nucchi

I forgot how much I like reading fiction. I’ve learned a lot from the self help books I’ve read really recently, but I really needed the escape from a good fiction novel.

It took a really bad day at work, at realizing the relationships I have at work, to make me realize that as much as I think I’m happy with my life, I am far from it.

My relationship with Mike, while it has been a struggle, is finally getting better. I credit that to my self help books for sure. My relationships with my friends are great- its been a while since I’ve really felt like I had people in my life that care about me.

Aside from that, life sucks.

I am to blame.

I can’t figure out why, but I have a lot of anger with some people. All I can figure is that these people all have the same attitude towards life, and I’m surely sick of dealing with it.

I’ve tried to work through a lot myself, but i think its time to call in a professional to help heal me. I wish this was a quick fix, its hurting too much.

I’ve been happy. I was happy with things I was doing, ways I was getting involved. There was Daisies, my womens small group (SWOG), and finally my recent involvement in the Susan G. Komen 3-day for the walk. I cannot put in words how excited I am about this walk. If I could wear a 3-day shirt everyday, with pink sox and accessories, pins, bandanas… I would. I got the shoes, I got the camel-bag. I ordered handmade bracelets to sell for a fundraiser. Heck, after only two months, I’m $800 away from reaching my minimum contribution!

I realized that these kind of things were the things that were going to make me happy. Giving back to the community! Finding my relationship with God! Helping raise money to find a cure for breast cancer so that I wouldn’t have to lose my Mom to cancer like I lost my Dad in January…

That is it though… that was the spark under my ass that got me moving in triple time. Watching my dad those last few months. He wasn’t the guy we knew, he was miserable, he was tired, he was old. Yes, he was old, he had reached his 70th birthday last year, but the cancer AGED him. When he was healthy, you would have never guessed how old he was!
I had no idea, up until the day I sat in the funeral home with my mother and my sister Dee, how involved my Dad was in EVERYTHING. He had a long list of organizations that he was involved in. Masons, Shriners, Knights of Columbus. He served in the Navy. If he was a member of something, he was probably more than a member, maybe president. Like his condo association, or the golf club.

I don’t know, I think that part of me absorbed this information and began to have the desire to be active like him. At the same time, this is/was a shock to me and i’ve probably spread myself too thin.

Over the weekend I had an unpleasant conversation with Mike where he made me see something I wasn’t seeing. He made me see that I wasn’t as happy as I had thought. I tried to blow it off initially, that he was wrong, that maybe I was just stressed because of the knee injury I had experienced the week prior, the one that was keeping me from my training, that was making it difficult for me to do the things I needed to do. It became evident last night that maybe he was right.
The dog barking, the daughter whining, the son crying for me. Mike complaining about the meal I had prepared. Still, the pain in my knee, the doctors appointments. I came to a point where I could not take it anymore! The mere sound of any of the above made me want to scream/vomit/run!

I got in my car to go to my SWOG meeting, but I wasn’t in any frame of mind to listen to anyone or be a part of anything. I couldn’t even listen to the radio. I drove, but realized, I didn’t want to be driving, I couldn’t drive. Where would I go? I couldn’t go home, that was the place that set me off to begin with. Friends? Those were scarce in the area. Family? again, not the best solution for me. I cried as I drove, stressed to a point I don’t ever remember being at. I needed to get off the road before I jerked the wheel, hitting a tree or worse, another car. I’m not suicidal, but I needed my brain to turn off.

I finally made it home and decided to sit in my car (in silence) until I could calm down enough to go inside. Or, as it turned out, until Mike would pull me from the car and order me into our room. With the fan turned on, bundled up from the cold outside, I layed down to cry and to sleep.

I drove into work this morning and I found myself crying.  I don’t know why, I don’t know what triggered the tears. 

Almost a year ago, my little monkey was born.  He was perfect in every way, and to this day his is the best baby.  He’ll brighten your day with his smiles and it’s hard to ever be upset in his presence – looking at him and watching him in all his bliss wipes all those bad feelings away.

How could these kids not make you smile?

But he can’t be up with me at all hours of the day, so there are times when I am without that drug to keep me from feeling down.  I can’t look at myself in the mirror to see that baby fat that refuses to go away;  I can’t watch any tv because I’m sure to find a show or commercial to put me in tears. 

When I was probably 5 months pregnant, I KNEW something was wrong with me.  Yes, pregnancy can be rough, it can be emotional… and with a 3 year old at home who’s coming into her own… and the struggles of a marriage… so it’s not like it was a surprise to me that I was so unhappy.  I seeked the advice of my doctor and got prescribed some anti-depressants.  Anti-partum depression is what he called it. 

I didn’t stay on them longer than a month – I was one of those pregnant women who hating taking any kind of drugs, even tylenol, while the baby was inside of me.  It said right on the material that came with the drugs that any use of these could cause dependency for the newborn – yeah, I didn’t want that…

So Monkey came, and things didn’t get a whole lot better, so I decided to go back on the anti-depressants.  I took them for a while, but then I’d forget or skip a few doses.  Hubby would notice and make comments – I’d have major highs and major lows.  I’d start crying for no apparent reason.  Even I had no idea why I was crying.  I’d lay in my room, huddled in a ball while I cried for hours, isolating myself from my family.

So now, Monkey will turn one in a few weeks and I still struggle with these emotions.  When will I get better?  How will I know?