Tag Archives: stress

Tattoos and Suicide Series VI: Mental Health is a fickle bitch

When you love someone who has issues with their mental health, some days can be a long hard battle. When you also struggle with your own demons it can make it more of a challenge. I am solar powered. I suffer hard when the weather changes, and the last few months of cold and yuck were taking a huge toll on me. I have been feeling horribly unmotivated and I have been struggling to find and keep my inner peace and keep my cool. I seem to have gotten into a roll of being awesome at work and a total bitch at home, or awesome at home and so off my game at times my boss has sent me home. Twice. So today I woke up blessed to an amazing weather day. I had prayed for a break and a resolution, and woke up to sun on my face.

My husband was sort of…out of it, but I figured he was just tired. He asked us to go out for a big family breakfast road trip, which we have not done in ages. I was thrilled he was motivated! After the ride south and fat bellies, he stayed home while we all hit church. I had a great day with the kiddos in my program, they were all so awesome today, and well behaved!  I felt like the day could not get any better. I started to feel recharged. I made plans to clean my van while the boy broke in his new scooter he got for his birthday. It shoots fire, so what 8 year old wouldn’t be itching to break it in? But when I came home, it hit me. I went to talk to my husband and he was just…there. He was really out of it. He was moody, non communicative. Monosyllables. I could see he had been crying at some point. But as always he didn’t know what was wrong and didn’t want to or could not talk about it.

Heaven forbid he talk to his fucking wife about what is on his mind. I wish he would talk to me. Even if it made no sense. I do listen when I need to, and it is never a burden. Damn him. It makes me feel like he has no faith in me or trust. I know the reality is he does not want to burden me. But I married him for better or worse. Fucking talk to me!

He went and took a nap, so I went about my day, chalked it up to being tired. Got done with the van and watching the boy and having a good rebuilding day with him. Hurricane and I had a tough week. Hubby was awake and just rocking in his recliner. Eyes glazed over, still looking like hell. I asked if he had taken his pills. He then told me he had been out of them for a few days. After a call to the doctors office, and a call back from Dr. Giggles, came the battle. Here take these pills. Yes you need to take them. Because Dr. Giggles said to. Yes I called her. Because it’s been 3 days and I wanted to know how to dose you. Yes you DO need to eat. NO you are not getting fat. No, you do not need to get under 200 again, when you were that thin everyone thought you had cancer or AIDS. Yes you will. Ok now here take this one. YES the fucking yellow one again. (BREATHE MOM-T) Here honey, yes you do need the yellow one again now that you ate. Trust me. Thank you.

Seriously? I love the man but he is nearly 40 fucking years old and he can not remember to tell me to refill the damn pill box? I can not remember to do it on top of everything fucking else and 3 damn jobs. I guess I have to set an alarm on my cell so I can keep on top of this. If he had not pulled the suicide thing I wouldn’t HAVE to control his pills and keep them under count and key. But his dumb ass tried to OD before the BIG attempt and the madness started. Fuck you didn’t take your pills. And this is somehow my fault. Because even though I hear him in his sleep talking to his dad, telling him he hopes I know how much I am appreciated, how he does not know how I am doing it all, working my ass off at 1 part time and 1 might as well be full time but being paid for part time good thing I love it, job, and home schooling our son, keeping on top of most of the housework, he no longer can manage his own meds, that is my fault.

So, magic pills on board, and a small power nap later, he came back to us. He told me he felt weird and wondered if he had an episode, asked why he was so tired. I told him the yellow pills make him tired, and he had to take 2 of them today.

But now I worry about myself. Selfish bitch that I am. But how will this affect me tomorrow? All the calls, stress, pacing, pulling my hair out while talking in the calm therapist voice and trying to get him to do what he is SUPPOSED to do without it being an argument or me being a bitch. My IBD is going to kick up into high gear tomorrow. Fun time ahead. What? Why am I on the couch being lazy? Well, my stomach flares intensify when I am stressed. Why would I be stressed? Fucking wonder why.

Someone told me the other day, well his legs don’t work but he is still fine, he should get a desk job. Why are you applying for aid?  But he couldn’t. He is surviving day to day with this, because of his routine. Breakfast the same daily, watching the same shows while he eats, play the video game for a bit, run the vacuum, help Hurricane with homework, daily nap, working on his cards. It has to be the same, and changes have to be his idea or it throws the whole universe into a tail spin. He has to have some control. He can not control his legs anymore, really. He can not control his racing thoughts. He has finally started writing again. He let me read some of it. It was hard to swallow. His pain and his sadness come from years of scars he held in. One reason I let Hurricane explode out his anger and boil over with tears. I want him to deal with emotions and not be wearing the scars in  30 years.

Maybe. He will someday be there. But unless you LIVE with it, don’t judge it. Don’t pretend you know what is really going in here. Mental illness and health can be a powerful and painful experience. Don’t think I have not heard the quiet whispers behind my back that this is maybe on me. He was fine, and it was me that made him the way he is. These issues were bubbling long before I came around. I hear whispers that I am making too big a deal and trying to make myself a martyr. Until we moved in here even my AMIL (Awesome Mother In Law) had no idea how hard things were at home. She came to me last week and apologized. She has now seen some of the mood swings and the scary “black out” moments where he is totally not there and I am on the verge of calling 911.

Yes, I am lucky as hell to have her. But the comments about how it must be nice to live with someone who is taking care of 70 percent of the bills and the mortgage payment, how it must have taken SO much stress off of me? Yeah. No. Because every day we wake up not sure WHAT mood he will be in, how my IBD/Crohn’s is going to be affecting me, and how we are going to power through the day. But I never ask for help from friends or family, because I don’t need it. It’s my cross to bear, with a lot of help from God. I have recently exploded into my faith. Because it’s coming back to me. I am facing demons I have been running from for a long time.

I am seeing the strength in my corner. And seeing who I can count on vs. who I need to cut loose. I don’t like how things are. I could take a new job, be better off financially and more stable in other areas of my life. But money will not replace time. Time is what we need. Money will help. And it WILL come through soon. But every moment I am away from them already is pain. My husband tells me his secrets in his sleep. He told me his worries. He misses me when I am at work. He hates that I have to be the one to work and to be away from home. He knows I have days I love my job and others I want to walk away. He wishes he could see me more. He understands my time is being monopolized by Hurricane and home school in the mornings, and by work at night and when I get home I am just wiped out. But he misses me. I am working on that.

We are still struggling along. Suicide “survivors” is what I was labeled as. What we really are is suicide zombies. Day to day getting by. I hold a lot together on the inside, few of my closest friends know who I “really” am outside of this little internet world, and have told me my facade is much like in the movie MirrorMask. Which is why I identify with it so much. I have an ideal in my mind but allow the darkness to consume me. All while trying to be the light for two people who need me more than I ever thought would be possible. It’s like yin and yang, only in a spin that makes it all gray.

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Momtroversial Parenting – Knitting the Lies

I have put myself into a full blown flare-up. I literally made myself sick with a parenting decision I made tonight. I went against every fiber and core of my being. Because I said I would. And there has to be follow through. But I am sitting here in intense pain and literally sick. I have a disease that is similar to Crohn’s and stress causes major issues. I almost welcome the pain. Fighting tears as I looked at the damage done. Knowing in my heart this was the RIGHT thing to do. No it wasn’t. This was too extreme. You broke a long ago promise to yourself. And you went against everything you fought against as a mom. You broke your own advice. Feels like shit doesn’t it? Pain? You deserve it. The emotional toll is half what he is going through

King Pig and I have a problem child. We expected it. I almost welcomed it. I am known as a modern Mary Poppins as a nanny. I handle kids with quirks and issues all the time. I can easily handle one of my own like that. Famous last words from the super nanny. Want to pull your hair out still? Starting to understand why that one family always seemed to have reasons to come home late? You get what you wish for chick! He is curious, exceptionally bright, energetic, and challenging. Just today I got a letter, they want to put him in advanced classes at his new school to give him more of a challenge. Its the modern day gifted and talented class. A few doctors place him on the Autism spectrum, and I came to terms with that. I basically agree with the official diagnosis of SPD (Sensory Processing Disorder) Which is why I am so ill right now. But I am at my wits end with my problem child. And a punishment is a punishment right? So I am laying here looking furtively at my dresser and trying to breathe. Because tonight, I took away… THE BLANKIE   

I am an extreme believer in the power of comfort items. The need for some children to have that one “safe” item or place. I know adults who still have their blankies, and I even had a long discussion about this on my Facebook page. He has developed a habit of lying. And its about both little things and big things. It’s telling fantastic tales about new pet parrots and telling lies about how he was making noise because so-and-so rubbed soap in his eye. It’s constant. And it got so bad we have sign on his wall in his room. It reads  “Liars are LOSERS – 1) Lose Toys 2) Lose Privileges 3) Lose Friends 4) Lose the Blankie.” And he was up to round 4. So I took it. For a brief moment I gave it back. I left him to cry it out and when I came in an hour later to check on him, I found him passed out on his floor. As soon as I lifted him back into the bed, he starting reaching around for it. Whimpering in his sleep. And I briefly caved. Then I went upstairs to take a shower and while I was in there I found my backbone and went back and snuck it away. You took it. How could you TAKE it? You always tell your friends, take anything you want, but not the blankie or stuffie. And you TOOK the BLANKIE. You are officially the worst mom ever. Give it back! NO don’t. I can’t. I HAVE to hold my ground. But its so hard. MAN UP and hold on to it. You told him that was the last straw and you did it. Now stay strong. Or puss out. And let him walk all over you for the rest of his life.

I officially feel like the worst mom ever. But I am truly not sure what else to do. I’ve already gone in to comfort him a few times.  Something tells me I am in for a long night.


Tattoo and Suicide, Part II: More than just you

This is part 2 of a series I am writing in regards to my husbands attempt at suicide and how it has impacted our family. Part one can be found by following this link: https://momtroversial.wordpress.com/2013/01/24/the-tattoo-that-saved-a-life/ Thanks for reading, and for the support.

On this journey of healing for King Pig, so much has changed. A suicide attempt. I still can not recover from this. I admit it. I partially place blame on myself. How did I miss the signs? How did he hide this from me? His WIFE? His partner and best friend? Life has literally been uprooted and stood on end. Every expression he makes now may have a hidden meaning. Every day I have to leave him alone to go to interviews or to work I worry and wait and worry some more. Outpatient is complete and now we are down to bi weekly visits to a doctor. But I worry. Is that enough? Are the medicines really working or is he putting on a show? He hid it from me for so long. His turmoil. His pain. I can not let it go. I am scared to leave the healing in his hands. But deep down I know it is HIS hands that must heal himself. His and the hands of God that reminded him what he has to live for. But now, the doubts. The questioning. WHY is he still here? I can  not figure this out. My brain won’t slow down. His won’t either. But that is part of what got him here.

Me: Can I get you anything?
KP: Nope, I am just feeling a little tired.

Twenty minutes later… he is starting blankly at the TV and makes a funny face.

What’s wrong honey?
Nothing! Why?
You made a face…
So, I made a face. Whats the big deal?
Well you looked like you wanted to say something. Whats going on in your head right now?
Nothing! Can’t I just make a face?

Its been such a struggle for us, and to top it off now, he is having some medical issues. He is not going to be returning to work.  Now what? How do we adjust? How will we make it? Why is he looking so sad today? I caught him the other night in a very truthful mood. He told me sometimes he still wishes the suicide had worked. He feels like with his new disability he is more a burden. I wish I could help him see how much he means to me and how much I really and truly need him.

One thing about all this that is interesting. Our marriage has gotten stronger. He finally sees all I did and still do for our family. He admits when he misses me. He admits if I was not around, he would be lost in how to handle some of the simple stuff.  But he also loathes the fact I have to do so much. The fact I sometimes need to be reminded to manage all his medications because the doctors suggested it would be best if I kept them all under lock and key and monitor how many we have of OTC stuff I leave out. He hates the way the therapist looks at him when he gets really worked up over something because she touches a nerve, how I can be such a bitch because I am tired as hell all the time, and how I practically treat him like a child.

I hate not knowing if I can leave him alone. I hate worrying every time he gets home late that he stopped to “finish the job” and wondering how I am going to make it if he is not here with me. I hate knowing I almost lost a part of me and feeling like I am somehow a little to blame, for not pushing it further and making him talk about his feelings. I hate knowing he does not trust anyone enough to just let go and let it all out. Because he is scared he will end up “locked away” again.

I love knowing he is now around to raise my son and I am heartbroken and yet relieved when my baby boy says he wants daddy to kiss his boo-boo better instead, but I could at least get a band-aid out for daddy. I am missing my old life of comfort and facebook and lunches with friends and part time work, and playing all day with my boy and sometimes loathing endless doctors appointments. And in the middle of it all I have a tumor. Which could be cancer. Joy. What could possibly be next?


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