Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Today I called the insurance co and they said they cover both inpatient AND outpatient detox at 80%. Although I said I was calling for a friend, they still filed a case under my name - eek! I also called the drug help line , and from the broken English I cold understand, the guy kept saying "Methadone Clinic". However,from the research I have done and what I have seen first hand with other people taking it, I have heard Methadone is just as addictive if not harder to get off of than opiates.
The Husband Deal -
I really do love my husband, and though I have been told over and over how much I deserve better, I just can't bring myself to leave him. Especially because of the kids, although a lot of people say not to, it isn't always necessarily the right thing to do. Hubby and I don't fight very often, he works a lot and when he is here we get along well. (Well just as much as any other couple.) He is great with the kids, and they love him more than anything in the world. Even through all the horrible things he has done, I have handled it. The cheating though, it makes me sad and hate not being able to just have that carefree trusting love you have when you join as one with another soul in marriage. Later on in life I found out my Dad had cheated on my Mom, (and also found out nearly EVERY woman in my life has faced this adultery thing too!) it changed a lot about the way I finally understood a lot of the things about my own child hood and growing up observing my parent's marriage. Who by the way, are STILL married after 43 years. So that along with all the other testimonies I have heard are proof that you can work through adultery, even if it isn't easy.
Back when hubby was in the hospital, so was my Dad for open heart surgery complications. They were both in ICU at the same time, and my Mother and I were very close and helped each other through it. She basically stayed home with all the kids while I hopped between floors watching over both of them for several months. I literally lived there as long as hubby was there, sleeping on a blow up mattress on the floor in the corner. That bothered me a lot too, still having the fresh wounds of the affair and being away from my new baby so much, she refused to nurse just wanting the bottle she had been getting - it killed me. My oldest was 7 but bless his heart, he didn't fully understand. I remember a very intimate conversation I had with my Mom in a waiting room at the hospital one day. She shared with me a lot of her deepest darkest feelings and how her experience with my Dad's affair had always haunted her. Especially during the rough times in their marriage.Also, the times she had to forget everything else and literally take care of him on his death bed. It never goes away but you learn to deal with your past in time.
With MY husband, I do feel this is another way he can control me. Early on in our dating and marriage he was a very over jealous guy. He was always harassing me about where I had been, who I saw, talked to, etc. But he got a lot better about that after a few years as he grew up (we were only 17 & 18 when we married).
Hubby playing the sex game with them is partly my fault because in the beginning it was my way of 1. Originally trying to be the good wife, and make sure I do my job pleasing him so he wont cheat again (I know, it is messed up) and 2. A mask that makes us "even" and makes this problem okay to take most of the negative attention off of the real problem at hand. I know,still messed up.
Hubby said falling into addiction is due to not being mentally strong enough to not let it take over you and it makes you look weak. My honest opinion is it shows strength to even admit you have a problem and be big enough to ask for help! Believe me, if I had the actual ability of growing balls, I would have by now!
I know we have a less than perfect relationship, as most married couples do, but I need to take care of this bigger problem first. Then I will regroup and work on that situation. Right now, just as in the past, I am in NO position to up and leave with the kids and frankly, it would just make things worse right now. For everyone. First things first, I NEED TO GET BETTER!
I have talked several times with one of the commenters above and her words were more than encouraging. (Thank you commenter!) I also called the drug help line anonymously and got a lot of good advice and resources to use locally. Most were methadone clinics, so I am steering clear of that. I went to the Suboxone website and did a search for a local Dr that in certified to write it and can manage my case on a daily basis. I am very hopeful after learning about the Suboxone. Everyone I have talked to about this drug says it is like magic (although I know there is no magic cure), but it takes away the anxiety and cravings which is the part I have had the most trouble dealing with in my past attempts to stop.
I did end up getting more pills over the weekend and just spent 30 minutes breaking them down into smaller increment doses in a daily pill box to taper down (to lessen the withdrawal symptoms) about 5 mg a day until I get to zero, in which that is the time I will go into the Dr to get started on the Suboxone.
I still do not plan on telling my Mom & the rest of the family unless my plan fails and resort to my plan B. My family and the going to rehab would be my plan B.
I've gone through a LOT harder things in my life ALONE and know I have the strength to do this too if I set my mind to it, and this is something I REALLY have to do. There is no other choice and that is what I have made up in my mind. I HAVE TO DO THIS!!! This is the way it HAS to be. I made a plan and I am going to do my damnedest to follow through now that I know there is help waiting for me at the Dr's office after I take my last pill.
As far as all the love and e hugs and support I have received in the comments, I can't thank you all enough for the encouragement and all the kind words! Really, I mean I knew there was a lot of love in the blogosphere but ya'll gave me more than I could have ever hoped for! (With the exception of commenter #30, either you are Dr.Dickhead or you are just the type of cut and dry my way or no way asshatted person that has no hope in anything at all and I REALLY feel sorry for you. If you read my original post, I said that I would NEVER EVER risk my kid's being taken away and I meant that. Also, I have NO car, & NO drivers license so don't worry about me wrecking and hurting anyone. ALSO, like I said originally, I do NOT pass out from these things, they actually give me energy. Really, I'm just glad there was only one of you on the comment box!)
The past 2 days I have read and reread all the internets inspiration and it has given me the courage to take action. I can't thank you all enough and promise I will be back with a success story update in the next month or so to tell! In the meanwhile, please, PLEASE keep me in your thoughts and prayers! I know it won't be a walk in the park, but it is a journey I must take no matter what and just making my plan is the first step. Knowing there is a better life for me and my kids waiting for us is enough to keep me going!
PS - If anyone wants to talk privately more than the anonymous commenter route, you can reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org . But PLEASE keep the negativity and hate mail to yourself. Remember, karma is a bitch! And to quote the commenter I have been in contact with: Anyone judging a drug addict ought to try being one!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
My husband is your minister, not your slave.
My husband's job is to please God, not you.
My husband is a good man and does not deserve your judgmental diatribes.
Why can't you see the way you make him suffer?
My kind hearted husband has been reduced to weeping by your sharp tongue.
Why do you feel the need to constantly "correct" me?
Who gave you permission to appoint yourself my judge?
If I spoke to you or your husband the way you speak to us you would be devastated and we would be fired.
Why can't we fire you?
If I treated your children the way you treat mine there would be a public outcry against me and you would pummel me into the ground.
Why does no one cry out on behalf of MY children? Why can I not protect my children from you without recrimination?
You are cruel to others in our midst as well. You have destroyed lives. Your husband does your bidding.
And yet no one is willing to stand up to you.
They are afraid of you.
You pretend to love God.
You pretend to be Spiritual.
What you really love is control.
You should be ashamed and yet you feel self-righteous.
Why does my honesty threaten you?
Admitting to imperfection does not make me a bad Christian. It makes me human.
I have been trying for years to be kind to you.
To be gracious in spite of how you hurt us continually.
I have embraced your children and refused to blame them for your mistakes.
I have tried to love you like I KNOW Jesus loves you.
And as a reward we have to leave our home, our job, our friends.
Because of you we have to find a new place to live and work.
We have to go somewhere away from here to give ourselves a chance to heal from the wounds you have inflicted.
Why is one bitter person allowed to determine so much of my future?
Sincerely, your minister's wife.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Sometimes I think I am the worst mother ever. Now, I know that isn't really true. I have never hit my son. I have yelled at him, but not often. I try, I really do, to be a good mom. I love my son. I love him so very much.
But. . .
Isn't there always a but?
I get annoyed sometimes and just wish he'd go away. I want his whining to stop. I want him to accept that no means no. I want him to grow the fuck up. I feel so impatient and annoyed sometimes that I just want to hide somewhere so nobody could find me. He knows how to push my buttons and delights in doing so. It's been worse since my husband and I separated. Of course it has. My son is acting out because of his frustration and fear about the situation. I am less patient than usual because of the demands that have increased since I became a single mom.
Finances are tighter than tight, so tight in fact that I've considered asking my husband for a reconciliation. I know that isn't the right answer. I feel how much less tension there is in the house without him here. Most of the time my son behaves better than when his dad was living here, except those times when the outbursts happen, when he has his emotional meltdowns that are so much the source of my frustrations.
Sometimes I just don't know where to turn. It has been years since I had to be independent and stand on my own. I am scared, afraid that I am going to fail as a mom and as an independent individual. What if I can't do this? What if I fail? What will become of me and my son?
Friday, September 19, 2008
My favorite memories of my early days with my daughter are the time that she and I spent cuddled in bed, nursing, sleeping, and getting to know each other. I had an unexpected C-Section that left me much less mobile than I had planned. Thankfully, I had help from my husband and my parents, so I was able (and forced!) to take it easy and not do much more than delight in my daughter. Now that we're preparing to get pregnant again, I treasure those moments even more, knowing that any subsequent babies won't get quite the same attention that I was able to give my first-born. I know that I will have as much love for as many children as we have, but I also know that as I am getting to know the next one, there will be a sweet little girl by my side, also taking in every detail of a new arrival.
I also can't get over how much I loved to nurse. I stopped recently, when my daughter was about 16.5 months old. I am not a "nursing Nazi" nor did I think I would make it as long as I did, but there was something so amazing about knowing that I was providing my daughter with those beautiful baby rolls, to know that I had sustained her in my womb for forty-one weeks and that I could still provide that sustenance. I loved to watch her root and when she started to play with my hair while nursing...so sweet! I loved to comfort her and stop her tears by nursing her. As a first-time mom, I didn't always know what my daughter wanted or needed. If all else failed, my boob usually calmed her. Even though we no longer nurse, rocking before bed is still our special time and I know it's because of the hours and hours we spent in the rocker together those first few weeks - maybe even months - of her life.
Rebecca and Kristen: congratulations on the sweet little girls about to enter your lives! I can't wait to hear about your births, your babies, and all of the trials, tribulations, adventures, tears, smiles, and laughter that your daughters will bring with them. Best wishes to you both!!
Thursday, September 18, 2008
I didn't expect to like this blogging thing. I figured I'd give it a whirl and abandon it within weeks, as I have countless other hobbies. Writing has never come naturally to me and it didn't seem like it would be a good fit. But, for some reason, it is and I love it. I love having a virtual baby book for my children. I love having a creative outlet and a world wide web of cyber friends. I love it all.
I began my blog mostly as a way to update friends and family on the kids. I figured it was better than sending photo links and long e-mails to people who may or may not care. People could come and go as they please. Sick of my antics? Take a break. Can't get enough of me? Visit every day, numerous times a day. Whatever. Had I known how much I would love this weird little world though, I would have done one major thing differently: I would have remained anonymous. Perhaps I would tell a handful of friends about it, and my husband would be privy to my rantings, but that's it. No aunts, no uncles, no parents, no siblings, no distant cousins, no neighbors, and no old coworkers. Most importantly, no mother in law.
Let me explain: My mother in law and I
I meant it to be funny and light. I thought we were at a place where I could be myself with her and she'd appreciate the humor. I even called her to tell her about it and to make sure she wouldn't be offended. I thought we were cool. Apparently, I was mistaken. Within moments of posting, my husband and I received a profanity filled e-mail from my mother in law. How dare I write about them. I was called vindictive and hurtful and mean. And the letters haven't stopped; from his mother, his 97 year old grandmother and other family members. Letters blaming me for the demise of their
Clearly, the strain is about a whole lot more than my blog, but it's easy to blame everything on a post-- it's there in black and white. They aren't speaking now, and the future is uncertain. In a way, it's pretty damn nice not to have to put on a happy face with people I can't stand. But it came at too big of a cost. My husband and children suffer, and of course that's not worth it. I didn't take the post down though, as I stand by it. I have apologized in vain and refuse to grovel. I meant no harm, and their reaction is the problem here. (And the recipe really is good.) But it wasn't worth it, not at all.
So, my sage advice to you: If you are single, marry an orphan. And if you are married, don't blog about your mother in law. If you are new to blogging, keep yours on the down low for a while, until you figure out who you really want to share it with. It would be much more fun, not to mention therapeutic, if I could honestly write about all of the wacked relationships in my life. I've contemplated taking my blog private, so I could do just that. But I've come to love the attention of strangers and blog buddies too much to abandon them. So, I will remain myself, and stifle some of the words I need to express most. Except today.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
I. GET. IT.
No really, I truly do. I understand exactly how lucky I am and I thank the universe for every single moment with the munchkin, and for every single breath she takes. What part is it that you think I don’t understand? She was born at 25 weeks and weighed one freaking pound!! Do you think maybe I missed that part? Do you think I was sleep walking during the 4 month’s we spent in NICU or that I somehow forgot?? Do you think I just glossed over all the information on future outcomes for children in her circumstances? Maybe you think I don’t look around at the other children at her follow-up appointments and see what could have been? Are you aware that there are still moments when I watch this precious gift sleeping soundly and drift to that dark corner of my mind remembering sitting by that isolette trying so desperately to force this child to take her next breath by willing it - thinking that somehow I could give her the energy to take that next breath and live that next minute…
And now I watch one and a half years later while this beautiful, living breathing child plays and runs around after her brothers. She’s not just living, she’s thriving.
The boys have gone upstairs, maybe to get a game, more likely to get a minute to themselves and she runs after them but is stopped by the gate at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes fill up and her bottom lip starts to quiver. I’m watching her face and waiting for the wailing to begin. Hold on a sec though – she blinks away the tears, her brow furrows, she gets “the look”…you can see her little mind working and the look definitely says “Oh I don’t THINK so” and then she’s yelling “Guys!” at the top of her lungs in that demanding little sister who “knows” that she’s the queen of the universe voice. I try to call her over and she shakes her head “No” and calls again. When her big brother comes running and picks her up over the gate she looks back and her expression definitely says “Ha! Told you so!” then she turns her attention to her brother and starts babbling in a voice that leaves no question that she’s giving him hell for leaving her downstairs in the first place.
It’s just a mundane family sort of moment, one that might even drive me batshit crazy on some days, but as I’m watching her in my mind’s eye the scene is superimposed with the image of that tiny raw, red newborn hooked up to so many machines, and tubes and wires that you could barely see her. I have a feeling that although the nightmare image has faded with time that it will always be there as I watch this amazing child grow, like my own little watermark on her life that only I can see. And I can’t believe that I am privileged to share this little moment with her and that I get to see that little bit of humor peeking through “See Mommy – they’ll do whatever I want” – she honestly thinks it’s funny !
So, like I said. I. GET. IT. More than you could possible know.
But no matter how lucky we are, no matter how many blessed moments we have there are also the more shadowy times.
She’s fallen down and pulled a chair down on top of her and left a bump on her head. She screams, and arches her back, and won’t let me hold her to comfort her. She squirms away from me and crawls to a corner of the sofa and hugs herself into a ball to calm down and I watch with my heart breaking because my baby hurts and I can’t freaking comfort her…
We’re in the ophthalmologist’s office sitting with her on my lap in the exam chair while I hold her with one arm in a death grip around her head, the other around her thrashing arms, and Dad holds her feet to keep her still while the doctor examines her eyes – I don’t know which is worse, the kicking and screaming or when she finally gives up and goes limp in my arms, disassociating from the exam that she hates so much…
She’s in her high chair at dinner time and has just finished eating her pureed dinner, but she spies what we are eating and wants to try. I sigh, and try one more time to give her a little piece. She’s so freaking pleased and excited, she plays with it for a second and then pops it in her mouth just like her brothers, she’s even chewing this time (that’s new and VERY exciting) and I start to think that this might be the time – but then no, here comes that familiar panicked look and she’s gagging. I manage to get her to spit it out and give her a sip of milk, letting her know how proud I am that she chewed this time, that it’s OK we’ll get this, reassuring her brothers that everything is fine, and my 8yo puts down his fork and says “Mom – it’s not fair” with tears in his eyes…
See, that’s where we are right now. It’s not that we don’t know that we are so very lucky; it’s not that we don’t realize how much worse it could have been. It’s not like we don’t know that these are all really little things in the bigger picture…but there are days when it seems like the little things are never going to end. There are times when as much as I couldn’t picture a moment without the wonderful child that she is, exactly the way that she is, that I mourn the carefree easygoing child that she was in my dreams before my pregnancy started to go down the toilet.
And there are days when it’s just not fair. This wasn’t supposed to happen to her or any child and the fact that it did and that it makes things more difficult for her sucks sometimes OK? So if I complain, or if I seem sad about something that you judge to be “nothing compared to what could have happened” PLEASE refrain from telling me I don’t know how good I’ve got it or how lucky I am, or how worse someone else has it – I get it already…
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
You quit your job today. We have 2 kids to feed, school to pay for and medical bills, and grocery bills, and why did I buy that new couch?
You quit your job today. I am so neurotically scared. What will we do, how will things get done? Am I going to be homeless? Oh, my, I am such a drama queen even in my head.
You quit your job today.
Sunday, September 07, 2008
That is my secret. A secret that tears me apart mentally & physically and has every day for a year now. Today is the kinda anniversary of my first realization of it. I'll just go ahead and come out with it, though I've never been able to speak the words aloud, even to myself. I have a problem. A BIG problem. I am addicted to prescription pain medicine. Vicodin to be exact.
This has gone on for a year now and it seems so insane it has been this long. I know the first thing anyone reading this will think is to automatically judge me and think badly of me as a drug addict. I hate that term and all the feelings associated with it. To me, it sounds like some cowering thieving no good dirty rotten teeth creature hiding behind a dumpster shaking and sweating ramming needles in its arm. That's the mental image a lot of people get associated with the term drug attic. I know I did, I thought the same thing, until I realized I was one. Yet I am far from that visual to the eye. Did anyone hear Cindy McCain was addicted to pain meds back in the late 90's? I know it made me not feel SO horrible and trashy about my problem, though I know it doesn't justify shit.
I didn't intend on acquiring this awful habit, as I'm sure nobody sets out to do so. I had a surgery last year that had many complications resulting in lasting pain, thus me staying on the pain medication longer than originally intended. After the first week or so of taking them, I didn't really feel buzzed off of them like I did in the beginning. They just took the pain away and I could function. A few months later when I tried to stop taking them, I felt AWFUL.At the time, I didn't realize it was from stopping them, but knew I felt better when I had been taking them. For 3 days I walked around (or tried to) and just could not function. The mental anguish of anxiety and feeling like I was just gonna lose it, crying non stop, sweating profusely alternating with cold sweats, the diarrhea SO bad I couldn't go further than 4ft from the toilet. Looking back - Now I know what it was, it was withdrawals. At that time I didn't even have a clue it was related to the drug use but I knew I felt better ON them. And it wasn't considered a bad thing in my mind at the time. The Dr had given them to me for a valid reason and told me to take them. So I started taking them again - and felt back to "normal".
When my Dr suddenly quit writing them for me, I was worried. I enjoyed this feeling, not only did it give me the boost of energy to go about my daily routine, but it made the previous depression I had so long suffered with almost disappear. The past 2 years in my family's life has been pure hell, one thing after another with me being the targeted victim getting the brunt of it all. This could & should be a separate post in itself ---> I went through a stressful complicated pregnancy in late 2005 - early 2006 alone (though I was married), only to find out my husband had been having an affair the entire time and was planning on leaving me and taking our older child with him. (All of these events could be a novel in themselves so I'll try to keep it short. And I KNOW it is not an excuse for MY behavior or to blame for my problem. I'm just trying to convey the level of stress causing and contributing to my depression.) After a long painful 3 months of living with this horrid situation trying to make it work, hubby and I decided to part ways. After learning all the down and dirty details of this affair (thanks to his slut bag mistress telling me EVERYTHING I never wanted to know - I drove myself insane with rehashing these memories over and over!), doubled with the PPD, no, tripled with a screaming colicky baby that wouldn't let me put her down = I was a basket case.
So he was leaving, and I had no where to go. 4 days before he was to leave, he was diagnosed with 2 very horrible types of cancer (karma?) and was given 2 weeks to live. It was the scariest situation I have ever been through in my life. I couldn't leave him lying there on his death bed, although I truly hated him for all he had done to me. I was stuck. So I did the humane thing I knew I SHOULD do, against the advice of my closest girlfriends at the time, and stayed. I stayed with him throughout all of the chemo and hospital stays and nursed him back to health at home for an entire year. Supposedly, everything was "better". This life changing event was supposed to make everything all better - but I still had all of those horrible feelings crammed down inside me. Just because he got better, those feelings never went away. All that stuff was still there, merely pushed aside for a bigger crisis. However I was the only one who seemed to remember it and feel it. I had no closure on the situation.
He got better and went back to work, leaving me at home with the now 1 year old and an 8 yr old. Alone. Day & night while he tried to make up for a year's lost wages. I was alone with the baby during the day until my son came home from school, just them, me, and my insanity. All the depression was still there, just like it had been since I was 15 years old when my parents started me in therapy for it. But I quit after I became pregnant with my first child at age 18 thinking the baby would bring joy and hope into my life and I wouldn't be depressed anymore. Not to mention the antidepressants I was on were fairly new, and the effects on an unborn child were unknown - so I quit taking them. Plus, I had to focus on him, not me anymore. It got a little better in the first few years I had him, being a busy young Mom trying to make a life for us. I didn't have time to sit around and worry about how I felt. Hubby and I grew together and made a life for our new young family. Things were better. Until the 2nd baby mess came about and all that drama.
Off and on I have struggled with this addiction, hating myself, feeling ashamed, trying several times to get off of them on my own only to go right back to them. I've tried everything, replacing them with other meds, tapering them down to lessen the withdrawals but nothing ever works. Not with where I am. Now I have to find them "on the streets". Just like those creatures behind the dumpsters. Humiliating. Hubby KNOWS fully about my problem, and even gets them for me so I'll be "OK" because he hates to see me like that. He also plays sort of a (really fucked up demented) game with them, making me agree to do sexual favors for him in exchange for him getting them. The few times I tried quitting on my own I never made it past the 3rd or 4th day being stuck on the couch, unable to function or even get up or think and be the super Mom everyone expects of me. That I HAVE to be. Maybe if I were alone, not solely responsible for a high demands 2 yr old screaming at me ALL DAY LONG, I could lay in bed and eventually get over it. But with the responsibilities I have now, I can't accomplish both. I just can't do what I need to do where I'm at right now. So hubby does his work, calling around, and brings me some asking if I feel better now. (I know, he is awful for enabling me, I hate it too).
I have had countless break downs curled into a fetal position on my bed crying, BEGGING him to PLEASE let me go to rehab and get help.But he just kinda blows it off with the opinion of the fact that he grew up with parents submersed in addiction and has no sympathy for it cause "it's all in your head". He is desensitized to it all. He just says, "Oh, you'll be alright, it's not that bad, you just need to grow some balls and get over it.You're making it a bigger deal than it is." But then the next day or so he'll come home with some and say, "I just want you to be happy." Every time I bring up rehab, he has a million reasons of why NOT. Because it would be an embarrassment to our family, he can't take off work to keep the kids... It's even harder because I am literally a stuck at home Mom with NO car, no way to go anywhere, take my kids anywhere, go to the store, or especially take myself to the Dr. I have always depended on either hubby or my Mom taking me where I needed to go. Now that Mom is not talking to me, I am really stuck, not to mention lonely as she was my best friend, my ONLY friend.
Earlier this year, I went into my OB/GYN for my check up and saw one of 9 Dr's practicing there. (Not my regular sweet loving compassionate female Dr that offered me nerve pills at my 6 week PP follow up when I told her about the affair...and I didn't accept them but it was the thought that counts to me.) I saw a male Dr, the one I like the least,a cocky prick by his manner, but he was all that was available. I broke down sitting on the exam table telling him everything thinking he would immediately offer help and support and actually FUCKING HELP ME or something. Seeing where I am today, you can probably guess that didn't go as planned. He said that was not his department or place and his words were so sharp and hurtful saying stuff like "You're going to hurt your entire family with this, not just yourself, and how horrible and selfish of you to do this to your children. They usually take drug addict's kids AWAY from them and place them in foster care..." The first few comments WERE true, all of it I already knew but still, he had NO compassion or tact at all. Like I hadn't thought all those same things! But the threat of having my kids taken away???? Scared the living shit out of me!!! I ran from his office crying and praying he didn't call the cops on me.
I do have family, that if it came down to it, would keep my kids for me. But as of right now, we are not on speaking terms because of a fight we had and I don't want to face them - not in the state I am in now. They're close to knowing, they know something is going on, but not exactly what. It kills me to be estranged from them after being SO close my entire life literally working together, eating together, always being at each other's house, talking on the phone 20 times a day. But I just CAN'T tell them. I can't hurt them like that. They've got enough of their own problems as it is. Besides, there are several other of our family members that have prescription drug problems, and I know how they are treated and viewed among the family. I don't want to be put into that category.
I CAN NOT live like this anymore, I want my old life back, even if it was depressing. I am not the same super Mom I used to be, baking cookies for neighbors and teachers, working hours on end in my garden, playing with my children...I used to have projects that I enjoyed working on, now they're all crammed in the garage for another day. I used to be creative and artistic and find joy in creating things and doing stuff. Now it is all I can do to tread water to keep up with the mandatory daily stuff. Now I stay in my house secretly consumed with counting pills, worrying if I'll have enough for tomorrow, harassing hubby to hunt for more... I don't have any real life friends anymore, I don't talk on the phone anymore or even open my blinds. Son goes to school, hubby goes to work, and daughter and I stay home, inside, killing time until the guys come home. I have the same routine everyday, 2 loads of laundry, the dishes, cooking, keeping daughter content. It is very rare that we leave on any outings during the day, and if we do, I have to make sure I have enough pills to take with me.
It has affected my relationship with my kids too. I know I'm not the same Mommy I used to be and the older child has made random comments about me not being happy and always being grumpy. He takes every opportunity to go home with his cousin after school instead of coming home. I don't blame him, I know it sucks here. I know I am hurting my kids with my addiction and behavior. I feel deep down also that it is affecting HIS behavior, which lately has been spiraling down fast. The guilt alone from that, thinking I am messing my kid up makes me hate myself even more.
I HATE that I have let these horrible things consume me and kill every sign of life I ever had. I HATE being a slave to them and letting them control me. I know I could stop if I could just go somewhere long enough to get better. I have spent countless hours researching online about treatment options, rehab facilities, etc. I found a great one, but it is clear across the other side of the states for me, and it costs $17,000. I know my insurance would cover something here too locally if I could find a place where I could stay long enough to detox and get through the withdrawals. I just can't get through that part here where I'm at. That is the hardest part in my point of view right now. I'd like to find a place that is caring and compassionate with their patients, NOT treating them like they are criminals or 2nd class citizens. The same way most everyone else views the situation, looking down on a user. Believe me, I've gotten down on myself enough as it is. I don't think I could get any lower, my self esteem is completely gone. I've thought all the horrible things and said all the horrible negative things to myself. My biggest fear is reaching out for help and just getting beat down & judged even more - if that is even possible. Also the looming fear that if I do try to reach out for any help on my own, even just calling somewhere would alert authorities somehow and possibly my children being taken away. That alone is enough to keep me hiding this secret, I just won't risk that. I'm not a criminal, I'm not endangering my kids. They are healthy, clean, fed, and have everything and possibly more than most kids do not have the luxuries of. Just not a happy Mommy that they deserve.
Just writing this, is the biggest step I have ever taken in concern to this problem (besides telling Dr Dickhead). I have never let on to ANYONE about it besides my husband who is just as ashamed as I am about it. So this is my deep, dark, dirty secret. I ask that if you do comment, please try to be gentle. I know what a horrible person I am for having this problem, but it can happen to anyone anytime. Everyone says they don't judge other people, but it is impossible to not. It is human nature and we ALL do it whether we realize we are doing it or not. I judge myself every single day, hating myself for being like this and turning into one of "those" people I myself used to judge and think bad about. How did I let myself get this way???
Any advice, suggestions, support, similar stories of I can relate from personal experience or a family member - just anything would be appreciated. In my short time visiting the blogosphere I have seen first hand the love and power that can come from it. I know I need help. I really do want it more than anything in the world. Even if nobody comments at all, at least I said it out loud. It is killing me keeping this for so long.
Today is one of those days where I am down to only having 1 left, and nervously await hubby to try to meet up with "the guy" after work to get more. If it does not work out, tomorrow will be hell and all the days after until I can find some.
I just want out.
Monday, September 01, 2008
The last four weeks of my pregnancy were hellish. First, my doctor almost killed me and my unborn son by administering an anemia treatment to which I had a severe allergic reaction.
I could barely walk by the end, and when my doctor told me she wanted to deliver me five days early, I issued no protest.
Now I'm wishing I could turn back the clock.
It isn't the baby - he is as sweet as pie, some nights even sleeping for six hours at a stretch. He wakes twice at the most. The blessing of birthing an almost 10-pounder. I earned some good karma while waddling around with his big noggin pressing on my cervix.
But this week? This week after the birth?
Is from HELL.
First, every in-law I have descended on me, with my FIL and MIL doing their level best to divert my husband's attention from me and our new baby. Their 30-year-old divorce feud spills over into every family event, culminating this time in a call from my MIL to my husband the day after I came home from the hospital, summoning him to her hotel room so she and her husband could interrogate my husband as to his "feelings' about the divorce.
IT WAS 34 YEARS AGO. GET OVER IT ALREADY.
Then my brother found me on Twitter and made his way to my blog. This is such a bad, bad thing. Such a very very bad bad thing. He and his wife now have the goods on me - my mother doesn't know about my blog, and my brother - and especially his wife - hate my mother.
There is little to deter him from using my blog as a weapon against my mom - or me, for that matter - should one of them get in a snit about something.
And I don't want to hurt my mom. I never told her about my blog, because at the beginning it was a place for me to vent and grieve in private anonymity. Not even my husband reads it, giving me free reign to write honestly about my inner life.
A freedom now curtailed.
I am stifled by the idea of their eyes on my words. I'm tentative, where once I was fearless.
What do I do? Clear out my archives of precious words and tell her? Or wait, crouched in defensive position, to have the bomb dropped for me?
How do I explain it?
Oh, and just after that, my husband decided we should finally, after six years of marriage, combine our bank accounts. Let's just say we have very different ideas when it comes to finances. And that was the last vestige of freedom I had - my own checking account.
As a woman who gave up all her independence to stay home and raise children, the few dollars I earn from my writing gave me a sense that I am not totally reliant on my husband.
And now I am.
I had hoped to avoid anti-depressants this time around. But major life changes are my biggest triggers. How about a series of stressful life-changing events?
Please pass the Lexapro.