Really, who's counting anyways... Seeing as I haven't written in six months, not only do I think no one is counting, but no one is likely reading...
So in the last six months I have started seeing a therapist and he wants me journaling. I did it for a few weeks on paper, but I remember how much I enjoy blogging and typing is way easier than writing by hand, so I am going to do it here. Today. I make no promises about beyond today.
I think that could be a grander statement about the way I feel about life lately. Wow is it kicking the shit out of me these days. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE motherhood and I LOVE Eleanor even more than I love being her mom, but I am just deep in the dumps and can't seem to crawl my way out... Hence the seeing a therapist. He is really great and I like him, but I have been seeing him for six weeks or so and while I have had some better weeks than the last one, I still am having ones like last week and that just makes me get impatient...
So I have to learn to shed my inner "wounded girl." That scares the crap out of me. That makes me feel like I will soon have even less of a clue about the person that I really am. Well I know who I really am, I am that wounded girl. I am the girl who believes to the core of my being that no one will ever love me. I understand that my family loves me more than a person could ever ask for, but they have to love me and that is a different kind of love than the kind of love I may never have. I don't really understand why I so whole-heartedly believe that I will never really be loved, but I do really feel that way. I had a husband who was far beneath me and should have thanked his lucky stars to have me. I gave of my whole self to him. I changed everything that I am to suit him because I am so madly desperate for someone to love me. I gave him anything and everything and that still wasn't good enough. And he wasn't even a good one, so how can I ever expect a real good one to love me?
So I have tested the waters in the post marriage world and I haven't found the warm inviting waters yet. I have dated off and on for the last six months a man who couldn't accept that I am a mother. I know, I know. I should have never started with a man who couldn't accept me as a mother because above all else, now, that is who I am. But he said eventually he would. I, again, am so desperate for the love of a man that I was willing to overlook this. So for six months I have pretended to be something I am not--in more ways than just the mom stuff. We have had some good times, but he has made it clear on multiple occasions that I am not his "ideal" woman, yet I stuck around to keep taking his shit. Why?? Well because occasionally, when it was convenient for him, he paid attention to me and was affectionate toward me. I don't ask for much and I still can't even get what little I ask for from a good guy. Ugh...
As anyone who might be reading this can tell, I am just not in a good place right now. At all. And I am so damn tired of pretending that everything is OK. I keep a smile on my face all day at work (I do actually LOVE my job) and try very hard never to let on that inside I just ache and hurt all the time, but it gets harder with every passing day. I have cried at work at least three times in the last week and that just isn't good. This economy is too bad to risk being seen as unprofessional or anything like that, but there were just a few times I couldn't keep it in. Luckily, one of my closest work friends is the only person who even knew about only one time, but still, just not a good thing to be going on. So I work my butt off all day to make sure everyone thinks I am happy and cheery and doing fine. That is exhausting. And I spend time with my family and try hard to at least not let them realize just how badly I am doing. They know I am not terribly happy, but I don't think they really know just how badly I feel every single day. They don't want to know, I am afraid. They don't know what to do to help me (I don't know what to do to help me) and so they see as much as they can handle seeing. My sister is getting clued in slowly, but she has enough going on that I hate to make her worry. And there really is nothing she can do. That is part of why I am so sad and afraid these days is that I can't figure out what I can do or what anyone can do. It is very scary.
I am seeing a therapist. I am doing what he has been telling me to do. I still feel terrible. What do I do now? I want so badly to not feel this way and I am clueless how to make that happen. I try to pray about it. I try to do things to keep my mind off of it. I try to think through these feelings (my therapist would point out that I need to feel these emotions). I try not to think about these emotions. I just don't know what to do.
I am very tempted to not even post this entry, but I am going to. On the off chance anyone reads this and anyone who does read it has some advice, I will post this. And I apologize I am a dropped off the face of the planet blogger who just shows back up to bitch and whine and beg for advice. I am embarrassed I couldn't stay committed to this community who I really felt privileged to be a part of, but life happened and I screwed up something else, but I need an outlet so this will be it.
I hope I can write again very soon. I hope this can fill part of the void I am feeling.
ttfn
2 comments:
If it helps, and I really think it should, my face lit up to see a post from you in my reader. You cross my mind from time to time and I wonder what has happened with you, and it's good to hear, even when it's not "good". But I think the therapy is good. I think empowering yourself is good. I think you did a great job of expressing and explaining in your post. And I hope you keep it up.
Peace, Sister.
I wish I had some advice for you but unfortunately all I can offer is hugs. I had horrible PPD after my oldest was born but it wasn't diagnosed until he was about 8 months old. By that time, I had separated from my husband, quit my job, and pretty much given up on life. Looking back I'm amazed I even made it into the doctor's office that day. They didn't even make me wait in the waiting room...I was sobbing uncontrollably and barely able to tell a nurse what was wrong. I remember so clearly literally begging "please help me...I can't live this way..." Thankfully, the doctor was sympathetic. They actually called my husband in and talked to him about PPD and started me on anti-depressants. Things really did get better for a while. I got a great job, moved back home and vowed to work things out with my husband, and really started enjoying my son for the first time. Then I got pregnant and quit the meds cold turkey. The next few months were a living Hell. By the end of my pregnancy I was suicidal. My midwife put me back on antidepressants and things picked up some, but not a lot. After the baby was born, I quit taking the meds again. It is clear to me that there is a chemical imbalance and the meds do help that, but I just can't accept that I will have to be on meds for the rest of my life just to function. I have tried therapy off and on through the years with little success. I wonder some days if the depression is what ruined our marriage. I wonder if I went back on the drugs if I could have stayed. That's actually amusing when you consider that I know now that he was cheating on me. When you look at the abuse I've taken since we separated. When you look at the way he has abandoned his children and me. But I can't help wondering if I had been in a better place if I could have been a better wife and given him what he needed. Completely ridiculous if you know the whole situation but I can't help thinking it.
Right now I can't afford therapy (and I have very little hope that it would do any good anyway) and I refuse to take meds so I'm just attempting to get through one day at a time. I have tried to surround myself with a strong support system (mostly online). I'm trying very hard to remember the things I have to be thankful for (although some days the best I can muster is "well, I guess it could be worse...at least I'm not...") There are good days and bad days. I have been scared enough by the thoughts in my head to call my parents and ask them to come pick us up because I don't trust myself to be alone with the kids and I don't trust myself to be ALONE if they take the kids for a while. I have a suicide hotline stored in my cell phone. And I'm trying to rediscover myself and surround myself with friends but at times that makes the loneliness that much deeper. Then there are days when I feel almost "normal" whatever that means. At this point, I honestly can't imagine what the future will look like for us...the best I can do is to take one day at a time, sometimes one minute at a time. I know that I will get through this because I have two beautiful babies who are completely dependent on me and I don't have the luxury of losing control right now. I must get through...I have no choice. I know that there's a breakdown in my near future...maybe the first time their father actually takes them for a weekend...but it will just have to wait because I don't have time for it today.
I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers and look forward to reading more about your journey. And by the way, you have a beautiful daughter!
Post a Comment