Depression

Brain Zaps, Random Pizza, Temper Tantrum, and Life Thoughts

Brain Zaps, Random Pizza, Temper Tantrum, and Life Thoughts

Brain Zaps, Random Pizza, Temper Tantrum, and Life Thoughts

Brain Zaps, Random Pizza, Temper Tantrum, and Life Thoughts.  Have you ever looked at yourself in wonder where you went?  That young person you were, is no longer there.  The young adult you were went by in sheer survival mode.  The 30s were supposed to revive you, yet it flew by in a trauma tornado.  40s were the “new” 30s and sadly, you missed that decade too.

Who Am I Now?

Honestly, I have no clue.  I was told, now that my house is dwindling down in children, that I need to start trying new things to see what I like.  My taste might have changed.  I liked singing, drawing, needlepoint, and reading.

Now, singing is a thing of the past.  Whenever I turn a song on, I usually bawl my eyes out.  Drawing and needlepoint is not gonna happen because of my tremors.  Reading, I could get into that again but once I start a book, I cannot stop and everything gets neglected.

So, what am I to do?  Take up horseback riding (did that, too old now), rodeo clown, runner, Bible thumper, interpretative dance?  None of those things sound appealing.  What does a woman, almost 49 years old do?  I would love to go back to work, but doing what I want to do which is counseling.  Maybe I would enjoy getting my Ph.D. That costs LOTS of money, that I don’t necessarily have to dedicate to another 2 years of college.  I mean, lets face it, I’m still paying for my Master’s and I never use it.

Is This Depression Talking

Making friends is not high on my agenda, going to brunches…not my thing.  Idle chitchat stresses me out.  Leaving the house stresses me out.  I love counseling and helping people.  Yet, without having my license that is not gonna happen.

What do people do?  I am not the same person I was in my 20s, 30s, and 40s.  Vastly different if you ask me.  A lot of that is mental illness and living in survival mode.  Let’s face it, I’m still actively raising children.  My youngest is only 7.  The 3 kids, still under my roof, all have some sort of special need that requires time and attention.

I guess I should be an uber driver.  Maybe that is the answer.

That is kind of where I am at today.

It has been a quiet day, filled with at least one whacko thing (if you don’t count the “why is there a slice of pizza in the back of my van…where did it come from…how long has it been there..when was the last time we even ordered a pizza” conundrum), and one moment of flat out rage.

This rage came out of nowhere on this pretty, beautiful weather, cool type day.  It started off with “hey, where is your mask?” and it ended with me taking an antianxiety pill and said child hanging out in their room.  We are both taking a time out…yet I haven’t seen this child enough today to even need a time out from them.

Honestly, what the heck is wrong with me?  My poor family.  I hate they have to deal with my mental instability.  I want better for them, all the way around.  The anxiety and depression shouldn’t affect them and I pray that they never inherit it.  I hate it.  All of it.

I am pro medication, holistic medication, meditation, Jesus, therapy.  All of those things I still do, but here I am…having a moment…over a mask.  So stupid.

Yes, I’m questioning my life and sanity over one simple question.

Seriously, what is wrong with me?  I started feeling it come up from my toes.  Literally, I put my fingers over my lips…yet I continued.  In my head, I could hear that still small voice saying “enough, young lady.”  I ignored it and acted a fool through my (literally) clamped lips.  Oh, and add that to the brain zaps of weaning yourself off of antidepressants because the one you are on makes you want to do not so nice things to yourself.

Good times, all the way around.

Now, my dog is being a rebel and walking in the cul-de-sac, my cat thinks she is an outdoor cat and darted out, the random piece of pizza is still in the back of the van, I forgot one kid at school, then I took one kid 2 hrs early to work because we both forgot when he was supposed to be there, and supper is a “new imaginative” dish that I concocted from the meal I invented last night.

Tis the life.  Now, off to go and apology, do spelling words, figure out why this random spot in my house is sticky, and maybe cry.

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Perspective from Mr. Rogers

Perspective from Mr. Rogers

Perspective from Mr. Rogers

 

Here is some Perspective from Mr. Rogers from Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood.  This is what to do when you overreact and have regret.  “Many people have asked me do you ever get mad and of course I answer “well yes, everyone gets mad sometimes.”  The important thing is what we do with the mad that we feel in life.

A few weeks ago coming home from a particularly tough day at work, I stopped to see my two grandsons.  Their mom and dad weren’t there but the boys were there with the babysitter in the backyard, squirting water with hoses.  I could see that they were really having fun.  but I felt that I needed to let them know that I didn’t want to be squirted.

Do Not Squirt Me

So I told them so, and little by little, I could feel that the older boy, Alexander, was testing the limit until finally, his hose was squirting very close to where I was standing.  I said to him in my harshest voice, Okay, that’s it alexander turn off the water, you’ve had it.

He did as I told him and said he was sorry and looked very sad.  The more I thought about it, the sadder I got.  I realized Alexander had not squirted me.  That I had stepped into his and his brother’s playtime with a lot of feelings leftover from work.

Guilt

So when I got home, I called Alexander, on the phone.  I told him I felt awful about my visit with him. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was taking out my anger from work on him.  I told him I was really sorry.

Do you know how he answered me?  Oh, Baba, everybody makes mistakes sometimes.  I nearly cried.  I was so touched by his naturally generous heart.  I realized that if I hadn’t called him, I might not have ever received that wonderful gift of Alexander’s sweet forgiveness.”

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