Yesterday I backed into a car while attempting to get into a parking space.
I got out of my car and we looked at the damage. I had dented and cracked his bike rack. No damage to mine. The man wasn’t very nice and actually said, “You’re not going to skip out on this are you?” He stated this in several different ways several times. The nerve!
Side Note: I did not have a terrible reaction the way I used to when I did something wrong. My eyes only filled with tears and lips quivered. Almost, but not quite, my face began to crumple into “oh god I’m going to cry” phase. Honestly I’m not ashamed of any of that. I think that would be a normal reaction to an unpleasant situation.
While standing there trying to keep my calm, I felt a hand on my shoulder and it was the director of the event I was working. He asked if I was alright. He had such a genuine look of concern, a few more tears leaked out. He asked if I needed to go home he would understand. I said I would be alright and he gave me a hug.
On my way into the event someone else approached me to ask how I was and she gave me a hug.
Half way through the event a volunteer checked in to see if I needed anything and I got another hug.
When the event was over the director came by again and I thanked him . I said I couldn’t believe how kind everyone was and how much it meant to me that I wasn’t standing there in the middle of the street alone.
This maybe a bit dramatic, but it was human nature, as it could be and was that in that moment.
This accident was no accident. The more I think about it, to experience kindness and worth as a human being, well, was worth the deductible.
Today, on the last day of PRIDE month, it dawned on me….how do I (and other mental illness sufferers) get a PRIDE thing of our own? I want to feel safe to come out too.
I spent an hour writing four paragraphs of how we can’t come out and then I deleted them. What I had written is not necessary because we know the truth of having to live with a mood disorder. The constant spread of misinformation in this society keeps us scared and hidden.
I think our word would have to be different entirely, because I do not feel proud. I don’t know how I could. It would be like feeling proud living with diabetes or heart disease. Both, by the way, have a huge impact on health, but no stigma.
Here is what I came up with:
RESILIENCE Month – boring
BRAVE Month – boring
GRIT Month – I like this one, but it’s got a “mechanic feel” that doesn’t feel right.
COMPASSION Month – Could refer to anything.
I needed help coming up with more words for our very own PRIDE month so, of course, I searched Google hoping that maybe AI could come up with something better.
This one sentence below says more than I could have said in a thousand paragraphs .
I don’t want to write about my relationship with my oldest daughter again. Let’s just say that after 8 years it is the same. I see my two grandchildren about a couple of times a year.
It’s taken me three or four of the 5 years to make peace with it. It’s been tenacity, therapy, good friends, my son and ketamine that has enabled me to live with it.
Now my other daughter, the youngest, has caused me more stress and heart ache, because it has gone on for most of her life.
I can actually admit now that I have been emotionally abused by her. She is not a narcissist like my ex husband and my mother. I think she has borderline personality disorder. Since she is my child I hung in there through it all while dragging her to every kind of professional under the sun because she was clearly unhappy (which is what I thought).
Last year she began texting me and wanted to get together. I hadn’t heard from her in a year, not from lack of trying on my part. It was wonderful! It’s like this person was behaving in a way I had never experienced with her. She would come over for dinner about once a month and we watched Sherlock and Vampire movies…not sure how we got on that one, but it was fun and I could finally love her in a real way.
I’m not completely delusional. I was puzzled by this new and improved child. Maybe I was pushing away the probably end to it with screaming, yelling and unfounded accusations from her. I was a bit tentative giving too much of myself emotionally to the situation, but it was so lovely while it lasted.
First she cancelled Christmas with us. I hid how disappointed I really was “walking on eggshells” kind of thing. We had never spent Christmas apart. Fast forward to early May, that was the last time I saw her. I did get a “I’m fine” text in late July when I asked her if I should file a missing persons report. I texted her on and off since then. The usual things. Memes, videos of the cats, silly stories, etc.
Last Sunday I called my son to see if he had heard from her. He said no. A couple of hours later I got a text from him saying “I’m Alive”. So he had texted her, I don’t know the extent of the conversation, but I know he doesn’t have patience for the way she treats us.
Another hour went by and I got a text from her “I’ve blocked you”.
This caused a familiar reaction. I had been blocked by my sister and my oldest daughter during the hardest time of my life when I divorced my husband. The reaction was that horrible pain in my chest followed by uncontrollable sobbing. This time though I got myself together within minutes instead of 30 which it usually takes.
I rummaged around in my head to figure out how I was feeling. This was new. How did I feel? I went to bed. The next morning rummaged some more trying to pinpoint this strange non-reaction.
Before I left for work I wrote on the back of an envelope “this could be a good thing because now I don’t have to worry about her and take all the abuse”.
By the time I got to work I felt so strong and relived about another rejection from another daughter. Finally I could say “NO” to this, That feeling lasted all day.
I saw my therapist that afternoon and she could see the difference in my reaction. She has always given me advice that makes me feel either real with the way I process things or gives me clues as to how I can see it differently. She was really positive and then she slipped in something like “While you are taking this hiatus from her it will be good to….” can’t remember the rest.
I was disappointed that she had said “while”. Just her saying it broke that wall down a little bit knowing that it is just a matter of time that I won’t be able to keep up this persona. It’s not me, I’m her mother.
I’m not thinking about it now though. I figure if she needs anything she can go to her brother, sister or dad. I’m checked out for now. I may just block her. That would feel so good until I unblock her 10 minutes later.
Revised definition: hi·a·tus: A pause or gap of emotional reactions to my estranged daughters.
I talked with my dr and he said there is nothing in my medicines or withdrawal off antidepressants that would cause this depression or crying.
“I’m not diminishing your pain,” he said, “but often you have a hard time coping”.
Normally I would have been insulted or felt unheard, but I had already thought of something close to that myself.
Could these tears be grief?
Maybe I just need to cry it all out like I’ve done before.
When I was little I cried for weeks when we moved, when friends moved. Cried for two weeks when I had to put down my dogs, my daughter moved to Wisconsin, my mom died, etc.
Most recently my divorce, the other woman, ostracized by my sister and kept from my grandchildren.
Maybe what I am misinterpreting as depression is actually grief . Maybe this is the way other people handle their emotional pain and I used to because I recognized the event.
So I’m giving it a go. I’ll be crying my eyes out and not questioning it. Sounds like utter hell, I’ll just release the sadness and cry until the tears stop.
I’m now on depakote. I’m depressed and so weepy. That pathetic crying that I can’t move, tears rolling over my cheeks. I now realize that it is better than a full on noisy shoulders shaking episode. Sometimes they are impossible to hold back.
“Lasting the day” means waiting until tomorrow to call my psychiatrist and ask what to do. He has given me his cell number and I’ve used it.
I’m trying to figure out why I’m waiting. Maybe I have lost hope that another 18 hours will make any difference and it probably won’t. I’m losing hope for any of this.
My therapist has been trying to break me of the way I view life when I’m happy or depressed. When I’m happy because things are going well and I’m accomplishing my emotional goals, I tend to think nothing ever bad will happen that I can’t handle. And then, of course, as soon as depression comes on or something terrible happens, I rate it as the worst I’ve ever felt and the emotions will never lift and I will never have control over my life.
I’ve got some pretty bad situations going on right now. For a year actually. I can’t believe I’ve made it as far as I have without cracking. I almost cracked a year ago over the summer. Rock bottom, thank god I’ve reached it and hopefully never have to take back that statement. I ended up in the hospital because of a practice suicide. I’ll have to explain that another time too, because this post is about reality.
I thought one day, a revelation of sorts, who ever said your life was supposed to be happy? It was actually a relief after I thought about it for a few days. I was always feeling like I wasn’t doing things right or failing getting my life in order.
Life sucks and then it gets better. I repeated it so many times and it blew my mind. The disappointment is gone when something bad happens and the joy of living in the moment when things are good is contentment. Imagine me, being content? If it’s only for an hour or so, I’ll take it! It is a brand new emotion for me. It’s rare for anyone I thing unless you are baby or a sleeping golden retriever.
So when I realized life sucks, etc, I created the “spiral”. I framed it and it hangs on my my wall so I can see it. The heart is there because one day I hope to love myself.
I feel complaining about insignificant things and labeling them “FWP” exonerates me from being a whiny spoiled person living in the best place in the world. I’m also a jaded ex-catholic, so there is already a layer of guilt underneath everything I say and do.
I want to post this for another reason. With the hell I’ve been going through for the past year from medication side effects, divorce, being ostracized by my children and doing all of this in a delicate mental condition, I welcome superficial trivial problems.
Here is one now:
Well, so far this is a very good day! I colored my hair this week from an online hair color boasting it is just like the professional color. I don’t know why I bother. The brown of my hair turned out beautifully but the white came out a light brownish reddish. Anyway……I used the last of my root concealer two days ago (forgot all about covering my roots on Tuesday and was out doing errands for four hours). Luckily I wasn’t aware so had all of the confidence of a good looking person. Back to my roots (pardon the pun) I was even debating wearing one of Allison’s hats to hit the Walgreens early before too many people were there to get a new can of concealer. In the bathroom I took one more last ditch effort, fingers crossed, to look in the bathroom closet. There it was buried under cold medicine…..half a can!!! Halejuha!
Dear Life: please keep bringing on those kind of problems. I really need a break. xoxo
I was cleaning out the bathroom drawers. I have been accused in the past of throwing out things I shouldn’t have. I can usually counter that accusation by finding the item in question. I am the record holder of “Supreme Finder” title in our family. I can find things without even looking or getting up.
As I said, I was cleaning the drawers in the bathroom vanity. I pulled everything out first, cleaned the drawer and then put everything back in. Well, almost everything. There were the loose tooth floss toothpick things, hair ties, stray, Q –tips, old toothbrushes, etc. Those I threw away.
The real danger came when I approached John’s drawer. I pulled the drawer open and felt my blood run cool for just a moment. Okay, that may have been my imagination, but you get the gist of the apprehension I was feeling.
In his drawer were razors, empty toothpaste tubes, used stray toothpick floss things, an old handle for the blinds, combs and a few pens. Pretty straight forward I thought. A no-brainer. Ah, no. Nothing is ever simple with John. It is my fault. I should’ve realized it. I should have tried to get into his brain while I analyzed every piece of bathroom paraphernalia in his drawer. Hindsight is 20/20.
The next day John casually asked me if I had seen a white pole when I was cleaning out the drawers. I didn’t remember until a few minutes of thinking about it.
“Oh, yeah, I threw it away, ” I don’t know why I felt so confident in myself at that moment. It didn’t last long.
“I had made it into a handle for my razor so I could shave my back”, he said quite calmly.
“Oh no! I thought it was just an old pole!”, I cried (it was just an old pole).
He was very calm, unlike him calm and said, “It was the handle from a blind and the end was broken in just the right way so the razor handle fit.” I thought this was a little strange to invent something when he could have bought one.
My first response to a problem, especially when caused by me is to begin to solve it. I took a handle from the blinds in the bedroom, no dice. I took one from Allison’s room, no. My last one was from the kitchen and it didn’t work.
I felt terrible, probably worse than the situation warranted (as is also my way), but I kept trying to fix what I had caused. I think I was also trying to save face. I had always heralded the fact that whatever I was accused of throwing away I had always found it and felt quite smug about it too.
My first line of defense was Amazon. I looked for something to replace “the rod”. I found two things, so I screen shot them and sent them to John. He texted back saying “I will figure something else out”. Always the martyr.
I had an idea of going to ACE Hardware with the razor and getting a piece of pvc that it would fit into. I could also get some plastic tubing. I meant to go there twice, but I always ran out of time. Yesterday I went to the bank, the post office, grocery store, etc. and I thought I could fit it in. I was in the process of trying to convince myself to go when I had an epiphany.
I had found a replacement “razor pole” and he said thank you, but no. My part was done. I can move on with the other 15- 29 things on my to do list.
Who was I trying to kid? Of course, I didn’t move on! I went to ACE today and told the guy what I needed and what I needed it for. I asked for pvc pipe and plastic tubing. I got it home and after much filing, shoving and twisting etc., I got it to work!
Pheww, that was close! I almost wasn’t able to move on with my life.
I’ve included the blueprint to the “razor pole” below in case anyone is in need of such a high quality gadget.
I just got a new car. The old one got me through so many weather jams I am grateful for the 11 years it gave me. That old green 2003 Outback will be missed. No car payments will be missed.
You know what will not be missed?
Headlights going out when the emergency brake light goes on while driving down the interstate.
Not having any dash lights and having to see the speedometer while going under a street light or following (a safe distance) behind someone else.
Front end grinding and knocking.
Juice stained carpets.
Juice stained ceilings.
Juice stained seats.
Knocked out front fog light from when Emily scraped a parked car.
Hole in back bumper when I drove over a generator.
A “My Child is an Honor Student” in middle school bumper sticker (oh, yes I was one of those parents). Since Tristan was 14, I’ve been trying to get it off. Goo Be Gone and then finally a chisel. Tristan is now 18 and still no dice.
The poor old green thing has been replaced by a dark grey 2015 Outback. Unfortunately, the new car smell has been replaced by Chick-Fil-A, Starbucks and poodle.
A little confused tonight as to how to look at my life. It’s been four years since I set out on this journey. For the first time since then I feel really well. It’s almost what I imagined life to be. You know, being normal.
I am still a little sensitive to mood changes though. Every time I have a different feeling I wonder if it is normal or are my moods shifting again because of my “special” brain chemicals.
The depression is gone! The highs are gone! I feel regular all the time. What does that do for me? Not sure yet.
I’ve been going along at a pretty good pace. When summer break began I had a list on two sides of the paper. It has been reduced to one of those skinny magnetic grocery lists that hang on the fridge. Good for me, but what happens when I run out of things to do frantically?
I know what I’ve gained, but what I will lose? It can’t possibly remain the same. Will I begin to lose my energy? How about the ability to write anything worth reading? Sense of humor? God, no. Anything, but that.
anincidentallife.com 
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