loop for a while, I should update everyone on what's been going on in my life for the past few months.

My husband and I recently celebrated 5 years of marriage and, really, things couldn't be better in that regard. We worked through the baby blues and finally reconnected on a very tender level. Reading over my past entries recently, I've realized that we've both matured a great deal over the past couple of years and have settled down to family life. My husband, while still pretty much agnostic, is now very supportive of my Christian faith and willingly attends church with me, even though he knows he doesn't have to.

A few months ago, my depression got really bad, so I finally broke down and asked for help. I saw a counselor for a few weeks and went to a psychiatrist for meds. Shortly after that, I found out I was pregnant. Now I'm not on any meds, but my depression appears to be well under control. Maybe it's the pregnancy hormones??

It helps that this pregnancy is going much better than my previous one. I'm about 15 weeks along now and haven't been physically sick in well over a week. I've been able to eat and gain weight normally, and haven't needed any trips to the ER to get rehydrated. It's been really nice. The only real complaint I have is occasional, excruciating back pain.

The one dark cloud in all of this is the situation with my parents. After thirty years of marriage, my mom asked my dad for a divorce. And she's well within her rights to do so. One thing I haven't talked about on this blog concerns what's been going on with them for the past couple of years. Just before William's first Christmas, my dad confessed that he had been unfaithful. And not just a little unfaithful, either. He had been involved in some pretty sick stuff. Turns out he's been a life-long sex addict. The whole family was just devastated--myself included. I fell into a very dark depression, went through the five stages of grief, and then told my dad if he wanted anything to do with my family in the future, he would go to counseling. And he did. He graduated from a 12-step program a couple of months ago.

My mom has been working this whole time on trying to forgive him. She's gone to counseling as well, read books on sex addiction, and has taken vacations with my dad to try to rekindle their marriage. But nothing has really worked for her. Her trust has been shaken too deeply. And Dad's been showing signs of falling off the wagon.

Now she's trying to figure out how to take the next step. Divorce means she will have to sell her house (which she adores), split any assets with my dad, and try to make it on her own. She won't stay in Tennessee; she wants to move closer to me. Which is fine by me. I'd love to have her spend some time with her grandkids.

As for me, I'm dealing with it ok. I'm disappointed that things couldn't work out for them, but I don't want Mom to stay in such a bad situation. I'm sure it will hit me a little harder later. It's hard to believe things have come to this.

Unwell

At this point, some of you are probably thinking I've entirely abandoned this blog. Well, not quite. I'm still here. Just not in the best frame of mind.

I don't know what's happening to me. In the past 3 to 6 months, my mental health has declined sharply. I've struggled to write, struggled fall asleep, struggled to get out of bed, struggled to concentrate, struggled to even buy groceries and feed myself. Sometimes it literally feels as if someone is driving a wedge between the two halves of my brain. Sometimes it feels like I'm hanging from a thread.

I decided a couple of weeks ago to seek professional help again. I had my first appointment with a counselor on Wednesday. I was looking forward to the appointment thinking that I would feel some measure of relief afterward. Apparently, I can't be that lucky. It was brutal, and I've felt emotionally raw ever since.

Yet, I realized some very important things from that session. First of all, I've neglected my mental and emotional health for far too long. I'm seeking help for issues now that I should have sought help for years ago. Second, there are some issues I thought I had laid to rest that are still bothering me deep down. Maybe this time I can finally move past them. I promise to keep you posted.

Thanks for hanging in there with me, dear readers.

Tough Week

This week has not been easy for me emotionally. I've been thinking quite a bit lately about my past, specifically my childhood and my experiences with my family. What started me thinking is that my mom is coming visit me in VA. I love my mother dearly and am looking forward in a big way to seeing her, but being around her tends to make me anxious. My mom has a habit of asking direct and pointed questions, the answers to which lead her to make suggestions that she expects to be followed. I'm a relatively structured and disciplined person, but my mother is at an entirely different level, and she has trouble understanding why I can't think and function as she does. My shortcomings in that way result partly from personality and partly from my battle with depression. Going about things slowly and approaching life in a more laid-back fashion is how I manage my stress. Otherwise, my head might explode.

There's another reason I'm feeling irked: my dad's birthday and Father's Day are both approaching, and as I discovered today, my feelings toward my father are not favorable at the moment. You may remember, dear readers, that just before last Christmas, a family crisis arose involving my parents. Well, certain actions of my dad's caused that crisis, and as I stood in Target trying to pick out a Father's Day card, I realized I am still angry at him. The hurt is so deep that I almost can't think of him as my father. I know in the past I have talked on this blog about how much I love my dad and how he cared about me and protected me growing up, but I feel like some of that was a form of denial. I stood in Target today sorting through cards that said, "You're the greatest dad ever!" and "Because of you, my life is amazing!", and I wanted to scream and walk away. None of it was true, and I couldn't in good conscience even buy a card that read, "I love you very much." Don't get me wrong: I still love my dad. But I'm so twisted and frustrated inside that I can't even lie to him for my own sake.

I hate feeling this way. It's so damn awkward and infuriating. I love him, but I hate him. When I hug him, part of me means it and part of me doesn't. Part of me wants to forgive and forget, but part of me can't get past the pain. It's very possible our relationship will always be this way. So, once you accept that something may never be normal, how do you proceed with it? I need to figure that out.

Something's Wrong (and I'm not a hippie)

I noticed something was wrong a few years ago when my husband and I drove together to Colorado and witnessed hundreds of cattle crammed together in muddy feedlots, the smell so rancid that you could detect it for a mile.

I noticed something was wrong again when I bit into a fresh strawberry and it tasted like oil.

I noticed something was wrong when I walked into a six-grade classroom and discovered nearly half the children were on psychiatric medication.

I felt something was wrong when I began hearing more and more complaints from young women about infertility and menstrual problems.

Something is wrong. A couple of days ago, the news reported that the number of asthma cases has increased by 12 percent over the past year. Considering the millions of people who suffer with asthma, that is not a small increase. That is an epidemic.

We weren't meant to live this way. We weren't made to eat chemically processed food. Cows and chickens were not made to live in tiny, fetid enclosures. Our bodies were not designed to function on long-term medications. Farmland was not made to be repeatedly replanted without rest. Yet anyone in the past who has made such statements has been labeled an alarmist, a hippie, or a paranoid freak. Now, though, bad trends are becoming difficult to ignore. When you hear that your life expectancy will likely be shorter than your parents', or when you walk down the street and see that well over half of all the people on the sidewalk are significantly overweight, you can't ignore the feeling that something is amiss. This is what we call 'instinct.' Instinct works to keep us alive and thriving.

I've decided to listen to my instinct. I'm going to start investing in my health. I'm going to try natural ways to treat and manage my depression. I'm going to take vitamins and buy more organic foods (I've discovered that they taste better without the chemicals). I know it's more expensive, but I can't continue to buy into the illusion that everything is fine and another pill will make me feel better. I know people on pills. They aren't better.

For now, I'm just making small changes. I will probably never be a vegetarian; I like steak too much for that. I'm not going to ban potato chips from my house or start growing wheat grass in my backyard. I'm not going to demand that the local McDonald's be shut down. But what I am going to do is encourage a more natural way of living. Cows do not belong in feed lots, eating corn. Strawberries should not taste like oil. And women my age should not be struggling to get pregnant. Something is wrong, and no one should be afraid to say so.

It's a Complicated Life

Sorry I've left all my dear readers hanging for so long. I'd have written sooner except my laptop died, and now my only computer access is limited to the room off of the kitchen--a place that is currently unfit for my child to play while I write.

Depression? Well, it's sometimes still bad. I've cried in bed a couple of nights thinking about the relationship between past hurts and current problems. Life has also been very stressful. My husband is not at all enjoying his job. He hates it and complains about it greatly. Yesterday, he was kept at work after 7 p.m. He's supposed to leave at 3 p.m. And he has duty today, which means he won't be coming home until tomorrow evening.

Even though my husband could potentially receive a bonus of $75,000 for reenlisting with the Navy, he's decided not to do it. That was tough to accept at first because he had been trying to reenlist for months and we had planned to pay off some bills with the money. A friend of ours in the same division reenlisted and received half of the money last week. Now I listen as his wife talks about her various shopping sprees, thinking, "We could have paid off my car! Put $10,000 in savings! Replaced all the ancient, broken windows in our house!" And then I want to shake her because she's talking about having bought a third set of dishes and now doesn't know what to do with the first two sets. But reenlisting even for that kind of security just isn't worth having a husband who is stressed, unhappy, and often absent from our son's life.

Now that I know money will be somewhat tight for a while, I've decided that I probably can't afford to go back to school for my Master's degree and teaching license. It's not that affording tuition is a problem--because I can get good financial aid--it's the childcare. My last sitter charged $9 an hour. That was fine when the hubby and I needed only a couple of hours to go on a date, but that adds up quickly when you're talking about attending classes full-time. So I've decided to put off school and look for work until we've paid off some of our bills. But even then, my husband and I aren't fully comfortable with leaving William in someone else's care all the time, and the situation is further complicated by my husband's wacky work schedule. Should I just be content that we're getting by for the moment and wait until William is in school to pursue my career? These are the questions that plague me. And it's tough because I'm used to working and finding fulfillment in achieving concrete goals.

Meanwhile, I picked up my Bible a couple of weeks ago and read Romans 8:5-6: "Those who live according to the flesh have their minds set on what the flesh desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace." Peace. That's what I need. Peace for this mind that is so troubled by pain, fear, and uncertainty. I have been meditating on this scripture at times, studying what it means to desire what the Spirit of God desires...and in doing so, I have found myself less focused on past wounds. Even though churches, pastors, and many Christian friends have failed me, nothing they have done has negated the power and truth I find in scripture. This is how my faith has survived even when others have given up theirs. Perhaps, if you are interested, I shall share my insights with you sometime, dear readers. Until then, enjoy this glorious spring.

Mean

Last night, something interesting happened. I posted an invitation in my Facebook status asking people to tell me anything they wanted to say to me. A childhood friend that I haven't seen face-to-face in years (since I was 13) sent me a message apologizing for being mean to me in school. The crazy thing is, I don't remember her ever being mean to me.

However, I do remember several other people being mean to me in school. I attended a private church school for several years in a very small town, and most of the people I went to school with were also my neighbors, family, and playmates. (The school had about 30 students ranging across several grades, so we're talking very small.) For some reason, my "friends" often chose me last for games, left me out of their group conversations, or whispered behind my back. Maybe it was that my parents taught at the school and my dad pastored the church, which made me the "teacher's pet". Maybe it was that I wore thick glasses and had unruly hair. Maybe it was that I didn't have nice things or a lick of fashion sense. Maybe it was that I made exceptional grades despite staring out the nearest window half the time. Maybe it was that I was socially awkward from being raised in a home where I was expected to act like an adult all the time and didn't know how to interact properly with my peer group. But the meanness still hurt, and I didn't realize how much it hurt until my friend apologized. What hurts the most is that the people I remember being mean will probably never apologize.

I realize now that this is a bigger issue with me than I previously thought. Now that I'm an adult with my own family and measure of success, I feel relatively accepted and respected by others. However, for years I felt angry at my extended family for their lack of concern and support. Just before my study abroad trip to Japan, a particular aunt asked my father why he was letting me go abroad. I was 22 at the time--hardly a child needing my parents' permission--and I had earned two scholarships that covered all but $1,000 of the $16,000 trip. There was never an offer of congratulations from anyone in my extended family: no phone calls, no cards, nothing. It was pretty much the same story when I graduated from college and when I got married. I once sent $200 to help two children in my family; their mother was in jail and being prosecuted for fraud, and their father (a good man) was ill in the hospital. No one even passed along a thanks. I'm sorry, but I just can't understand how people can act that way. It's unconscionable.

Since all of that, I put it out of my mind and determined to get on with my life. But some pain is still there. Will it ever go away?

Grieving

I remember...trees
Trees a century old, on an ancient hill.

I remember other trees in bloom

And worshipers that lay gazing at the crowded boughs.

I remember city lights and tea bowls

And women in lovely cotton robes...

Mounds of sweet dough rising in the sun,

Gilded temples to honor imagined gods.

I remember people everywhere,

Each one a world unto themselves, yet kind.

I remember all that I left,

And grieve at all that has been lost.

(Final image taken from the Web at http://bit.ly/heaURB)

*From September 2004 to July 2005, I lived in Japan as an exchange student. My time there was one of the greatest experiences of my life. The photos that I have posted here today (with the exception of the last) are from my personal collection, and are some of my favorites. Since the recent earthquake and tsunami there, I feel as if I have lost a dear friend. The news makes me weep. My thoughts and prayers are with the Japanese people and the friends and teachers I left behind when my visit ended. Thank you for reading.

Grappling with Uncertainty

My depression has been bad recently. It has nearly turned me into a person I don't like. I wrote a letter to my friends on Facebook recently, and I made this statement: "I often feel crippled by the uncertainty that comes with meaningful action." It's true.

I recently applied to a community college so I can start taking the prerequisite classes I need for my teaching degree, and the details are killing me. What will I do with William? What if we don't have enough money? What if I end up with no time to write or study? Meanwhile, I'm grappling with feelings of inadequacy when it comes to raising my son, worrying about money, and trying to deal with the constant craziness that is a normal part of my husband's job. It seems so much easier to just spend my days losing myself in pointless political debates and conversations, or to zone out in front of the TV. Meanwhile, my emotional constipation has grown to the point where I'm nearly sobbing at every sad commercial that comes on. I finally realized that all the debating was probably contributing to my anxious state, so, about two days ago, I cut it out of my daily life. I hope the change helps.

This past Sunday, I visited a church for the first time in months. My mom has been talking to me about getting back into church, and I know she's right. Faith has always been a big part of my life. The problem has been finding a church that's right for both me and my family. The way I think about God and church is so different now from what my parents believe. I don't think I would be comfortable going to the types of churches I attended as a child. The church I went to on Sunday had some of the most welcoming people I had ever met, and I want to go back. The service itself is a bit too structured for my taste, but I love the friendly atmosphere. That's most important to me. My mom wasn't thrilled to hear about their particular doctrine, but I loved that, too. I'm hoping I've finally found a place to call home.

An Interesting Self-Analysis

So, my mother finally seems to have accepted that I have depression and not just a "happiness problem" or a spiritual shortfall. The last few times I have talked to her on the phone, she has asked me how I am feeling and has asked if I need counseling or medication. (In the great scheme of things, I probably need both, but I digress...) A few days ago, she sent me an email that intrigued me. It's the Duke University study on “peace of mind.” I read it and then compared it to my experience.

Factors found to contribute 
greatly to emotional and mental stability are: 


1. The absence of suspicion and resentment. Nursing a grudge was a major factor in unhappiness.


I try not to hold grudges. I know they're dangerous. But sometimes I find myself getting angry over the way people have treated me in the past. Even when I think I'm over things, the bad feelings often come back to bite me when I least expect them.

2. Not living in the past. An unwholesome preoccupation with old mistakes and failures leads to depression.

It's not the past that has me up in arms; it's the present. I've enjoyed pretty good success in the past, so I feel like I should be accomplishing more now.

3. Not wasting time and energy fighting conditions you cannot change. Cooperate with life, instead of trying to run away from it. 


I think this describes me. I'm rarely shocked when life goes south. However, I do spend a lot of time expressing my opinion on political matters. I get upset when people supposedly smarter than me cannot solve obvious problems. Constantly spewing about it, though, probably isn't good.

4. Force yourself to stay involved with the living world. Resist the temptation to withdraw and become reclusive during periods of emotional stress. 


My husband and I just had a conversation about this. I DO need time to interact with other adults. Withdrawing only makes things worse in the long run. I'm going to start going out on Thursday nights to my favorite bead store and make jewelry with other women.

5. Refuse to indulge in self-pity when life hands you a raw deal. Accept the fact that nobody gets through life without some sorrow and misfortune.

I try. I swear I do. I know I have it good compared to others. Very good.

6. Cultivate the old-fashioned virtues—love, humor, compassion and loyalty.

This is where I believe I excel. The old-fashioned virtues enable self respect.

7. Do not expect too much of yourself. When there is too wide a gap between self-expectation and your ability to meet the goals you have set, feelings of inadequacy are inevitable.

Ouch. This is definitely a sticking point for me. If I had a list of all the things I think I should accomplish everyday, I'd have to move to Mongolia and live in a yurt with the Dali Lama. I often wish I could be the kind of super-productive, disciplined person who, at any time, has a spotless house, a pampered child, an exciting marriage, a multi-million dollar career, and three awards on my shelf. And then I have to remind myself that no one probably has all of those things at one time. It isn't easy.

8. Find something bigger than yourself to believe in. Self-centered egotistical people score lowest in any test for measuring happiness.

Those Duke people might as well cut me off at the knees with a chainsaw. Deep down, I'm an arrogant wench. The people closest to me know this, and I know my ego affects the way I perceive myself, my accomplishments, and my environment. I'm not sure if I should just accept this about myself or really strive to change it. Trust me, I've been knocked off my own pedestal a few times in the past, and I doubt those will be the only instances. I'm thankful, in part, for my failures, because they help keep my head in reality.

How do you measure up on the "peace of mind" scale?

Navy Blues

This week, I'm hating the Navy. Normally, I'm fine with military life. It's been pretty good to us. When my husband and I married over three years ago, we pretty much had nothing to our names. Now we have a house, two new cars (one paid in full), a high-def television and furniture. But the Navy has been ticking me off lately and adding to my stress.

First of all, they can't handle a simple task like filing paperwork unless a generous amount of kissing up is involved. Back in early November, my husband applied for reenlistment, which comes with a pretty hefty bonus that will pay off our other car and rebuild our savings account. Well, the reenlistment office lost his paperwork. Twice. And then when my husband went to request his medical records to submit with his reenlistment package, he was told the records were lost. It took a week to find them. In the middle of all that, the guy in charge of reenlistment went on vacation for two weeks. Then when the paperwork finally went through, the office lost the approval notice and had to file a request for another one to be rushed in. When my husband asked about his reenlistment status last week, he was told that it should go through IN APRIL! Other sailors on the same ship have reenlisted and received their bonuses, start to finish, within a month.

So now that the holidays are over and we won't be seeing the bonus money for a while, we're managing our finances pretty tightly so we can pay off some bills and save some money. Except my husband's coworkers have some very sticky fingers and keep taking my husband's stuff, which has to be replaced. At first it was little things, like pens and thermoses. But last month it was my husband's virtually brand-new Navy parka that he had bought to keep from freezing to death on his mile-long walk from the parking lot to the ship. (As far as military clothing goes, it's about the most expensive item on the rack.) This week, it was the nice pair of boots he bought six months ago that should have lasted for another year. He actually had to get off of duty yesterday to go buy another pair. My husband receives a $300 clothing allowance about twice a year--which hardly begins to cover everything he's required to have--and the two items recently stolen from him are already in excess of that. You'd think that with morale being a concern on his ship right now that the people in charge would do more to discourage and punish theft, but it seems they couldn't care less. In fact, they recently had all the sailors in my husband's division give up half their assigned lockers so the lockers could be available for another use. So now these sailors don't have a secure place to store even half their stuff.

And then it gets worse: some first class petty officer thinks he should get special treatment because of his rank, so he demands the best duty shifts, which gets my husband (a second class) assigned to the worst shifts. The chiefs in charge often don't assign work until after lunch, making everyone stay late to get the work done, then scream at the sailors for being lazy and incompetent. The insanity just goes on and on, and I'm getting pretty sick of it. My poor husband comes home discouraged, exhausted, and depressed. Some days I feel like I can hardly take care of myself, and then I spend all day taking care of our son and all night soothing my husband. Sometimes, it's just too much. FTN

Gimme Three Steps

So I've been battling it out the past few weeks with a pretty bad bout of depression, and I think I'm finally starting to come around. The relief I felt after my floor-mopping therapy lasted a good full day, and then I was back to wanting to put my head through a window. Thank God for my best friend who helped me through it, despite being a thousand miles away in Chicago. What saved me after that was a cold I caught from my husband. Sounds silly, I know, but finally getting several full nights of sleep (thanks to NyQuil) did wonders for my state of mind. After that, I decided to let family problems work themselves out.

Now I'm back to working my way out of the fog. Except I get about three steps forward before I'm ready to take a couple of steps back. When did life become so scary? Why is it so hard to make decisions these days? Case in point: I'm right back to square one when it comes to my career. Again. This is quite literally the umpteenth time. I have a choice: I can find a good day-to-day job with the qualifications I have now, or go back to school for two years and try for a teaching position. Choice one means my best skills will probably be underutilized. Choice two means adding the expense of college tuition to babysitting fees for William's care, plus risking that a teaching career will be less fulfilling than I expect due to state budget cuts to education and the stress of teaching to standardized tests. This may be one of the most agonizing decisions I've ever made, and it's made even more agonizing by the thought that it should be an easy one. I just want to work and be happy.

Meanwhile, William is learning to walk. So far, he's managing about one step at a time, but two nights ago he struck out with three whole steps. I know he'll be off any day now, and it's so exciting. Just gimme three steps, baby!

Relief

Today was almost a total waste. I spent most of the day lying on the floor and watching TV while my son played around me. I didn't even have the presence of mind to actually look for a show that would spark my interest, so I zoned out to The Cat in the Hat. I struggled to do anything. By the time my husband came home at 5:30, I had managed to wash one load of clothes--pitiful for someone who stays home all day.

So I decided not to let the evening go to waste, too. After cooking dinner and washing the dishes, I decided to mop the kitchen floor. And then I realized I hadn't mopped the kitchen floor since we moved into our house. In October. And, boy, did it show. There were sticky bits of food everywhere. I had to scrape most of it up by hand. I was embarrassed to realize I had let it get so bad. I am normally a clean person.

And then, right as I finished, I magically felt better. Looking at the gleaming floor filled me with an amazing sense of accomplishment--not that I had earned a Ph.D. or a Pulitzer, but that I had finally stopped procrastinating and done something that directly benefited myself and my family. I could walk across the floor without crumbs sticking to my socks or feeling lumps under my feet. I could let William crawl on it. The kitchen looked brighter, smelled fresher. I felt more energized than I had in weeks.

It seems odd that something so small and insignificant could make such a difference, but it does. Looking around and seeing things dirty and disorganized takes a toll on a person's psyche. A clean, beautiful space soothes and inspires. I've learned that depression often operates on a negative feedback cycle: a person feels depressed and procrastinates, tasks are left undone, person feels bad about undone tasks, depression worsens, person procrastinates further, and so on. After a while, a person becomes a prisoner in her own mind, crippled, hardly able to function. At that point, breaking the cycle can seem overwhelming and impossible. But once a person takes the first step, the weight can lift quickly.

So if anyone out there can relate, mop a dirty floor and see how you feel afterward. It might just be the simplest thing you can do to help yourself.

Thanks, dear readers, for all of the wonderful comments and support you have given me in the past two weeks. It is appreciated.

10 Things I Hate about Depression

10. Nothing's happening.

At least, it feels like nothing's happening, because I don't want to do anything. Even when I manage to accomplish something, like washing the dishes or straightening the house, all I seem to see are the dozen other tasks that are left undone.

9. You suck.

I can't handle other people's problems or grouchiness. I just don't have the empathy.

8. I don't understand.

I don't understand how I can be on the verge of manic one minute, and practically crying in my soup the next. I don't understand how screwing up a simple meatball dinner can nearly send me over the edge. I don't understand how feeling sad can make me obnoxious and vengeful.

7. These walls are getting old.

I've almost forgotten what outside looks like. I'd love to go somewhere on my own, but I can't muster the effort.

6. Sleep is for the sane.

Even when I do get a full night's sleep, I still crave more.

5. Every song is a sad song.

I just want to listen to the radio without wanting to put my fist through a window. Is that too much to ask?

4. Here we go again.

It's always the same crap: same issues, same thoughts, same emotions--the ones I always think I have dealt with weeks/months/years before.

3. Emotional constipation.

I feel like crying at all the wrong times, and then don't. I've spent entire days feeling weepy and getting nowhere.

2. Everybody suffers.

You, me, my son. His first birthday is in three days, and I haven't done anything to plan a party. I feel like a terrible mother.

1. Entire years of my life have possibly drained away at this point.

I'm 28 and feel like I have little to show for it. Sometimes I think I've spent my entire life this way. I have to get help.

An Eve of Mourning

It is a new year. Normally, I would be celebrating. I like new things, including years. It's a chance to leave the past behind and make a fresh start. It's a time to make new goals and look forward to exciting possibilities.

I sorely wish that were true this year.

Shortly after Thanksgiving, the past came back to bite my family. The fallout has been devastating, and the situation continues to unravel, even if slowly. At times when I think it couldn't possibly get any worse, it does. Right now, I honestly don't know if I could be any more frustrated. Grief has me in a vise. All I want to do is sleep and stare at the walls. I'm lost in an anxious fog. I'm powerless, and I don't know how to cope. If it seems I have been remiss in my writerly duties, this is why. My mind can hardly form a thought.

The only bright spot has been my son, who knows no grief. He is getting close to his first birthday now, and he is rapidly transitioning from babyhood to boyhood. About a month ago, he came off the bottle completely and started taking liquids through a straw. He feeds himself with amazing dexterity, and will eat just about anything. He can play peek-a-boo with me by raising and lowering a blanket in front of his face. We can spend the day playing games, and he loves every minute. He is here, in this form, for such a time as this. I don't know how I'd stay sane any other way.


He simply embodies happiness.

Eventually, I will have to make a decision about my family as far as what my relationship with them will be. That decision will depend on what happens in the next few weeks and months--and what I work out in counseling. As of now, though, it is not a new year for me. It is just the turn of the calendar, a strike of the clock. The sense of newness has been tarnished. Forgive me.

Irony

Sometimes you open a can of worms not realizing that someone else is about to open a barrel of snakes. Which means, your can of worms doesn't cause the uproar you thought it would.

But then when the barrel of snakes is opened, you sort of wish you were just dealing with your can of worms. Because the snakes are full of venom that gets into old wounds and creates a few new ones--both for yourself and for everyone involved.

I apologize for the bizarre analogy, but it's a tough time for me and my family right now. And, as usual, I'm not at liberty to provide details on the situation. But I will say that it involves my parents, myself, and my brother, and the people who touch us: our spouses and children. It also involves a lot of grief. My nerves have been stretched tighter than a guitar string for over a week now. Sometimes I nearly break down and cry. My mother-in-law called today to say she would be leaving tomorrow to come visit us for Christmas, and I nearly blanked out completely. I just sat there on the phone sputtering, trying to make my mind function. Really? It's already less than a week until Christmas?

What am I going to do?

I've been sitting around the house in a stupor for days. I've wanted to write, but felt too overwhelmed to make the effort. I've tried to keep up the housework, but I feel like it's pointless and that I get nowhere. Part of the reason is that the living room is in the early stages of being remodeled. There's drop cloths taped to the floor and not a piece of furniture anywhere. It's my baby's first Christmas, and I don't even have a tree to put gifts under. I feel like no matter what I do, the house will never be clean because I don't have the space right now to organize things the way I want them. There are also mountains of opened mail on the desk by the back door. I've tried to sort the pile, but it never seems to go away. I just want to scream.

A breakthrough, though: the other day on the phone, my mom asked me if I thought I had gotten enough counseling for certain things that had happened to me in the past--things that my mother hasn't wanted to acknowledge. I've been waiting over 10 years to hear that question, and I thought I might never hear it. I told her no, but maybe now would be a good time to seek out a counselor and talk about those things. We'll see what happens with this barrel of snakes.

Angry Again

I should have been asleep three hours ago. I know I'm going to wake up so exhausted in the morning to deal with my 9-month-old son, and I'm going to be miserable most of the day. That's how it always happens when I stay up late.

But I'm sooo freaking angry right now, too angry to sleep. You see, I've torn my house apart looking for the year's supply of contact lenses I just purchased a month ago, and I can't find them ANYWHERE. I can't find them because my husband packed them when we were moving from the apartment. He doesn't remember seeing them, or what box or bag (if any) he put them in. The same goes for the really nice Oakley sunglasses I also just purchased. And the brackets that attach some of the shelves to our set of bookcases. And I'm not sure he cares.

I'm also not sure he listens. For his occasional requests to "Talk to me; talk to me," I don't think he remembers a word I say. The last time we moved (from SC to VA), I complained about his packing methods--which are, shove everything into a box or Rubbermaid container and move it. No labeling or organization involved. Then he spends the next two weeks asking ME where everything is since I'm the one who has to put most of it away. This time, he moved some of our stuff in trash bags. I warned him that doing so could cause confusion about what was actually our possessions and what was trash. So I'm now convinced that my contact lenses and sunglasses are taking up space in a local landfill, because there's no trace of them anywhere in this house.

I'm so sick of always trying to be the better person. I try to work on my personal flaws, but the effort doesn't appear to be reciprocated, and I'm tired. He sees that I'm unhappy and asks what he can do to make it better. I've got an answer: listen when I say shit and act accordingly. And while you're at it, act like you give a damn.

Lonely

This will not be an uplifting post full of optimism.

This will not be a brave attempt to put a smiling face on a cloudy thought.

I am lonely. In the midst of all the stress and craziness that has been my life for the past three months, my loneliness has become blindingly, achingly apparent. Aside from my husband, I have no kindred spirit with which to connect. I absolutely hate when my husband asks if I would like to get out or take up a social activity, because I'm embarrassed to admit even to him--even though he already knows--that I have no one to go out with. So when he asks, I just mutter something, or say "I'll think about it," and end up staying at home. Like a hermit.

The last good friend I made was two years ago when I lived in South Carolina. She was around my age and had some education. When we got together, we talked for hours. But she struggled very hard with depression, so she rarely went out. Heck, sometimes she rarely got out of bed before mid-afternoon. And then my husband found reason to despise her husband, so hanging out became too awkward. The situation deteriorated further when she and her husband became influenced by some hardcore Christian fundamentalist doctrine--the same kind my husband and I had been trying to get away from for the past few years. Needless to say, the friendship dissolved like bubbles in a pond.

When it comes to making friends, I seriously wonder if I'm just too picky. Is it too much to ask that I have someone close to my age? Married? Educated--or, at least, intelligent? Funny? Interesting? Emotionally stable? Ambitious? Loyal? Heck, if I could just find someone who hit four out of the eight, I might consider the search a success. But it seems I always end up with the dysfunctional ones, or the ones that are too soon 1,000 miles away.

Ah, so much of the world is lonely.

Strain

So I'm finally ready to talk about my physical strain.

It seems I'm suffering from a problem that has hit a few decades early: degeneration of the spine. One of the disks in my lower back is bulging out slightly, which is getting uncomfortable and putting pressure on the nerves that run into my left leg. When I walk or stand for long periods of time, a burning pain and numbness begins a few inches above my ankle and spreads up my leg and down into my foot. It has become somewhat limiting in the past few weeks, especially because I fear going hiking with my husband. I don't want to get a mile down a trail and be unable to get back.

When I first heard the results of the doctor's diagnosis, I was devastated. It's not cancer by any means, but...I'm only 27! What will this mean when I'm 40? Fifty? What if I lift something heavy (like my child) and further injure my back? Will I need surgery? Or will I simply become limited even further?

But since I've had some time to think about it, I'm ok. Still unhappy and a little scared, but ok. The doctor has put me on medication for inflammation, and I'll call my insurance to schedule some physical therapy next week. If these two things can help me, maybe my life can get back to normal.

I Haven't Fallen Off...

...I just haven't had the mind to get on.

My husband and I are set to close on our house Thursday. So far, I've only packed two boxes and one Rubbermaid container with books. I could easily pack another six boxes with books. I think we have more books in this apartment than we do anything else. They're taking over EVERYTHING! They're stacked on my husband's dresser. They're piled in the top of William's closet. Books coming out of every nook and crevice.

I need more boxes. And about three more bookshelves for the new house.

I'm excited about the move, but I've had a tough time coping with stress this past week. Part of my struggle has had to do with William. He recently went through another stage of growth and development, and this one was a little rough for him. He whined almost constantly. The slightest bump on the head sent him screaming. He didn't want to be held, put down, or left alone. Nothing made him happy. Now, thankfully, he seems to be better, but for a few days there I considered throwing myself through the apartment window to escape him.

Because of all this, I went into another "blanking out" phase several days ago. I've discovered this is how I function: periods of high efficiency and productivity followed by periods of almost brain-dead behavior. Since realizing this, I've been able to channel my energy more effectively. For instance, I spent much of my recent "blank out" working on my second novel. (I have about 15 pages now.)

I've also been able to manage my time and behavior better this time so I can still fulfill my responsibilities. If I know I need time to relax or escape, I take it. In exchange, I set deadlines for meeting my obligations so I won't procrastinate indefinitely. So far, it's working. I just hope I can keep it up. I still need to pick out paint colors for the house!

Bittersweet

After all the frustration my husband and I have suffered while trying to purchase our first home, it finally appears that we will succeed. A few weeks ago, we put in a bid for a beautiful 1940's house in the historic district of our city, not far from the shipyard where my husband's ship is stationed. After much haggling over the contract and a few bumps in the process, everything is set to go through. The house passed inspection and is being appraised today. All that is left is to sign the final papers, which should happen at the end of this month. One of my joys lately has been dreaming about that house and all the room William will have to play in it.

He needs more room. He is crawling much faster, pulling up to low surfaces, and getting into everything. Watching him has become exhausting. I've had to remove him countless times from electrical wires (which he LOVES to play with), fish fuzz and rug fibers out of his mouth, and comfort him from all the times he's fallen or crawled head-first into the coffee table. I'm pretty much confined to the living room while my husband is at work, unable to let William out of my sight for more than a handful of seconds. A designated play area just for him would be a godsend.

But there is a cloud hanging over me as we prepare to transition to our wonderful new home. I finally saw my doctor concerning the physical strain I have been suffering, and the news is not good. I do not have all of the information yet, so I do not know how serious my condition is or what my treatment will be. But the initial diagnosis has me pretty devastated. There's a reason I feel like I'm 27 going on 80--it's because, in a way, I am. That's all I feel comfortable saying. For now, I'm just waiting until I can get more answers, which should happen in two weeks--and trying to keep my head together.