Something Old Hat posted on Facebook yesterday really resonated with me – why do people clam up when it comes to talking about their personal troubles?  I’ve been actually trying to work this out recently, trying to make a conscious effort not to keep everything bottled up inside, when something has occurred and I’ve been asked not to relay the information.  It’s hard to deal with.

I love my daughter more than anything in the world (except, of course, for my son!)  My children mean so much to me, even though they very often irritate the holy crap out of me.  Then again, who *doesn’t* irritate the holy crap out of me?  But something changed in me after she was born.  Was it because she was so difficult to console for the first four months of her life?  Because she didn’t want anyone but me, and nobody seemed to be able, or even want, to help me take a break?  Or was it a giant combination of things that contributed, with her neediness being the proverbial straw that broke that camel’s back?  I don’t know.  Needless to say, since her birth, I have far less patience than I ever have at any other time in my life.  I deal with stress far worse than ever, and considering it’s never been my strong suit, understand that it’s even more difficult now.  My temper, which has always been quick, would now be considered hair-trigger.  I have severe anxiety attacks; I don’t enjoy going anywhere alone, least of all with the kids.  Noisy places make my brain stop working, very literally.  I feel myself going into “fight or flight” mode.  None of this even feels like me, and it’s been very hard for me to live with that.

At the end of last school year, though, sometime in May, I resolved to finally do something about it, and I talked to my doctor.  I truly, honestly had some very rough evenings throughout the course of the early part of the year, and I really, truly contemplated thoughts of suicide.  There, I said it.  Yes.  I really, absolutely did.  I didn’t want my children to suffer without a mother, but I also didn’t want them to suffer through a mother like me.  If anyone caught on, nobody said anything to me, further exacerbating how I felt.  I felt useless, hopeless, and lonely. 

On the way to my regular check-up with my doctor, though, something clicked.  Maybe it’s because I was by myself, and I had nobody to worry by talking to my doctor.  Maybe I realized I was tired of not living, just existing, and that it was up to me, and only me, to do something about it.  On my way to the appointment, I passed a cosmetology school, and I vowed right then that if I managed to own up to how I felt, I would get my hair cut and colored.  Really.  So I talked with my doctor.  I told him how lonely I felt, how much I despised Craig’s job and his schedule, how I hated feeling like a single parent, and how much I wanted to be ME again.  He understood, and he understood how hard it was for me to admit to any of this.  He asked if I would be willing to take some prescriptions to help me feel better, and I agreed.  Not even reluctantly.  And when I walked out of that office, I felt like *years* of grief, guilt, fright, and terror had been lifted.  I suddenly felt more like myself.  And I did get my hair cut – close to two feet cut off – and I did get my hair colored.  And I felt happy and joyful and LIKE ME.

In the months that have passed, I’m doing better.  I may accidentally forget to take every other medication, but I never forget my Zoloft.  I don’t ever want to go back to what I was in the past.  I’m tired all the time, and I still get irritated (oh boy, do I!), but I don’t lash out like I have in the past, and I don’t have the feelings of rage always smoldering inside.  Rather, it’s just a slow simmer of irritation; that, I can certainly live with. 

However, I find myself being tested yet again.  Our bathroom needed an emergency remodel; I love the results, but it was hard to figure out how to pay for it.  The good part was finding out that, over the years of trying so earnestly to pay down debts and get our credit in shape, we’d done it!  We succeeded!  The answer to paying for our remodeling would pay our debt management program, but open another loan – but with a VERY low APR.  We would cut our monthly expenses very drastically and hopefully not feel so over-our-heads so much!  And then our car had problems, to the tune of several thousand dollars, using up the spare money we were going to put toward the kids’ schools.  Craig has been trying so hard to find a job with good pay and normal hours, but the job market still isn’t great, and he’s often up against so many other candidates.  He’s been burned too many times at his current employer and is now reluctant to apply for anything with them, and I try so very hard to keep my words respectful of his company and his team when speaking online only so I won’t jeopardize his job, our livelihood.  It’s hard for me to keep my irritation of others to myself, quite frankly, and to say his company, his current position, irritates me, is a vast understatement.  But I try.  I’m trying to learn how to communicate more effectively with my husband and children, and I’m trying to learn how to ask for help when I need it.  It’s so hard, some days more than others.  I’m trying to figure out how to be the kind of parent my kids need, how to earn some extra money, how to spend some time for me, all while not beating myself up so much.  I’m really my own worst critic.  I always have been; I always know I could do better.  But as a parent, you don’t get monthly reviews.  You don’t get *any* reviews.  You see the good things, but often don’t absorb them.  I often forget to notice all the wonderful things about my children when I hear “stop touching me!” for the thousandth time in the day, after they’ve been told to keep their bodies to themselves.  I get frustrated, and it shows, far more than I would like it to show.  I know I’m not perfect, so why am I killing myself about my lack of perfection? 

Why do I keep everything to myself?  I look at Craig and often think that I shouldn’t burden him, because hey, his hours suck, he doesn’t get to spend as much time with the kids as he’d like, he’s underpaid and under-appreciated at work, and he doesn’t get nearly enough rest.  He’s got it just as bad!  Or I see what my friends deal with, and my issues seem silly.  I’m sure they’d be willing to hear me out, but there have been times I’ve heard “Well, at least you have…” or “At least you’re not…”…and I don’t want to minimize their problems, but I want someone to recognize when I’m hurting and need help, and understand that by attempting to minimize what bothers me, I personally feel minimized or marginalized.  And I’m trying to learn how to deal with that. 

And I’m trying to learn how to share these kinds of things, so it really is hard when I’m supposed to keep it to myself.