Depression

Depression
Not a happy topic I know, but one that I’ve been tripping over a lot lately.

First I read this over at Blogher about how people are trying to block a law that would encourage the screening of mothers for Post Partum Depression.

Read it and read the supporting links. I especially liked the piece that makes the point that drugs are not always the solution, and the drug that works for one may not work for another.

Then I read a post over at Joy Unexpected. She closed the comments, so I couldn’t give her an Internet hug and tell her it is time to give her doctor the proverbial kick in the pants and demand referrals to an endocrinologist AND a mental health professional. Life’s too short to be this miserable honey. A few days later she posted saying that she recognized that she was battling depression. Yeah Y! Oh Y, so glad you recognize the signs, now do something to make it stop. I know you love your doctor, but from the outside looking in, it just doesn’t sound like he’s taking care of you this time. Pick up the phone and demand that meathead give you a referral to a mental health professional. PLEASE.

Then I read this over at Suburban Oblivion and I thought it was the most freakin’ spot on description of depression I’d ever read. Sarah said

“Depression is not having a bad day, or even a bad week. It’s normal emotions, amplified. Minor annoyances become rage, forgetting something at the store turns into a crying breakdown, and you are so exhausted a simple load of laundry is as overwhelming as a trip up Mount Everest.“

This definition really resonated with me.

As in been there . . . done that.
I was pretty solid after the birth of my first child. But times were different. We were on solid financial footing and I was fortunate to be surrounded by close friends all with young kids. I didn’t have to worry about working so much, so I could spend my days sitting at the mall playground with my baby and my friends getting out, and getting the support I needed.
Times were different after the birth of my second 4 years later.
Finances were REALLY tight and we were living in another state with no mommy-meeting-place and an hour and a half away from my closest friends. I had my husband’s family, but it was different. I fought like hell to make it work, but I just could not get it together. I was having a hard time focusing. I felt like I was constantly chasing my tail and I was an emotional wreck. I would cry and the drop of a hat and the littlest slights would send me into a rage. I remember sitting on the stairs sobbing. The baby was sleeping my husband had taken our daughter to the dump and I had just finished balancing the check book. We were actually in the black, but it had taken me hours to complete the task at hand. I couldn’t deal. I was overwhelmed, sluggish and angry and the most frustrating part was that I didn’t know why. It was 7 months before I would take the advice of a dear friend and seek help.

I finally made an appointment with my doctor. I must have sounded bad because they created and appointment slot for me and warned me to be prompt. So naturally the morning of the appointment was a disaster or so it seemed to me at the time. My daughter was sick, and we just could not get our act together to get out the door. I dropped my son at daycare and heard on the traffic report that the road I needed to take was backed up with traffic. I was going to be a few minutes late. This little nugget of information was enough to send me over the edge. I was driving down said road (which wasn’t bad at all) tears streaming down my face.

I see a physician’s assistant, we have a lot in common, we’re both working mom’s with 2 young kids. We’re both carrying too much extra weight and struggling to find time for ourselves. When I saw Wendy that day, she was understanding, but very matter of fact. “You’re older, you’re stressed. It is a chemical imbalance. There’s nothing wrong with you. This is a physical issue. Don’t beat yourself up. Read this, let’s try a low dose of Zoloft, call me if you need me otherwise I’ll see you in six weeks.”

So, I started on the requisite 25mg dose and worked up to 50mg per day. A relatively low dose. All I can say is AHHHHHHHHH. With in days, I felt more like myself than I had in months. It wasn’t a magic pill, all was not immediately perfect in the kingdom (never will be), but I was in a much better place to handle the stress of life.

I’m not much of a pill popper. So, six months later I wanted to try and wean off the medication. Wendy reminded me I had a chemical imbalance and that I might need the drugs for the rest of my life, but she was supportive of my desire to try and wean. I went from 50mg to 25mg and then to nothing. Um, BIG MISTAKE. All my symptoms came back. I couldn’t think straight, I cried at the drop of a hat, I was anxious. Wendy was equally supportive when I said “Write me a life time prescription for that stuff.”

I’m not always on top of things as I should be and sometimes a day (or two) goes by and I have forgotten my pills. Mommy’s fuse is REALLY short, my thoughts are scattered, it is ugly. Zoloft is now available in generic form Yahoo!! Down from a $25 dollar co-pay to a $10 co-pay. Frankly, I don’t care, I’d pay full price out of pocket (but don’t tell my insurance company m’kay?).

Unless you’ve been there, you just can’t understand it. I’m a fairly resilient person and I have a very low tolerance for victims. But for many people depression isn’t something you can just “get over”.

I believe that drugs aren’t always the solution and different drugs affect different people well differently. I got lucky to find a PA who had a clue and that the first medicine we tried worked for me. But not everyone is that lucky. It is crucial that people in general, but postpartum women and women dealing with hormone balances in particular get the support they need. For some, it is a mother’s group. For others it is one on one counseling and for others it is medication or some combination of the three.

Please don’t be embarrassed to get the help you need.
Educate yourself about the options.

Dancing With Insanity

Insanity is many things.  To me it feels like a dance. I may try to take the lead in the dance  with Insanity, but that is just deluding myself. I never hear the same song and it is always my fault that I am out of step. Insanity leads and I have to make the choice to follow along or sit on the side and watch as Insanity whirls and spins. Such is the way of living with an alcoholic.

Calling the tune.
My mother is an alcoholic. She will deny it to your face, but when one lives on a fixed income and never socializes, yet has a refrigerator full of booze, it leaves little doubt.  There are many more indications.  I don’t really care to argue the point with you.  Those who interact with her on a regular basis readily agree with me.

At one time, we danced in step. She was a phenomenally devoted mother while I was growing up. In hindsight, too devoted.  She had no life of her own and my departure for college was the beginning of a downward spiral that continues to this day.  It is sad.  She was a bright, talented woman who was well liked by all who knew her.  She had a way with people and an artistic side that she didn’t get to display often enough.

She is a perfectionist who can never be good enough and cares far too much about what she thinks other people think of her.  Her drinking has left her physically and mentally impaired and reduced her to smoking, drinking and obsessing about how the world is conspiring to make her life miserable.  To her, I am an active participant in that conspiracy all because I don’t hear the same tune.

I have achieved everything she ever wanted for me.  I am educated, happily married and financially stable. But, her lifestyle has rendered her unable to appreciate how her efforts paid off.

Sitting it out
For many years there was a distance between us. She chose not to attend my wedding (she was invited). Other family members stepped in to help her. In their own time, they too learned why I was so distant. There is always a reason for everything that goes wrong in her life and nothing is EVER her fault.  She lies incessantly, but doesn’t really think she’s lying.

I understand that alcoholism is a sickness. I understand that she doesn’t necessarily choose the tune, but there are some that choose to seek help for their illness and successfully battle back their demons on a daily basis.  The perfectionist in her will never allow her to admit that she has a problem.  So she continues to drink and the dance goes on.

I am blessed with a strong support system that fills in most of the gaps.  Yet there is a part of me, that still wants a relationship with my mother, the woman who raised me. Logically I know she will never be that woman again, and most of the time I am able to set boundaries so that she can’t hurt me, but every once in a while I get my hopes up.

It has yet to end well.

Now that I have children, they get to bear witness to the dance.  Eventually, I want them to understand how the dance works, as alcoholism is prevalent on all sides of the family. For now, they are young enough that the dance is still too complicated to explain.  All they know is the disappointment of being invited to dance, only to have to sit on the side while she whirls and spins and blames everyone else for her distorted perspective on life.

And so I go on dancing with insanity.  Mostly, I keep my distance and maintain contact on my terms. There are those that don’t understand, but therapy and the support of friends and family have taught me that I am entitled to live my life and that it is okay to protect my happiness. None of that makes it any easier when I don’t hear from her for weeks on end or we make plans that she ultimately scuttles for some fabricated reason.

And so, the beat goes on. I like to drink and have at times enjoyed the numb feeling that accompanies a good buzz.  But,  I live in fear that I will follow in her footsteps so I take care to insure that in the dance that is my life, I hear the same tune as those closest to me.  I wouldn’t wish this dance on anyone.

I am at heart an optimist so, it is my hope that someday we can once again dance in step to the same tune.  However, I am also a realist, so I try and prepare myself for the day the dance ends.  I have to hope that knowing I did all I could to change her tune will be enough.  Somehow, I doubt it.

To Holly at the AP, Thanks, but no

Dear Holly,

Thanks for leaving a comment on my blog. I’m flattered that you saw something of interest in my writings. I saw the comment last night and have spent some time mulling things over. Much to my own surprise, I’m going to decline your invitation to discuss Elizabeth Edwards.

You are correct, there is no contact information on this blog. It is anonymous for a reason. It is my place to rant and rave about whatever crosses my mind without fear of reprisal. I have other blogs where I identify myself, and I craft my messages more carefully in those spaces to insure the respectfulness that I believe is necessary for our coexistence on this planet. Here is where I blow of my steam of Righteous Moral Indignation. Venting is good, but it is not always conducive to peaceful coexistence. I don’t advertise this blog, nor do I share the URL with people. If per chance people stumble upon it, I welcome feedback, but do not view it as a requirement to continue to write (yeah, I know this seems a little odd in light of my Sally Field post, but tough).

I’m not naive, I’ve probably revealed enough here that someone who REALLY wanted to find me could (no, that is not a challenge to all the psychos out there :).

I’m also not afraid of confrontation, and I am more than willing to discuss and if necessary defend my opinions, but in the case of Mrs. Edwards, I have said all I feel comfortable saying at this time. I do not wish to further any discussion of the so called “Mommy Wars“. Not that you were necessarily headed that way, but if I were to discuss Mrs. Edwards, I would like to do so in the context of her work with her husband’s campaign and by conscious choice, I have not been paying too much attention as of late. The election is more than 1 year away, yet both sides of the aisle started campaigning late last year. While I believe in the democratic process, in the immortal words of Dennis Miller, “Hey Cha, Cha, I have a life to lead”. The field of candidates will shake itself out and they will all eventually share their positions of the issues of importance to me, or they won’t and I’ll judge them based on that lack of information. Right now, I have children to raise, a marriage to enjoy and a business to run. Oh and rants to rave in anonymity.

So Holly of the AP, thanks for the invitation, but I respectfully decline and wish you good luck in your continued search.

Reesie

BlogHers Act! My Issue

As I mentioned, I’m attending BlogHer this year. BlogHer wants to know about my hot button issue.

Education.

I have a lot of hot button issues, but this is one that I think everyone can get behind and impact locally, and globally.

I live in a state that struggles to adequately fund public education solely through property taxes. Now the courts are involved. Our legislature is up against a deadline and it is getting heated with no real sign of resolution anytime soon.

Kindergarten is not required in our state! Most of those districts that do offer it usually only offer half day programs Helloooo?

No Child Left Behind is a joke. The intentions are good, but the results are disastrous. So, sorry Uncle Sam, but you can’t lay down mandates and set standards expecting to get results without providing adequate funding. The only difference these days is that teachers teach our kids how to succeed on standardized tests. They don’t have time to teach the kids skills they will actually use in the real world.

Oh and don’t get me started on education of the disabled. I live this hell annually with my kids. By law, districts can’t talk about money, but the reality is that the bottom line drives every decision a district makes on a child’s behalf. This has to stop. There also has to be an end to the “learn it our way or no way“ mentality in public schools. I firmly believe this would cut the number of kids in Special Education by at least 1/3. If you don’t get phonics, you are screwed and that just isn’t right. We all have different learning styles and teachers need to be given the latitude, time and resources to teach in ways that accommodate all students. Go listen to Flowers are Red by Harry Chapin.

But education extends beyond our children. Education or the lack of it touches everyone. It is time we made education at all levels more accessible and affordable. You don’t need a degree from Harvard to put a roof over your head and food on the table, but in this day and age, a high school diploma doesn’t even qualify you to live at the poverty line.

Education doesn’t have to be 4 years of college. Education means, mentorships, internships, technical training. There needs to be more of it and at a lower cost. SInce we’ve got so many people that are so far behind the curve, we also need to look at providing resources to support those that truly want to make more of their lives e.g. college dorms for mothers (or fathers) with kids.

The old adage holds true, if you give a woman a fish she can eat once (okay twice, we women are ingenious like that), but teach her to fish and she thrive for a life time.

It is time we gave everyone a REAL chance to thrive.

“You say it’s your birthday . . . It’s my birthday too yeah”

I recently had a birthday. While the world thinks big birthdays end in zeros, I typically struggle more with the nine birthdays.
To me, the nines represent the end of a decade. The zero birthdays mark the beginning of the next decade.
When I turned 29, It struck me that I now had a history. A tale if you will. When you are 19, you’ve only just dipped your toe into the pool of adulthood. By 29, you’ve usually gotten stuck in the deep end a few times and you’ve had time to learn. I wasn’t unhappy with where I was in life at 29, but there was so much more I wanted to accomplish and not being a patient person, I was questioning what was taking me so long.

This time, I feel as though I have accomplished many of my life goals. I am still happily married, but now I can add two beautiful children, and a job I love to that list. I’ve contributed to my community, we have a nice home and I am blessed with great friends and strong family ties.

If I die tomorrow (here’s hoping I don’t!), I will have left a positive mark on this world and that is a good feeling. That’s not to say there isn’t more to do.

I hope at the end of my next decade, I can say that my marriage and children continue to thrive. I want to continue to enjoy the work I do and I pray that our family ties only grow stronger. I hope that I get better at taking time for me. As the children grow, I hope we find shared interests that allow us to remain close. I want to get better at knitting. I want to write more. I hope I can work less. I hope we have taken some memorable family vacations.

I guess since ultimatly I can only control what I do, my goals should be about me.

I hope that I continue to explore my sexuality.
I want to read more and watch TV less. I hope my husband and I continue to love and respect each other

I want to kayak. I want to take the kids white water canoeing and rafting.

There is so much potential

Maybe I’ll draw?Paint? Improve my pottery? Finally learn to scrapbook?

Learning a foreign language doesn’t appeal to me. Will I change jobs? I guess I always known that I’m not meant to continue to do the same thing forever, so I suppose I ought to say I wonder what I’ll do next. I can’t imagine going back to work for anyone else. I love the flexibility too much.

I love to learn and I hope I never stop. The day I do, is the day I die.

I want to meet more people make new friends.

Technology will probably always play a role in my life can’t see that changing. I love gadgets.

While 39 is an ending, it is also the beginning of my 4th decade on this planet. I wonder where this roller coaster ride will take me next!

Jane! Stop This Crazy THING!!

I’m serious. I just wanna get off this merry-go-round I’m living on. I know, I know, be careful what you wish for and all that . . .

March was hell. I knew it was going to be busy. There is no getting around it. January and February are relatively slow paced as people do the winter hibernation thing, but everyone seems to jolt awake in March. Ok, so like I said, I knew it would be bad, but it was the unexpected that knocked March from bad to completely psychotic.

See, it kinda went like this. We started out the month wrapping up a family vacation in Florida. Oh poor me I know, but the reality is a week in Disney World with two kids under 10, my sister-in-law’s family and my in-laws (no matter how much I love them all) just is not relaxing. I’m not saying it wasn’t fun, but it definitely was not relaxing.

The day after we got back, I went right into Girl Scout Cookie Delivery mode (I’m cookie mom for the troop). This would continue for the entire month. 8 little girls (and their parents) sold 1,200 boxes of cookies. Including the 200 we sold at a blustery booth sale.
Then one of the unexpecteds kicked in; my husband’s uncle died. Not entirely unexpected, but sad none-the-less and from a practical standpoint time consuming. Yes that sounds cold, but I was prepping to leave on a business trip so extra time was not something I had a lot of. Oh and did I mention that in the middle of that, we lost Internet access (practically a death knell for two geeks who depend on it for their livelyhood) AND I had an allergic reaction to some food I ate?

Ok, so I go on the business trip, it is successful, but a lot of work. I don’t travel often, and I’m grateful that my husband is a good sport when I do, but, when I’m gone, some of the details slip through the cracks, the rest pile up on the island in the kitchen. So, the next week is spent trying to catch up from the previous weeks all while squeezing in the usual scout meeting, dance class and trips to the dentist (me and the oldest child) and, wrapping up cookie sales (does anyone have ONE more case of Thin Mints). I now had to collect and account for the 3,000 plus dollars that 8 little girls and their parents generated selling said 1,200 boxes of cookies.

Just when I thought I was heading for home, BAM! another one of those unexpecteds pops up when I do more than $1,000 worth of damage to my car’s suspension system driving on the dirt er, mud, roads around my house. No, I wasn’t off-roading, the roads near my house are dirt for at least one mile in all directions. This time of year, they get borderline impassible as the snow melts and the rain falls. The locals affectionately refer to it as mud season. I don’t have all wheel drive to be cool, I have it because I NEED it.

The good news is that in my state, this kind of damage is actually covered by insurance. But as I type, my car is back in the repair shop and frankly that really puts a hitch in my giddyup.

I know I should shut up and count my blessings, it could be worse. There is the friend who’s 3 year old neighbor is battling Cancer. There is the woman my husband works with who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer and just today found out her grown son had committed suicide. There is the mother in town who has been hospitalized for depression 5 times since the beginning of the year. I feel for these people and I wouldn’t want to walk a mile in their shoes, but damit, I AM having a tough time. I’m totally overwhelmed. Stop this Merry-Go-Round! I want to get off!

A Night Without The Diaper Bag

An night without the diaper bag. It started some six years ago, an evening out for 7 women with young kids (at the time, the majority were infants). Our common tie is a university that for a considerable length of time was an important part of our lives. Most of us worked there in various roles (or married someone who did) at one time or another. Some went to school there. While it was a starting point, we’ve all moved on, and the ties that bind now run much deeper.

We all have kids and we’ve all been through hell and back. There was infertility that lead to adoption. Infertility that lead to births and even an oops. There is ADHD, PDD and a visual impairment. There are annoying spouses, and troublesome parents (our own and our spouses). There are work/life balance issues and money constraints. Three are full time stay at home moms. 4 are work at home moms Three own our own businesses and one is a professional writer.

One a month we get together sans kids (and thus their diaper bags) for a relaxing dinner and gabfest. Very soon we’ll need to change the name as shortly, none of the kids will be in diapers.

We tell stories and share gossip, but there is a fair amount of goods exchanged too. For example, I have yet to purchase clothing for my youngest child. He wears fantastic hand me downs. The group had a good laugh recently when we looked at photo of my son and realized he was wearing pajamas that originally belonged to the oldest child in the group. My boy was the sixth owner and last in the group to wear said pajamas. As with most kids clothes, they out grow them before they out wear them, so those P.J.’s made their way to another little boy outside our group. We also share toys, those that are out grown and those that will never be used. But the sharing isn’t limited to the kids. We have lent dresses, jewelry and once and a while volunteered a spouse for assorted duties.

The spouses don’t really know each other and it is probably better that way. Their lack of relationship gives us a place to talk freely about their annoying habits and other foibles. We’re all very different, but that is part of what makes the group work so well. The different perspectives enrich all of us.

Three years ago, I moved an hour and a half away from the area where the other six live. I can count on one hand the number times the distance has been too much for me to attend. I look forward to this night out all month. I’m working hard to make new connections where I now live, but The Diaper Bag Gang will always be a very important part of my life.

Some Insight Into My Politics

I am a Democrat in sea of Republicans.

Frankly these days it isn’t easy being a Democrat but I persevere because the radical right frightens me.

This article on Boston.com struck a chord with me.

I also liked this piece from Newsweek.

So, now you know.

My Kids Names

I have two kids.

They have given names. Formal sounding monikers that appear on their birth certificates.
Names chosen to honor people who have influenced my husband and I.

Names that I utter forcefully when I am angry.

They have nick names. Shorter versions of their given names. Names that make it easier for their friends to call them. Names that are more casual.

As their mother, I take it as my God given right to make up additional names for them.

And I do. Frequently. It is a wonder they even know who they are.

Names that make them smile now.

Names that will make them cringe when they are tweens.

Names that will always make me smile.

Mrs. Tinkabinka
Tink
RishaTroo
Fisharoo
Fish
Cuddlebug
Snugglebug

Mr. Dude
Mr. Dudapudamus
Mr. Pudaduamus
Puda
Puda Duda
TinkyToes
Gigglepus
Mr. Sqigglypants

Who is Reesie?

Reesie is me.
Reesie is a child’s mispronunciation of her own name, that has developed into an adult’s identity. I’d say she is my alter ego, but most days, we share many of the same qualities.

Reesie is the woman I aspire to be all the time.
She is loving
She is loveable
She is loved
She is kind
She is patient
She loves to laugh
She is exuberent
She is passionate about life
She is energetic

She is not judgemental
She eats healthy food
She exercises regularly

She loves her time alone
She fears being alone forever

She loves to sing

I have my days of living in full Reesie mode and those are good days, very very GOOD Days.