I Didn't Want to Write This

I do not want to write this post. My brain is screaming at me that I shouldn't write it, that people will think I'm crazy. My brain is using a lot of language right now that is dangerous.

It's using words like should, never, always, no one, everyone.

It's not been a bad day. I started the day by seeing some friends. It was good. I shared about how God answered my prayer yesterday. We went to a local beach and Doug, my 7-year-old, left the beach area, crossed a busy street (while waiting for the signal to say walk, thankfully) and walked across a parking lot (barefoot, because he didn't have time to put on his Crocs) to find our van.

A good samaritan saw him at the crosswalk. She has a son with special needs and her antennae were tweaked seeing such a young guy crossing a busy street on his own. She followed him into the parking lot and parked near the van. She knew that a mom was probably looking for him. After finally piecing together that he had gone to the van, I walked up to find her sitting there with him. My adrenaline levels were through the roof and my anxiety was not far behind.

As I shared this story with my friends this morning, I started crying. I stopped by my parents' house and chatted with my mom for a bit. I cried some more.

I went back to the beach today, without Doug. (He stayed home and watched TV while my husband worked.)

I had a very pleasant time at the beach. I met my friend and her kids. Our kids get along well. We get along well. She usually keeps me in stitches. We have a good relationship and she knows my struggles.

I left the beach, came home, had some coffee. I spent time mindlessly playing a game on my phone. It is what I do when I'm in a funk. It's not constructive. It's not edifying. It doesn't really serve me well, but it's what I do. I folded laundry.

Somewhere in the midst of all of that, those awful words started bombarding me.

I shouldn't feel this way.

No one is going to want to do business with me, I'm too crazy.

No one wants to hear that I'm struggling, especially if I was smiling just hours earlier.

I'm never going to get better.

I'm useless.

I'm worthless.

And on and on. The logical part of my brain, the one that eats all of it's veggies, exercises, drinks enough water, etc., is drowned out by this other narrative. I know that people care. I want to reach out but I feel exhausted. I haven't eaten today because I didn't feel hungry at the beach. By the time I came home, I didn't have the energy to make anything.

Sleep is still spotty. I am going in on Wednesday night to have a titration study for my bi-pap machine. I am hoping that if they can recalibrate my machine, I will be able to sleep more restfully.

For reasons that I can't understand, my kids insist on crawling into bed with me. They are not good sleep citizens. I am frequently fighting for blankets and real estate on my king-sized bed.

I am overwhelmed by my sons' disabilities this summer. Jeremy's anxiety has been through the roof, and it weighs on me. I feel responsible for his defective genes. I get exhausted in dealing with his tics and quirkiness. Seeing him battling anxiety triggers my own anxiety.

Doug has been a lot to handle. Living with him is like facing the world's most redundant press corps. I am bombarded by questions from morning until night. They are not thought-provoking questions. They are not questions that help me get to know him better. It's a series of questions that repeats, that make no sense, but that are all urgent.

"Mommy, what's a (insert dinosaur name here)?" (I confess, I've yet to figure out what kind of answer he's looking for here--does he want to know if they're a vegetarian or carnivore? Does he not know how to pronounce the name? Is it some kind of crazy catechism for which I've never received the primer?)

"Mommy, what's for dinner?" (The answer he wants to hear is chicken nuggets. We rotate through hot dogs, chicken nuggets, pizza and chicken breast. You would think that answering the question in his native tongue, English, would mean the question didn't bear repeating. You would be wrong.)

"Mommy, can I have (insert name of toy here) for Christmas/my birthday? (His birthday just passed and he was disappointed to find that he didn't receive a large pile of presents. He got one toy from Target and has been lobbying to get other dinosaurs to keep it company. Now that Christmas is looming on the horizon, my sense is that the requests will be coming in left and right.)

"Mommy, what are we doing today?" (This is another that gets stuck on repeat. Again, I answer in his native tongue and sometimes direct him to his brother or sister for follow-up.)

"Mommy, can I have (food item)?" (He seems to have been fitted with a hollow leg and tends to want to eat nonstop once his Ritalin has worn off. The problem is, if we don't keep tabs, he does things like eat five sticks of string cheese at a time.)

Those are the top five, but believe me when I say that there are a million variations and I am peppered with them every single day. I start the day answering in a Mary Poppins way. I end the day answering in a way that I would liken to The Beast (from Beauty & The Beast). It's not pretty. I feel guilty that I can't be Mary Poppins all day. I know that he is not asking me these questions to be malicious. I know that in a few short years, he won't want to be near me. I get that the days are long and the years are short. I totally get that.

The problem is, when my mental status is less than ideal, I have no patience. I start off the day stretched like an overworked rubber band. Every little bump tweaks me in just the wrong way. My kids don't understand this, and really they shouldn't have to understand. I try to let them know that I'm tired, or stressed, or sad. I want them to know when my pitcher isn't feeling full. For the most part, they have started to understand that I can't be "on" all the time, but at the same time, they are kids. They are not assholes, as I sometimes like to think. They are young and their brains are underdeveloped. They love me. They want to spend time with me. They don't get the intricacies of parenting kids with special needs.

I was driving home from dropping Bekah off at sewing class tonight and there was a passage from Harry Potter that came to mind. Harry has just had a disastrous date with Cho Chang and he and Ron are talking about it with Hermione. She tries to explain to them all of the feelings Cho is having--she is conflicted because Cedric died and now she's dating Harry, she's sad because Cedric died, she feels guilty, etc. Ron remarks that there's no way one person could be feeling all of those things at once.

And yet, that's what it's like in my brain. There are competing ideas. I feel crazy for being mostly fine one minute and then weepy the next. (I'm not saying I'm manic, I'm just saying that I'm crying intermittently and it doesn't seem to be as connected as I would like to what's going on around me.)

I put a lot of pressure on myself about how a 40-year-old mother of four should behave, feel, think, act and be. I am minimizing my time on social media because of what's going on in my head. That raises all sorts of concerns about the long-term efficacy of my social media presence. I want to engage with people, I want to share content, but I feel disingenuous if I'm in tears and posting about anything else than that I'm in tears. But I don't want to post that I'm in tears because I'm afraid people will be concerned. If people are concerned, then I will feel obligated to respond with a thank-you or something.

And on and on, ad nauseum.

I'll say again, I don't want to be writing this. I want to be whole. I want to not feel this way. I want to find the medication that works for me and have it work right the eff now. I don't want to alienate anyone. I don't want to burden anyone.

I plan on eating dinner, taking my medicine and crawling into bed at the earliest possible time. If necessary, I will lock my door until the kids are all in bed. I will listen to a meditation, turn down the AC, leave the TV off and pray for a solid night's sleep. I will reach out to people as I'm able, I will be as vulnerable as I feel safe being, I will keep just trying to put one foot in front of the other.