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!

Why I'm Angry

I've done much soul-searching to try to get at the root of my anger. For the past few months, I haven't really understood my anger. Sure, I could recall instances in my life that have made me angry, but I'd eventually conclude that I was over the hurt and had forgiven all parties involved.

But now I'm not so sure. I mean, in 99% of those instances, I feel like I have forgiven all to the best of my ability. But the anger is still there, ready to spring up without a moment's notice. And today, I'm going to be brutally honest and tell you, dear readers, why I'm angry.

I'm angry because for nearly 20 years, I've felt forced to live in silence about a wrong I suffered during my childhood. I'm angry at my parents who have basically pretended, in the years since I've told them, that said wrong did not occur and have discouraged me from talking about it. I'm angry that they did not offer to take me to counseling, even though they knew I was hurting. I'm especially angry at my mother, who once implied that the wrong was not what I had said it was.

I'm angry that I've had to bear the weight of this wrong almost entirely on my own. I'm angry that there has been, up to this point, no safe forum for me to discuss this wrong, even in counseling. I'm angry at the law that says certain wrongs discussed with a counselor have to be reported to the authorities. I don't want to report anything; I just want to deal with my issues! I'm angry that no one seems to understand that.

I'm angry at the nasty, manipulative bastard who turned my best friend in high school against me to the point that she hasn't spoken to me in years. I'm angry that I never stood up to him and allowed him to treat me and my other friends like crap on his shoe. Just thinking about this guy makes me want to put my fist through a wall. A concrete wall.

I'm angry because I feel like I'm the only person in the world making an effort to heal, change, and forgive. I'm angry that I feel obligated to change while others remain the same sticks-in-the-mud they've always been. I'm angry at the times I should have stood up for myself and didn't.

I'm angry because I have to raise a child in a world that's full of evil, injustice, lies, ignorance, and violence. I'm angry at all the selfish pricks who take advantage of the innocent every day.

I'm angry because I don't feel I have a right to be angry. After all, others live in situations far worse than mine.

I'm angry because I don't have the kind of control over life that I want to have. I just want to wake up one day and be the right person, full of grace and serenity, but that doesn't happen most of the time. Sometimes I roll out of bed just to realize that I'm back to square one. That makes me angry, too.

I'm angry that I'm 27 and still dealing with some of these issues. I'm afraid I'll still be dealing with them when I'm 37. Fear angers me, and I'm afraid I'll always be angry. I pray to God that won't be the case.

Thanks for reading.

When Fears May Cease to Be

I have fears. I fear that my husband or son will be the victim of a fatal accident. I fear a stranger may try to hurt my son. I fear my son may hurt himself by one day running out into the street or jumping off a balcony. I fear that if such an accident took him from me, I would go completely mad and have to be committed.

Those are the irrational fears. When they surface, I deal with them in the following manner:

1. Count the facts. (My husband and son are strong and healthy. I don't have to worry about Will jumping off a balcony yet because he can't walk. Most accidents that occur in the home or at work are not fatal. My brother was a total spaz growing up and never met with a serious accident. Mental hospitals have nice padded rooms and visiting hours.)

2. Remind myself to focus on one day at a time. Sometimes I get so caught up in worrying about the future that the unpleasant scenarios of an entire decade pass through my head before I remember that the future isn't here yet.

Then there's this question: how do I raise my son into the person he should become when I'm not that person half the time?

I realize now that I was seriously depressed during my high school years, and had I gotten help back then, I could have been a little better off now. Unfortunately, my parents didn't believe in psychiatry or secular counseling back then. If you needed counseling, you went to see a pastor or a designated church counselor--someone who knew you and your family and saw you every week at services. I don't think those people could have handled anything I had to say. And the last thing I needed was for someone to quote two scriptures and try to "pray the Devil out" of me.

Don't get me wrong: I love scripture. Scripture has helped me many times when I have studied it myself. Prayer can also be very healing. But many Christian counselors view depression as a purely spiritual problem, and their approach to dealing with it can inflict major guilt on the person being counseled. After a while, you just don't want to tell them anything serious to avoid the feeling of being totally defective.

I think I'm going to need to seek counseling again after all, even if it means seeing that primary care physician I don't like. This time, I want a psychologist instead of a psychiatrist. All my last psychiatrist cared about was how my medication was working. I also don't want to go back on medication unless I absolutely need to. It does help in a way, but I just don't feel like myself when I'm on it, even with the tiny dose I had. I want someone to talk to, who can put things into perspective for me. Dealing with depression, for me, means facing it head-on--not turning my brain chemistry off.