Pre-Funk

Ehh.

I had a great weekend. Fun family stuff, a little me time at the salon, and even a date night. It was perfect, actually. Now, today, feels totally off.

My list for the week is full of good things. Gift wrapping, Ben’s holiday pageant, planning meals and snacks for the holiday. All fun things I should be excited about. I’m not. I feel blah, and like I want to sleep all day.

This pisses me off. I can do one of two things, lean in or push back. I have to push back! If I don’t it will get worse, every day. I have to write out exactly what to do each day this week and I have to DO IT no matter how I feel. It should be a good week, one full of anticipation and joy, not full of weighty bullshit going on in your head for no reason at all.

I have been really into the season, and I will keep going. I will keep moving until the feeling comes back. And it will, it always does, I just have to Go. And Keep Going.

So! I will watch my favorite holiday movies and I will wrap gifts and paint my nails an wear a dress and bake cookies and just keep going until it all feels whole and happy again. I know I am both of these things, I do, I just have to kick my self in the ass every few hours so I don’t forget.

 

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Progress

When I wake in the morning, as I slowly come to, I wait and feel until something tells me how I am. What is today? Am I well, am I iffy, am I off? You’d think that a person wakes up the same everyday, that you get out of bed fine and as the day progresses you know how you are. Something happens that can shift it, but I don’t get to do that. Life has a hand in how I feel, for sure, but, first, I check in with my head.

I’ve said before that meds are a band-aid for a disease, that after time, and often without warning, the adhesive gives and something has to change. You either rip it off or you try with all you have to make it stay on. My band aid started to give last October, and despite all of my encouragement for it to stick, I ripped that fucker off.

I did what I think a lot of people (probably) do. You decide that you’re done with this. “This” isn’t working for you any longer and that you can handle it on your own. I had a lot of reasons to stop my meds, but the biggest one was I hoped, the tiniest bit of hope, that I could survive on my own. That I could fight. I could win.

Well, we know how that turned out.

It’s been just 2 weeks since I’ve been back on the pharmaceutical wagon and when I check in with myself in the morning, it’s iffy. I’m still moody, a little on edge and a lot fragile. But I’m getting better, again.

Being well is such hard work.

I wish I could just pop a few pills in the morning and be done. It should be that easy, right? Here’s your RX go sing with the birds. I wish. I wish I didn’t have to unravel once a week on my therapists couch. That I didn’t have to take a depression and anxiety assessment every night before bed. I wish that I didn’t have an actual happiness handbook, but I do. I do, and I have to use the book, and do the homework my therapist assigns me and I have to dust myself off and hope I have it in me to keep going.

This is exhausting. To fight with your head and to change your own mind. That’s what cognitive behavioral therapy is. And it works, and I love it, but hot ham it pisses me off and I hate it. I love that I can change my mind, I hate that I have a mind that requires changing. That I have to talk myself down so many times a day, I have to remind myself not to catastrophise. To take life at face value and not with how it’s making me “feel”- It hurts, and I’m raw but I’m fighting.

I’m fighting, and it’s not how I wanted to win, but I still can so I will keep moving.

Of lights and tunnels

I went to the dr on Tuesday. An appointment that was scheduled before I dropped my basket. It was the perfect timing, if it had been a week earlier, I wouldn’t have been ready yet.

I was crying in the waiting room in my sunglasses, cause that’s not a giveaway in a “behavioral medicine” office. (I’m not upset, I’m just cool. (crazy cool))  I was asked how I was doing in the hall before we even rounded the corner to her office. I didn’t answer. Did I have too? I was wearing my sunglasses, she knew.

I told her I didn’t know where to start, and I didn’t. What was even important at that point? The full body tension, aches, pains, stomach issues? I abbreviated the physical and went for the mental.

I never had to say I didn’t want back on the Lexapro, she knew. She never suggested it. She listened and offered up ideas. I didn’t really care, as long as it wasn’t the same poison as before.  I let her tell me what to do, and why. I had no fight left.

She shared some information about her personal life, things that made me trust her. She is a daughter of a schizophrenic, had trouble with depression as a young adult trying to care for her ill mother and ultimately, it all drove her into this profession. She apologized for how bad it was going for me, and also divulged that she went though this herself, in the early 90’s and no one knew what it was. She was misdiagnosed with MS, and when it disappeared one day, she began to question everything.

It helped me, a lot. To know that she go it.

I went home with a rx for Prozac, to take along side my welbutrin.

2 days later? I’m still pretty moody, but I didn’t loose my temper once today, and the dizziness, nausea and brain zaps are completely gone.

Did I do the right thing? Yes, I spoke up when the regiment wasn’t working and asked for a change. It was awful to go thru it but had I not, and just slugged along, I’d just be suffering needlessly. In the process I found out about a vitamin deficiency, and well, learned the hard way (what I already knew but get to damn stubborn to admit) that I am a person who needs to be medicated. It’s that “simple” I need help. But it’s help that is available! There’s no cure for a screwy brain but there is help. 

I need help. I get help. I am the face of a mental illness and you know what, I’m learning to live with that. This is a part of who I am, and if I can’t own it, the drugs can’t save me. Only I can do that.

Bleeding

I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be here writing right now but I have nothing else to do, no one to talk to. No one that understands anyway.

April 1st I started to taper my Lexapro. I’ve been sick since April 2nd. I don’t even care about the shit I’ve gone through in the first couple weeks, that was just physical stuff, awful but it felt like an illness. But now my head is short circuiting, constantly, nearly every time my eyes move I am zapped from my temples into my jaw and lips and it radiates into my teeth. This makes me so dizzy.  And in the past week I’ve started to loose it, like really fucking loose it. Like, hospital visit loose it.

My dr didn’t tell me it would be like THIS. I expected the brain zaps, but not for them to come 15 times a second, so fast and so disorienting it’s hard to keep my balance. I’ve had a headache for 28 day.  But some time last week I snapped. Something inside my brain just broke in half. I can not control my emotions. I cannot. I find myself fine for a moment and I swear the microwave could beep wrong and off I go. I freak out, yell and want to hit and kick and shake and move this feeling out of my body. I’m so god dammed angry. SO ANGRY! I’m mean, and I hate it but I also don’t give a shit. Nope, not at all, cause fuck you, that’s why. I’m just out of my head. I hate everyone who lives in this house, my kids, my husband and myself- Hate.  Not your getting on my nerves but I want to leave a note that says fuck you- you win. I’m am ANGRY!

And guess what? This shit is NORMAL and EXPECTED and no one told me. No one told me what I was to become. A version 10x’s worse than what I was 4 years ago when I took that first fucking pill. I had NO IDEA what I was doing to my body, my brain by taking this shit. They give it to you like it’s candy, no big deal, it’s just a little happy pill. But here I am. I am here. And I don’t know what to do. Thank god I know that I’m not actually as crazy as I’m acting and feeling, that this is “discontinuing symptoms” FUCK YOU DRUG COMPANIES- this is WITHDRAWL! They wont and cant tell you how long it will last, if you can even get anyone to admit that this is a thing. Oh, except the thousands of people on line who are all as shocked as I am to find that THIS is what was waiting for us on the other side of “well” HAHAHAH! Stupid fucks- you cant quit! They say 1-3 weeks of symptoms, but the world outside of clinical trials that were never done with discontinuing, the rest of them say months, years, who the hell knows! And I quit, I didn’t know- but it wasn’t doing its job well enough anymore. Ask anyone who takes meds how often they change, it happens ALL THE TIME. I needed a change, so I got two pieces of paper, one with instructions for weaning, the other for a new med.

But I wanted to stop, I really, really want to. I don’t want it anymore. I want this to be over so badly I can’t see thru my tears right now. I want this to be over.  And you know what, the only way to make it end is to take more. I don’t want to.  But is not an option?

Mike can’t take it, he can’t. He wont deal with this. He wants me back on it, like, sneak it in my food back on it I am so awful right now. But I don’t want it and he doesn’t understand.  I can’t show him anything written by a Md that says this is real and he cannot wrap his head around what is going on with me. All he knows is this is not who he wants to live with. I don’t want to live with myself either…… but what? Throw away the last month. What if I wake up tomorrow and it’s gone, I’m better?  What if I never am. I don’t know what to do.

I want to leave, I don’t want to be here, me, crazy, I am so miserable I can’t believe I can get out of bed.  I went a full week without taking a shower. Only drinking coffee milkshakes, not even knowing if I was really alive. Am I? Is this life. Really? I just want a normal life. I just want to be normal.

Two Years

 

Today is a big day for me.

Today I am alive. I am well. I am happy.

I’m not done. There is so much work to be done, hard work. But I am here and I will do the work, I will take the pills and I will hold my people close and thank them for saving me. For giving me the strength to save myself. Because I am here, I am a survivor. And two years later I can really own it. I have been through hell. I have fought my way back.  Survivor. And I am here to tell my story, and I thank you for listening to it, for you are part of my survival as well.

 

(don’t know what I’m talking about?  Its this and then this.)

I hope they know

I start to stir, the light is a dark pink as the sunrises through the curtains. One is standing next to me whispering “Mommy? Mommy….you wake? Mommy, I’m here, scoot over.”  I do. Of course. I feel the warmth of his body as he moves closer to mine, I smell his hair fresh from last nights bath. I breate it in deeply the scent calms me as I snuggle him close, eyes still closed. His skin is so soft I remember when he was a baby and I’d stroke his cheek as he’d fall asleep back when he fit in my lap but smelled the same.

About thirty minutes later the little one starts making noises from down the hall. I stay in bed listening, holding the big one but enjoying them both. He gets a little louder so I shake Nate a little, “Your brother is up, are you ready for the day?” We get up and walk to Ben’s room. They chat in their own secret code and I am an outsider. I lift Ben and hold him so close I can feel his heart beating, so warm and snuggly, first thing. He too smells fresh from his bath and I again breathe him in as fully as I can. A quick diaper change and he and Nate are off. No longer needing me, they have each other now.

The days aren’t always smooth and easy, some days are but occasionally I’m not well. Somedays I lie on the floor while they play and stare at the ceiling, tears running down my face for no real reason at all. Sometimes I don’t want to talk or play or color, I just need to be. I hate these days, I hate that the best  can do is just being in the same room with them. I don’t want to be away from them, that’s for certain. I need them close to me, they remind me that it’s worth it, to keep going. Still, they know. They know when I’m off, they behave a little better and play a little more quite. They know. They are so young but the get me. Mommy’s not always well.

I’m working so hard on being well. So hard that when these days come they are more debilitating then ever. WHY, is this STILL happening!? I’m doing everything I’m supposed to and should do. And yet, depression and anxiety can break through at times. Medicine is helpful, it’s not a cure.

I’m able to appreciate the good days and I try so hard to let the bad ones go. To make the good ones great, Nate’s old enough to remember this now. They say that you choose the good memories over the bad. I hope this is true. I hope he remembers me at my best and not the mom who sometimes lies on the floor and cries.

Both boys were hard to leave today.  Nate at pre-school, Ben at the gym. Yesterday was a really hard day. It affected them, they didn’t want to leave me today. I didn’t really want them to go, either.

I just hope they know. Not that mommy is sick but that she is working to be well. She wants to be well. I want nothing more than to raise these boys, to watch them grow up and to love them. That going to the gym so much and not letting them eat fruit snacks and making them wash their hands means I love them. Nate knows when I go to the doctor and it’s a lot. He never asks why, he just tells me he’ll miss me. I clutch my heart and go to therapy. When I come home I know three sets of open arms will be waiting for me. So I go and I do the work. I do it for myself and I do it for them.

I love these people so hard. All of this work is for our family. I love them. I hope they know.

The bottom and its rocks

The next day I called my midwife and got in that morning. I joked with my sister that the kids and I looked way too good for someone who is loosing her mind. I was on the phone with Heidi for hours while she helped me manage my anxiety related to the appointment. She made me promise that I’d tell the truth, the whole truth. I cried and told her I didn’t know if I could, I was afraid if I told the whole truth I’d be involuntarily hospitalized. I was sobbing, I couldn’t abandon my kids. I promised.

My ob office wouldn’t touch this. I was left in the room with the boys for about 30 minutes while she made some calls and came back and told me where to go. Go to the er, a social worker will talk with you and get your meds worked out but I should be prepared to stay. She wanted me to call Mike, have him drive me, she wasnt sure I would go. I promised.

It was a long and exhausting process. Taking the kids with me to the hospital was a bad idea but I didn’t have a choice and in hindsight it really helped keep me distracted. I was literally across the street from Mike’s office and I could not get ahold of him. I’d been trying since 2 in the afternoon, he finally made it at 6pm. I was barely started, I hadn’t met with anyone who could help me yet. We decided he would take the kids home and I’d come home when I was done.

My dad found me. I was in limbo, in this in-between place where they give you a gown and you wait on all of the Dr’s and residents to tell you what was next. I was pissed. I knew that I’d put it all out there by sharing it here but how did he know I was at the hospital. I talked to him, told him that I was fine just waiting to go through all of the required hoops to get some new meds. He was a little upset but I promised him I was okay.

Around 11 I finally got to talk with the last person and she very strongly recommend that I stay. It would be voluntary and I could leave if I wanted but the average stay was 4-7 days. I freaked out. That was a long time, she assured me I would be out sooner. And that I could leave if I wanted to, all I had to do was write a letter. She told me it would be great for me, I could get help right away and it would be good to be there when my meds changed. I signed the papers and cried. Ben had never had a bottle before. I had no milk in the freezer. I was scared and ashamed and about to get sleep for the first time in nearly a year. Or so I thought.

Around midnight I was still waiting to be transferred upstairs to my room. I didn’t get transferred until 3 am. When I arrived the floor was vacant and mostly dark. I had to go through another intake, the paperwork was terrifying. safety, rules, blood work, etc. I was exhausted. Exhausted.

I had a roommate, she was strapped to her bed screaming in her sleep. About an hour passed and I thought this was the biggest joke of my life. I’m in this hospital and part of my problem is exhaustion and I’m sharing a room with this poor haunted woman. I got up and asked to be moved. There weren’t any other beds. I sat on the couch for a while and then a nurse came and brought me into the isolation room. I didn’t really get what it was until morning but it was quiet so I didn’t care.

Friday when I woke up I felt as sick as I ever have, the anxiety was off the charts. Waking up in an all white room with video cameras looking at you in hospital issue pajamas it all hit me. I was in a mental institution. Me.

They don’t let you stay in your room much. You have to go out to the common area so I go. It’s then around 8am I realize that I am in the wrong place. These people, with all due respect, were crazy. All level of illness were in the same place. It was terrifying. I went back to my room and fell asleep. When I woke up one of the male patients had put his shirt on my chair. I knew who’s it was, he had been wearing it on his head like a turban. A sick man had been IN my room while I was asleep. Get me the FUCK out of here.

I had a meeting with my team of doctors. I had to tell the story again, the whole emptying the bottle of pills and calculating how long it would take for them to work, what to do with each of the boys so they would be safe until Mike got home. Well, this is where the truth gets me in to trouble. I was stuck. You cannot get out after you tell them this. I had a serious meltdown. Screaming, swearing, sobbing and making a huge disrespectful scene. I have lawyers in my family, they will get me out of here.

No, no they cannot.

Turns out once you sign that damn intake paper they have the right to hold you against your will for 72 BUSINESS hours, it was Friday morning. There was nothing I could do.

I called Mike and with a list of stuff to bring me if I was lucky I’d get to come home on Monday.

I skipped the groups I was supposed to go to and took a really long nap after my massive freak out and then I forced myself to go out into the big room. I lasted about 15 minutes before I couldn’t take it another second. It was all too much. The yelling and people running around talking to themself, people too sick to realize that certain body parts were visible. I just couldn’t take it.

Late that afternoon I got a new room. This time my roommate was a 20-year-old, pregnant, meth addict. The other people in my new pod were a cutter with bi-polar, an alcoholic who drove himself into a house, a man who beat his wife and kids and then tried to kill himself and one other guy who was in this constant character state. Save for the character and the man who beat his kids I got to know the other three really well.

It’s an interesting thing, you get yourself into these types of situations and you’ve got nothing to lose. Everyone just tells the truth. The stories of how you get to be 20, pregnant with your 3rd baby whom you’re giving up for adoption. How a man with a wife and kid blows his sobriety and tries to kill himself and the cutter, oh, man. He broke my heart, young and married with a 4-year-old, this was one of a long line of hospitals for him. He and the alcoholic became my friends. We were each others therapy. (since there wasnt any on the ward, none) Moving me into a new room helped.

Mike came that evening with a bag of things for my stay. They took most of it away, cut all the cords off my pj pants and my hoodie. And told me they would keep my pump locked up and that I couldn’t use it alone. If I wanted privacy I had to use the hand pump they gave me when I got there but there were cords and you can’t have cords. Of course you can’t. It dawned on me again, of course I can’t have a drawstring, I’m on suicide watch.

No one else really got it either. My mom suggested I take a bath while there to relax. Sure mom, I’ll just stay in the shallow end. Dad told Mike to bring my ipod, right, that cord around my neck is a great idea. You couldn’t lock your door, ever. No locks on the bathroom door. I was afraid to shower. If the dude with the shirt got into my room while I was sleeping he could get in while I was in the shower. I really didn’t feel safe. The only thing that sort of helped is the 15 minute face check. Every 15 every patient was accounted for.

I wanted to go home every minute I was awake. I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t figure out how being in this hospital was going to help me a bit. There was no help. Coloring and playing ping-pong was not going to help me.I came in because they sold me on getting help right away. There would be people to talk to. Groups to go to. The groups were not helpful for me. OT and RT, I’m sure that it was good for some but I could color at home with my kids.

When I wasnt awake I was asleep. I slept a ton. Partially because I was so tired but also because when I was asleep I didn’t know I was there.

Over the next few days I just went with the flow. I knew I had to behave myself or I’d be stuck longer. I followed the rules and played nice. When the dude with the shirt colored me a picture with his hand and a heart I said thank you. When he drew a picture OF MY FACE on a ping-pong paddle I laughed and went back to my room. When he commented on all of my teeth all lined up and straight I smiled.

On Saturday we got a new girl. She was deaf, that’s all I knew. There was another deaf woman who seemed really sweet, she was clearly happy to have someone to talk with. About an hour later the new one threw a chair at her, then she smashed another on the floor next to her. A few orderlies came and tackled her, gave her a shot in the ass and tossed her in the green room. (padded) A few hours later they let her out. Within minutes she broke a chair over a nurse and broke her arm. More tackling, more padded room. This time she tried to get out by swallowing her bracelet, they took it away. She tried to strangle herself with her gown strings, they stripped her naked. She did other things, one of which got here a shower but they put her back in the green room for two days. It was so scary. To be so close to someone who would just snap and you couldn’t see it coming. She just snapped. I needed to move, to work out the anxiety. I was feeling so claustrophobic. You couldn’t go outside and the window in my room looked at a brick wall. I was pacing, walking around the common room and could feel I was being followed so I just went to my room. It took me hours to go to sleep. I could not calm down.

Somehow the time passed pretty quickly. It was Monday before I knew it. I was saying goodbye to the amazing nurses, the horrible food and the people I met. People who opened my eyes and gave me some perspective that physically hurt. I left with a lot of doctor appointments, a therapist, a nurse to manage my meds and a new family doctor.

Somehow I got everything I needed. I slept. I got the new meds. I got two new doctors. Ben started sleeping thorough the night while I was gone. Mike had to talk care of the kids alone for 5 days, giving him a better idea of just what I am dealing with. I had to come clean with my parents. I had to ask for help, I had to say out loud what was going on.I had to promise to put myself first again. If I don’t take care of myself then I cannot take care of anything else in life. It was a hard few days but I made it. I made it and I made the promise. One I intend to keep.

 I am taking care of myself.

 Promise.

My Truth let me show it to you

It’s dark here. All the time, sort of like being in the basement on a beautiful summer day. You know the sun is shining and that beyond these walls there is life but knowing doesn’t matter. Knowing isnt participating or living, it’s practically nothing. I’m never by myself but I am always alone. They ask how I am, am I getting any sleep yet. The answer is always the same, nope, still up every two hours. “You must be so tired.”  “I am but it won’t last forever.”

No one really wants to know how I am and the ones that should want to know can’t seem to handle the truth. I’ve fainted and have been collapsing randomly and that is the tip of the ailment iceberg.

I am not a good mom right now. I yell all the time, I’m too hard on Nate and I cry in front of him all the time and it really bothers him but what the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t help it. I can’t help anything, really. I know this is a two-part problem but the first is a level of exhaustion that I didn’t know you could survive. I get out of bed every two hours, change a diaper and nurse a kid, not an infant, a 18 lb 10 month old that EATS. Do you know how long 10 months really is?

June

July

August

September

October

November

December

January

February

March

April

10 months.

The second is I appear to be under medicated. Or something. It’s a lot like before but then worse in that Nate is old enough to see it and that has to stop. And yet, I cannot stop a runaway train. I am ashamed of myself in my moments of clarity. I’m always envisioning ways to hurt myself, just enough. It’s to the point where I feel like I almost have to so someone will hear me. I’m not just tried, I’m sick. I”M SICK!  I look over the railing and wonder how many bones I’d break if I just flipped over it to the floor below. I look in the toolbox for something I need and see possibilities. I take an aspirin, dump the whole bottle into my hand, contemplate, put all but 2 back and sigh heavily. I guess I’ll just keep going. I don’t think anyone gets it, this isn’t going to be fixed with a nap. The thing is a nap isn’t even a possibility and god damn that’s the least of my problems. I’m fucking up my kid by letting him see me like this. I’ve been doubling up my pills but it’s not enough, I need a new doctor but I don’t have the time to find one, I don’t have childcare, I don’t have any help. So I take two pills and hold my breath and promise Nate I will try harder tomorrow.

I just don’t know what to do. Nate is HARD right now, even on days that I feel okay he is such a handful. Ben is doing better on his reflux meds but still not sleeping but at least he’s not whining every hour he’s awake. I do think that if I were sleeping I could cope with it all better, I’d be more patient, I’d be more understanding. I wouldn’t have to remind myself that kids are people, too.

I told Mike tonight that I was going off the deep end and he just told me “we need you” I need to be needed LESS. I’m to needed, I’m tapped out, empty. I have nothing left to give. And yet I love so them all so deeply that hurts, too. I break when I yell at Nate, I don’t want to be this way. I hate myself when I squeeze his arm so hard when I push him in his room for a time-out. I don’t blame Mike for glazing over when I talk about being spent, over it, done. He looks at me and asks what I want to do. There’s no answer to that.

I want a break. I want to get away all by myself where I can sleep and recover from this. I don’t want anyone to touch me! I need to get away from the mundane day-to-day shit that is crushing my soul. But I can’t, I can’t leave I can’t do anything. I have to feed the baby, I need to move the laundry, I have a grocery list to make, a gift to ship,bills to pay,and, and, and. It never ends and it all makes driving into a telephone poll so very appealing except that would solve nothing because I’d have to handle the insurance claim.

I need a break. I need it so badly.

(please don’t call me and ask if I’m okay- I will work this out. I did it once before, I can and will do it again.)

Little bits of Happy

It is so cold.  So very cold.  Even with the help of pregnancy insulating me a little I am freezing!  The earth is frozen sold or a sloppy mess, the sky is gray.  My mood is not.  For the first time in years I’m not suffering from SAD.

I’ve not disclosed that I’m still taking my meds; I am.  I know this is a calculated risk but one that both my OB and I chose that the benefit of my being well far outweighs the very slight risk this poses to the baby.  Judge if you will, but this is what’s right for me.  This is making me sort of neurotic over other things, I won’t take my Nexium, I’m most often not treating the headache I’ve suffered from for weeks on end.  I am trying not to add anything else to my system.  “Tell your D. about your headaches, I’m sure she can give you something!”  I am too, but I don’t want it.  I’m sticking with mental health over physical.  Right now, in spite of the pain, it is what’s right for me.

I’ve been finding so much joy in life.  In the day-to-day minutia.  I always knew that this was what I wanted; to be home with my kid(s) to teach, to cuddle, to cook for, to create with.  To raise.  I knew in my head that I should have been happier, I was so right.  This is exactly what I want at this stage of our life.  It’s exactly as it should be, as I’ve wanted, as my family deserves.

I’m getting increasingly impatient awaiting the upcoming ultrasound.  I just want to know!  I want to call the baby by name, I want to paint and buy fabric and sew blankets and curtains and get my nest on!   The day we learned Nate was Nate was the best day of my pregnancy, I can’t wait to have it again!  I know exactly what I am buying first, immediately after that appointment I have a stop to make. One tiny detail in the nursery,tiny in size, giant in meaning.

Every time I feel Olive move my mind is blown.  Despite the belly, the change in wardrobe, etc.  I am still shocked that this is real.  I still can’t wrap my head around it.  I’ve been shopping, there are new muslin swaddle blankets perfect for summertime, breastfeeding supplies, clothes we’ve received as gifts, new blankets and a pile of decor items and still, blown away! 

Blown away by the new life, there seems to be two of them growing within.  My own and that of a baby.

The way that I used to be

I was given 14 pills, free samples from the midwife.  14 pills to decided if this was a good thing or a bad thing, 14 pills to make it all smaller.   Yesterday I quietly walked up to the counter at the pharmacy and handed my written prescription, answering the questions without making eye contact.  Embarrassed by what I need.  When it was ready I paid and the woman told me to meet the pharmacist at the consultation window, “Oh, that’s okay I don’t have any questions.”  “Sorry, it’s required with this kind.”  “Oh, I understand.”  I replied, hanging my head again.   The pharmacist was so kind.  Did you taper up-How are you feeling-Are you sleeping-Are you eating.  Much easier than the line of questions at the dr “do you think you could hurt yourself?”

It’s been almost two weeks and life is so completely different now.   The same but different.  It’s easier and calmer and the way it should have been all of this time.   Things are simple annoyances rather than deal breakers.  I already don’t know how I went on for so long the way I did, the way we did. 

The outpouring of support and love I’ve received of the past two weeks has been almost more than I know what to do with.  The phone calls and emails and the comments left here.  I can’t fully put into words what it feels like to share something so terrifying and to get nothing but love back.   There have been some hard moments, though.  I got a few calls from friends who said they knew.   That was harder to swallow than any pill.  I was so surprised to learn that not only was I not kidding myself but no one else was buying it either.  

The first weekend on the med’s we went to a baseball game.  The last game we went to I was miserable.  Following Nate all over the place, refusing to hold my hand, driving me insane.  I didnt want to be there, I didn’t want to have to deal with him tripping and getting into peoples way.  This time was totally different.  This time he stayed with me and held my hand we had a blast wandering around and playing.   This was day 4 and I could tell that life was already changing. 

This past weekend we spent in Sandusky at the Great Wolf Lodge and playing around a few parks on Lake Erie.  When Mike booked the trip I didnt want to go, I didnt care.   Why bother going anywhere, you cant make me happy by changing my surroundings.   This weekend was exactly what we all needed.  We had so much fun we didnt want to come home.   I decided to fix this before the trip, I had two weeks to get better.

 I did.  I am.  I will be.