And Another Winter

Evolution. Evolution of a page.

Of a middle-aged woman.

Every winter I get low. Blue. Depressed.

Having, in the past, recognized it as a necessary hibernation,

as I enter it now I find myself low but not sunk.

Tired, hungry, unmotivated...

Depressed? Or just a need for quiet and low stimulation? Rest?

Because that's okay.

Baccalaureate Service

I want so desperately to post about the events surrounding my daughter's high school graduation. All I can really think to show is the shoes we wore. The clothes we choose.
Very deep, right?

Actually I am in in limbo. I can't make anything.

I can't remember anything.

I cannot form full...

I am in a holding pattern, hovering as Allie spends her lasts days as a full time resident in my care. I don't want to start any projects. I don't even want to water the plants in pots. They are dead. Dead. Dead dead. Yellow. Awful. I can't even throw them away. I just hover in the present moment. With all the words.

Words, words, words in my head that scatter and fall into each other and build up like in Tetris until I can't sleep or breathe even.

Deep breaths. Agitation and dark thoughts as I teeter on the brink of depression. Not gonna. Not gonna fall into that and pudding through these last days of summer, before she moves away, out of state.

You can tell me she will still need me. I know that. Having buried my own mother shows me how difficult it is to live without Mother. But for sure this is a transition from her residency and my full time service into something else.

And it's going exactly like its supposed to...

The Abyss

Unfortunately I have slipped into the abyss. I have had to reel in my circle of concern to include myself, my daughter, and my job. My poor husband still circles the fort. I even had to exclude mother for a whole week. The first time since sometime in '09. She did not like it either. I got a an ass-chewin' with what little strength she has. That depleted me pretty badly. The guilt. The guilt. It would be nice not to have it. If you are enmeshed with your mother, no matter what therapy and prayers you have tried, nothing will mess with your head and challenge your strength like her extended illness for years.


I chose to put off my journal project class until I can be present for it and enjoy it.


I am just now starting to emerge, a little. I can see more than three feet in front of me this week. I can have more than 2 things per day on my list. But just three.


Some lessons about suffering are emerging. It has lots of Christian content. It is shame at the DNA level. So deep is this guilt no rational thought can touch it.


I am trying to tell myself to shut-up. I keep getting up and working on gratitude.


This shit is hard.

Under Construction

Last post I admitted to another depression. I have been feeling better and having more clarity about depression. I have been really thinking about seasons. I called my depression three years ago 'necessary' and a 'winter'. You know 'to every thing there is a season...' I took myself for a walk yesterday in unseasonably warm weather. My walks bring peace and introspection, one of the things I miss and need during winter, of both kinds. It occurred to me that I naturally slow down and feel blue during February. All kinds of triggers for that of course, but maybe rather than depression it really is a hibernation. I am not ashamed of the word depression but since it does have negative meanings, maybe hibernation is more appropriate. I can start expecting it and prepare for the restoration it is.

I know about seasonal affective disorder.  I am not about preventing these times as I have said. I am still functional and that is the difference between feeling down and depressed and behaviourally ceasing to function as with a disorder.

In my last post I admitted to my mental addiction to suicide. The walls didn't come crashing down. I was not struck by lightening. I felt nervous about hitting "publish," wildly giddy even. But like all secrets they lose a little power when light is shone on them. People emailed with their own admissions. I guess my healing light sent a flicker out to others. I hope for that but was honored and a little surprised when it happened. Thank you for that. Let's not cower in a dark corner. Let's look to a little bit of light and start. Start toward it.

I also wrote in my post that my husband was working very hard to understand my depressions and leave me to them rather than trying to fix things, or becoming angry with his own confusion and abandonment. Last year I asked him to get a hobby while my focus was on mother. He did. It involved wood and salvaged items. He started to collect a lot and sell a little. This parlayed into the recent purchase of a small building near our home that was formerly a commercial garage.

He strapped on his tool belt and got using that reclaimed wood. He started life as a carpenter, then left wood for another industry but his true love remained.

He started building.

And he has made something beautiful and amazing. I am so very proud of him. This is what he generated with a his time while I have been working with mother and healing. We have both been under construction... 

Roses and Thorns

It was the two year anniversary of my blog this week. For it I decided not to post at all. But since I am feeling depressed again I thought I better air it out.

I am no longer ashamed of being depressed. I am not afraid to admit it. I don't like being it however. I look for reasons that is back, reasons why I am all crazy and entitled to being depressed.

I desperately want to live alone when I am depressed. Part of it is about indulging the depression which is so comfortable and well known to me. When my husband comes in I feel bad about being depressed for him. I wish I had color in my face and a smile. I do not. I am angry he is here reminding how abnormal I am simply because he functions so much better than I do. I wish my daughter didn't have a depressed mother.

My depression, as true for depression generally, manifests in two forms. One is a low energy depression, inertia, sleepy, no motivation. The other is an agitated depression with anxiety, nervousness, poor sleep and for me, anger, of course.

Part of my depression, and I am admitting this openly for the first time, is the addiction to suicidal thoughts. I am absolutely shocked when people say they have never felt like that. I have always thought of killing myself. Always. As I grew up, my sister would often call the house threatening suicide or she would take a bunch of pills and call a friend who would then call my parents. I was just a little kid. My parents would not want to leave me alone while they went to see what was up so I would get in the car in my pajamas while they went to an apartment and knocked on the door which was rarely answered or she would be there in a state of unconsciousness. She never committed suicide. My brother who never threatened it did it decisively when I was 15.

So I guess exposure mixed with depression made suicide my 'go to' for negative feelings. It really was an escape strategy. An effective albeit unhealthy one. I think I thought of it most days until sometime last fall when several days went by that I didn't think "oh well, I can always kill myself." I thought, mmmmmh, this is when I would feel suicidal, but I don't. Maybe this is how healthy people feel. Maybe they just solve problems and resolve feelings rather than bury, escape, repeat. I like it!

If you have ever had an addiction, like smoking for example, you know that the impulse to smoke is there. Through impulse control you do not heed the desire. I used to smoke and sometimes, decades later will think, "if I smoked, this is when I would have a cigarette."  I am sure recovering drug addicts and alcoholics feel the same way. My suicidal ideation is like that. I think about dying like smoking a cigarette. I am addicted to it and it satisfies feelings I do not otherwise know what to do with.

From last fall I had several months free of suicidal thoughts I told myself they would return like those impulses to smoke always have. This last week I was wild with suicidal thoughts. That is really depressing. Following these thoughts are the guilty feelings for having such a great life and wanting to leave it. Having a daughter. Wonderful fodder for the wild flowers of shame.

Depression is a recurrent illness for me. That is why I am not ashamed of it. It is still very hard for me to live with other people while depressed. I know that my depressions will lift. I know they will teach. I need to give over to them. It is a hibernation and is not really unhealthy. If I had osteoarthritis no matter what I did my joints would flare up, hurt, I would have to slow down and take it easy and better function would return. If I had diabetes I would have to be vigilant to keep my blood sugar even and still there would be flares and concomitant symptoms and comorbidities.

So depressions come and go. I cannot prevent it. The suicidal thoughts are the painful joints of depression. I can be having a completely fine day and have a suicidal thought. It is a mental addiction. I try to be objective about it and treat it with a certain sterility to remove shame from it.

But deep in it, sometimes I can taste gun powder so vivid and hungry am I to die.

The rest of the time I eat well, exercise, sleep when I am tired, learn, create, post, grow. I do not mind aging. I do not think it sucks getting old or hate having another birthday or try to hold on to 30. I am just now getting happier, why would I want to hold on to my bullshit youth? I was a mess then. I am so much more authentic and aware now. After nearly 6 months, the longest suicide free stretch in my life, it comes as a sad blow to my beautiful life to feel like that.

It is a relapse. An impulse I will not move on. But so draining.

I found the feelings did not last too long. I didn't do much damage to my marriage with this depression. My husband is starting to understand this pattern of depression and how no matter how I act or what I say it has very little to do with him. Thank God.

But it is all about my desire to escape. About feeling trapped. An illusion. But perception becomes reality. The closer I get to more truth and authenticity of course the negative puppet master in my head will work her magic. Bring me down, make me want to die.

A very wise and loving counselor of mine, Jo, would say "honey, you can feel as crazy as you want, you just don't get to act on it."  Such good advice.

I think I am just still working my suicide addiction out. I guess it will never go away. I guess February is a big trigger for it. Also moving. I just think shining light on it will help.

And because when I am depressed I tend to see what isn't said rather than what is said, I am turning comments off for this post.

I don't want to hear cheery sayings. I don't want to hear suggestions for antidepressants. Look, people with diabetes and osteoarthritis and recurrent depression know full well what to do with it.

My body aches, I have been ill, I am blue and yesterday I wanted to die so bad I could taste it.

It is just a reality that is ugly. It belongs to me. It is supposed to teach me something and I am in no hurry to pretend it isn't there. I don't think being happy that will break my addiction to suicide. I think it is being depressed that will. A hibernation. A winter. An experience and confrontation of those feelings that keep returning.

First They Are Sour...

I really do not want to seem too needy regarding this care-giving-for-my-mother job. But I am needy and this is my journal and I will cry if I want to. I have been realizing some very definite stages occurring and it isn't all bad. {Images from Scottsdale, 2003}

Mother was discharged from the hospital on December 24, 2009 and my husband and I brought her here. I really had no time to prepare for her to stay. I didn't realize she would even survive her hospitaliztion. We did, however, anticipate that one of our mothers may need to live with us when we built this house 3 years ago. We have a guest bedroom with widened doorways. The bathroom walls are reinforced for the possible addition of grab bars and such. I am a Physican Associate and worked in a rehabilitation facility for 10 years, so I did see assistive equipment as a possiblity. In fact, working in rehab I saw all kinds of family situations that were inspiring and horrifying. Both of those words describe my own family situation.

So we are on the highway in a blizzard with my very frail 83 year old mother. No one knows what tomorrow holds but that was a moment bloated with the unknown. This whole thing has been a confrontation with the unknown. Oh and Miss Planner has issues with the unknown. I mean I have a plan for everything, even prision.

Seriously. I have a plan for prison. Another post...

I wanted to bring mother home and care for her. I was happy to do it and I still am. But while doing so I was and am overwhelmed with emotions. My first real phase was resistance and resentment. I meet most challenges with resistance and usually resentment. I am a planner (see above) and not at all spontaneous. These are character flaws and trust me I actively work on them. But that doesn't make them just go away. Like arm flab. You do all you can but there it is.

I resisted the full time care-giving because it interupted my life. I have a child living with me still. Said child had just turned 16 and all that implies. It was already a whole thing dealing with that.  Also, I was going to start teaching again, a class I had not taught for 5 years so I had to completely start my prep from scratch. I mean no Power Point used last time. Its a lot.

Also, it is lots of work to care give. And I hadn't slept much in the emotionally and physcially exhausting week of mother's hospitalization. So resistance...

Also resentment. A pity party by put-upon poor Robin. I mean why did mother not move out of her house and into assisted living already? I had been discussing it with her for a longtime. Her house was sitting over there. I know she would not return to it. I knew it would be my job to empty it and also take care of her and my family and my job. What about me? Who would help me? My husband is phenomenol and wants to help me, no, not even help me, but shoulder this with me. He thinks of mother as OUR mother and WE take care of OUR mother. The thing is, I do have a sibiling who lives nearby. We don't see her much. I cannot count on her. In fact she brings far more drama than help. And I resent it.

Some abandonment issues stirred. Deep, dark and yucky. But that really is all fine. I need to process these feelings. And that never happens when you feel good and have time, right? You are confronted with the demons when it is dark.

After a pricky month, mother stabilized and so did I. Mostly. She is very ill but not getting rapidly worse and she is ambulatory which is HUGE.

Fortunately I found myself starting to emerge. Acceptance was nigh. How much more pleasant for everyone I live with.

That lasted a couple of weeks. Then I got sick. What a big set back. When your reserve is low it takes so long to bounce back. Then my cousin, mother's nephew, died. That was very emotional. Also there was drama surrounding my sibling, still, again, of course. Energy sucking again. Two steps forward and one step back.

Now, oh wonderful now, I am a bit beyond acceptance and in some sort of loving place. I look at mother and think she is so darling. She is so cute to me. Not pathetic. Not sad to me. I just feel very loving toward her. Sitting next to her and watching a tv show is so simple. I see how lovely it is.

I am seeing the beauty in the ugly right now. March is here. The weather is warming. Tender shoots are emerging. And so am I. I am depressed but that shell is cracking. Fresh air is blowing in. Oh thank you, God, for it. I need the strength love brings and that depression takes. I need that strength to deal with the next phase.

Thank you for reading this. I really am receiving so much love. There is still more gnashing of teeth than pink fluffy clouds. But they do float by...

Wrapped

That beautiful Scout is my oldest brother. He would go on to grow up and do all the things the kids did in the 50s. He would finish high school. Get drafted. Go to Vietnam. He would return and head off to school, his military haircut drawing war protesters to spit on him on an American college campus. He would struggle through the next 10 or so years of his life until he couldn't any more.

This year the holidays have been quite blue here. Earlier, I was so sick with the flu I had to cancel what may very well be my mother's last Thanksgiving. While slowly recovering I pushed through caring for my mother and tryed to put together a great birthday party for my daughter. The only Christmas decorating I could manage was the tree. Not even a wreath. I kind of cared but not really.

Friday a week ago my mother had declined so that we took her to the hospital via the emergency department. A blur of highs and lows followed. After a weight loss of over 25 pounds this year, we finally got a diagnosis, a stack of prescriptions and she was kicked out on Christmas Eve in a blizzard. My daughter did not make it home from her grandparents until 8 pm on Christmas Day. The few gifts we had this year remain under the tree this morning, wrapped.

There was a Christmas with wrapped presents under the tree on the 26th many years ago when I was my own daughter's adolescent age. We waited for my brother to come home. We had not heard from him. A call from the coroner's office told the story that he had been in the morgue for ten days. Unclaimed bodies are targeted for disposal at day 10, but our wonderful coroner looked at my brother and said "this boy has a family." He took it upon himself to call to ensure we had been notified. Of course we hadn't. We had been waiting for him. An Oklahoma City police officer, at the end of his shift 10 days prior, marked that he had come to our house and notified us. He simply did not. The apology which came a couple of weeks later didn't help much.

So here I am with gifts under the tree. Of course we are all alive this year. I know to be grateful about that. But actually I feel empty, hollow. My mother lives with me now. I have much to do physically and emotionally in the coming months. Right now I am not sure how I will muster the strength for it all. But I have done it before. We all have. Somehow you keep waking up, plowing forward, through the pudding that is exhaustion. Somehow another meal. Another load of laundry. A trip to the grocery store all the while screaming inside "I can't, I don't want to" and yet doing it anyway.

I can't tell this story out loud. I also can't post a pretty picture of the holiday. This is the blue truth today.