Things have been building for a while.
My husband has been battling some deep depression issues, work hasn't been going really well for him, and a hundred stupid things at home. And we're leaving for a 2 week trip tomorrow, which no one has packed for.
When we moved into the new apartment, we signed up with the only option for cable (until August, that is) RCN. RCN assigned us a home number that apparently belonged to a credit deadbeat. We get multiple phone calls a day for "Maureen" from creditors. Having filed for bankruptcy when I was 20, I know what creditor phone calls sound like. And having spent the last 10 years rebuilding my credit and paying a steep penanance for my idiocy at 18, I really don't appreciate creditor calls. Especially when they're not for me. Especially when they refuse to take the number off their call list because the person they're looking for doesn't live here. ESPECIALLY when Rent a Center flat out called me a liar and accused me of being this Maureen person who was just trying to get them to stop calling. We have been trying to fix this for almost 2 months. We even went so far as to re-hook up our Vonage line for several weeks to see if that would help. Nope. RCN in their infinite wisdom decided to make our number unlisted....because that totally helps when the people who are calling are creditors who ALREADY HAVE THE FUCKING NUMBER. Yesterday I spent 3 hours straightening the matter out with supervisors and managers. I have my "new number"
Or so I thought.
Because guess who I got a call for this morning. When I called my cell to check the number...it's still the old one.
So I was pretty cranky.
When the baby woke up, I was so excited because she drank six ounces of formula which was the most she'd ever eaten in a sitting. She had gotten up to 4 regularly and had drank 5 oz during her last 3 feedings yesterday. She burped and it all seemed okay. Except a half hour later she was sitting next to me, and picked up my cell phone. And a minute later made a face and before I even realized what had happened, she puked up a good 2 ounces...right onto my phone.
Of course my first reaction was to calm her, cuddle her, and get her out of her now soaked pj's.
Then I picked up my phone and wiped it off. When my friend called me about our plans this afternoon, I couldn't hear her...until I turned on the speaker phone. My ear speaker wasn't working...fuck. My husband took a look at my phone and then both speakers started giving off feedback. Dead. Not covered by warranty.
My phone is dead. Which is a $400 problem. I don't currently have $400.
I haven't been sleeping well, and what little sleep I have gotten hasn't been high quality.
The last week I've randomly been having dizzy spells where I feel like I'm going to pass out for no reason.
And I realize now that I just hadn't been taking my meds...any of them...allergy, antidepressants, vitamins at night in at least a week or two. Probably since the night that my husband kept me up until 4 am to sort out the flights for a vacation in August.
I don't know what it is or why, but the phone was the last straw.
My husband wouldn't listen to me when I tried to explain what was wrong with the phone and then told me it was fine. I ended up screaming at him until he understood what was wrong. I screamed at him so much that he just gave up and left for work.
Then the baby started crying.
It was like someone had taken a match to the straw.
Anger ripped through me. At her, at the world, at everything. I threw something into my bedside table drawer and slammed it. The alarm clock fell of my bedside table and I picked it up and began to bash my bedside table with it.
The baby cried louder.
I screamed at her to shut up.
For a second what I wanted to do wasn't to throw my alarm clock at the table, but to throw her.
It scared me shitless.
I picked her up, ran to the living room, put her in the pack n play, ran back to the bedroom and slammed the door. I picked up the phone and told my husband that I was a danger to the baby and to get home NOW. I then ran to the bathroom and shut that door. I curled up on the floor and sobbed. Not crying...gasping screaming keening sobbing.
I quickly catalogued all the ways I could hurt myself. To punish myself for almost hurting my 8 month old who had done nothing wrong.
I thought about leaving.
I thought about giving her up for adoption.
I thought about suicide.
I thought about hospitalizing myself.
I don't know how long it was until my husband came home. Probably only 5 or 10 minutes. He didn't see the baby in her pack n play so he found me and was clearly scared when he asked me where she was. He checked on her and reassured me that she was okay.
I couldn't look at him. I couldn't do anything but sob.
He asked me flat out if I needed to go to the Emergency Room. I said I didn't know.
He arranged for our daughter to spend a day with her grandparents.
I think the worst part of today is that I don't want to admit it to anyone I know. I have a therapist and a psychiatrist. I'm scared to tell them about this. I'm scared that it might involve DSS. That she might be taken away from me. That I might be hospitalized. I don't want my child to grow up with the mom in the mental institution. I don't want my husband to have to go through that either. I don't want to the relative that everyone talks about in hushed tones, like the former wife of one of my great uncles who committed suicide or the first wife of one of my husband's uncles who is a shameful family secret.
I don't want to raise my daughter to fear me because I'm unpredictable. I don't want her to cringe from me because she's scared I might hurt her. After all, I went through that with my own mother, who has serious depression but who has never sought help. When I complained, I was told just to deal with it and that 'it's just how she is."
Sometimes I wonder if I had any right to reproduce. To pass on my flawed genetic code.
I'm relieved that she's okay. But I haven't forgiven myself---I don't know that I ever can.
I have an appointment with my therapist and I will either force myself to tell her or re-evaluate our relationship. If I can't tell her things like this, then it's not the right therapist/patient mix. I took my meds today and will build back to the higher dosage.
It's frightening because now I can understand how women spiral out of control. How bad things happen to children at the hands of their mothers. How PPD or even just plain old depression can magnify and twist life's little problems into insurmountable anger filled hazes. How that anger can consume anyone who's unfortunate to be in your path.I have recognized it. I can name it. Now I have to admit to it and ask for help.