You know all those “how to deal” books they sell parents on dealing with temper tantrums?  They need to sell those same books to adults in general - about how to deal with mature temper tantrums. 

I exaggerate as usual.  I’m not wearing a diaper or throwing myself face down on the floor. Not yet at least. 

I don’t know.  I guess that I thought this summer would finally be the one where I stopped being stressed and magically appeared on the other side of my divorce, smiling and with a sunflower blooming out of my butt.  I was wrong; I need to be flexible and adjust my expectations.  Note:  I’m terrible at adjusting my expectations. 

So looking inside my head, here’s what I thought.

Illusion 1:  Boyfriend and I would take the SAME week off in August.  We would go somewhere fabulous.  He’d be divorced!  His ex-wife would not only have stopped bleeding him dry, she’d be paying HIM!  It would involve an airplane, fruity drinks with umbrellas and possibly some bad Mexican food or an iceberg (either one was okay). 

Reality 1:  Divorce hearing has been postponed to September.  I’m still technically dating a married man.  Dates were not communicated clearly between me and the married man.  We ended up with consecutive weeks off.  In other words, he’s free when I have my kids and I have 8 days off with no kids when he’s with his kids 24/7.  My ex had already booked his trip with the kids; he wasn’t able to change the dates.  Boyfriend had no choice as usual and was given dates by his ex - take it or leave it.  End result:  no mexican food or icebergs. 

Illusion 2:  I could go “home” again.  I talked to some friends in my hometown.  One of my friends - known him for 23 years - offered me a couch and a car.  Camping and hiking and day tripping were mentioned.  I pictured myself practicing yoga at early dawn at the beach.  I pictured myself sleeping at Christmas Cove, feet in hot sand.  There might be a fruity drink; there would be no icebergs.  It sounded heavenly, seeing a few of the people I still love and miss in my home town.

Reality 2:  My friend can’t have me stay at his house for various reasons.  I don’t have access to a car.  I can’t impose on my other friends for that long of a period a time.  I can’t afford to rent a car - the ticket alone up there broke me for the month of July.  I can’t afford to rent a hotel room during peak season.  Basically the entire way and means for my trip went bye-bye.  My reality is a heady combination of severe bummed-outedness about not seeing my other friends there and a deep throbbing sadness because of the choices my couch-sponsoring friend has decided to make.  My vacation is blown, yes, but I’m more upset that my friendship is blown.  Whatever.  No one else seems to get their panties in a wad when things end badly; not sure why I do at this age. 

Illusion 3:  Now desperately seeking any type of Farewell to Summer 2011 that includes getting out of Richmond (even 30 miles out of Richmond), and preferably the Boyfriend, I pitch a one-night get away to a nearby beach.  Turns out that can’t happen either; he’s taking time off the week he has his kids, and unless I want to go home with him (and the kids) for close to 5 days, there isn’t going to be any sort of get away and there definitely will be no fruity drinks with umbrellas. 

I’ll turn back into the cheery person I know I can be, and be happy for all the glorious and wonderful things in my life, but tonight - and really, the last 5 days - has been spent feeling like someone took a poop on my ice cream sundae.  I feel whiny:  I work hard.  This summer, I’ve been working two jobs.  I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t working at night, either on my own business or cleaning my house or doing laundry or packing lunches for camp.  I do not remember the last time I sat in front of a television without my computer or a pile of laundry.  Right now, I should be processing orders or embroidering something, but I’m going to allow myself to sulk.  I can be an adult tomorrow, tell myself to buck up, and move on.  My life is complex right now and involves working with an ex-husband, 2 kids, a Boyfriend, his 2 kids, his job, my job, and my paying job.  Making plans is an act of Congress (well, perhaps easier than an act of Congress, based on the recent past), and sometimes they go awry.  Right now, though, I wish someone else would whisk me away and relieve me of making plans for anyone and anything, and let me sleep 8 hours a night, tell me NOT to run, and tell me that not training for this triathlon that’s three weeks away is no big deal and I can totally do this thing in my sleep. 

While I wait for that, I’m going to fix myself some non-fat sherbet and stick an umbrella in it.  Happy Summer Vacation to me. 

I’m struggling today, but not because of my own problems. 

I have a close friend who has their own issues with mental health, coping, stress, and living a life without pushing the self-destruct button just to see what happens. 

When I got out of the hospital nearly two years ago, my friend was there for me.  They told me all about their own issues, their own experiences with hospitalization and fighting depression.  Sometimes it feels like a huge uphill battle, and frankly, it’s a very tiring battle.  At that time, it was very helpful talking to someone who’d been inside the same walls I’d been, even though I knew it was incredibly difficult for my friend to share it with me. 

I’ve seen some warning signs in my friend’s behavior over the past few months.  On the outside, everything looks pretty. However, I’m too well-versed in how things look as opposed to how things are - and I can generally see through that facade without much difficulty.  I saw my friend recently and there are chinks in the armor.  Most people wouldn’t notice, but I did - and I was scared. 

Inevitably, people will ask my friend “WHY” be depressed, why now, when things are so good?  I got asked that question incessantly.  The fact is:  there is no WHY and no TIME that depression doesn’t find its way in.  That’s the difference between clinical and situational depression.  My friend’s life is great right now - really, better than I’ve ever seen it - but still the struggle continues and the depression is actually worse right now.  My theory is that because life can present itself as “great”, when your feelings don’t match your surroundings it’s almost worse.  I see my friend contemplating self-destruction.  I see my friend starting to expand the isolation; pushing people away has always been a skill. 

I remember the brilliant peak before I began my rapid descent into the rocks below.  I wasn’t sleeping much; when I was, it was at odd times of the day or a couple of hours here and there.  I wasn’t eating properly, or at all.  I was abusing exercise and people.  I couldn’t formulate a coherent thought to save my life, yet you couldn’t shut me up.  I know others around me, like my friend, could see it coming.  I have a new appreciation and sympathy for them now.  I don’t know what to do.  I’ve talked to my friend.  I’ve been direct, and gentle, and I’ve pleaded a bit too.  Their significant other has done the same thing.  My need to rescue others has been activated in a big way, even though I know I can’t save anyone and I certainly can’t save my friend. 

All I can do is hang on, and let my friend know I’m there with them.  I will give my opinion when I feel it’s necessary or that I am being heard.  I will let my friend know that their perception isn’t clear anymore.  When you are in the grips of depression, sometimes you forget to ask for help.  Down there at the bottom, it doesn’t really feel worth asking for it anyway.  I need to keep reminding my friend that we are here, and we all have our hands extended. Right now, my friend doesn’t care for themselves half as much as the people who love my friend do, and we need to keep reminding my friend we are here and we are present.

Depression and mental illness are still so stigmatized.  One is “weak” if they suffer from it.  Pull yourself up by the bootstraps.  Suck it up.  Man up.  Deal with it.  Just be happy.  I need my friend to remember that what is going on is chemical.  Just like any other condition, it requires treatment.  In my opinion, treatment is two-fold:  treating the chemical imbalance with medication, and treating the internal workings with therapy and support to learn how to best manage the condition.

It took me hitting rock bottom to finally get me to admit that I needed medication, and therapy, and healthy friends, and normal sleep patterns, and stability, and confidence, to truly live with what I have.  I would work a part-time job sweeping the streets if that was the only way I could afford my medication.  It is no longer a choice; it is something that has changed my life for the better and I try not to forget that.  It is something I have to live with the rest of my life, just like my friend John lives with diabetes - and it requires the same kind of vigilance. 

I’m hopeful that the people who love my friend can move my friend in the direction they need to go.  For me, it was a combination of gentle force and knowing that unless I did something drastic, I wasn’t going to make it for any length of time.  My friend might actually be more stubborn than me, which makes things interesting.  I guess I’m just holding out hope that I can be there for my friend like they were for me, and I can help before the pieces fall apart. 

My friend deserves so much more happiness and peace than what they are currently receiving. 

In the long gaps between blog posts, I’m doing things like laundry, running, chasing kids, and making mistakes.  As someone said on Facebook today, “if you weren’t making mistakes, what would you blog about?”  Good point. 

First, and it’s okay, you don’t have to pay me for this advice, but . . . if you have recently struggled with marital issues, separated, or divorced:  DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT watch Blue Valentine.  Though I could appreciate the exceptional writing, great acting and interesting cinematography from afar, I wanted nothing to do with the actual plot.  I felt almost like I had a hidden camera in someone’s house.  Less glamorous than reality tv (I kept wanting to brush Michelle William’s hair) and incredibly less voyeuristic and inspirational than a biography, the movie was two hours of fingernail-pulling agony. 

Running Boy’s 10 second review:  “Why would I want to watch something I’m already living through?” 

Another good point.  While most divorcing couples I know lack the overly dramatic alcohol-fueled workplace rages and random flashbacks to abortion clinics, this one hit far too close to home.  The closest thing I can liken it to is forcing a newly-minted divorcee to watch their wedding video, go through old photos, and read love letters from the early stages of their relationship while simultaneously filing their divorce papers, taking the kids to therapy and considering bankruptcy vs. suicide. 

I spent some time after the movie was over feeling incredibly sorry for myself, my extended family, and mostly my kids.  All the guilt and sorrow I thought had finally disappeared FOREVAH was suddenly back again; this guilt had obviously been eating a lot of carbs and processed foods because the sucker was heavier than the last time it was with me.  Trying to buck off this monster, I wondered whether I would ever feel settled or safe again.  I also wondered whether I would ever be able to trust my feelings for someone, or trust anyone to love me.  In the dark, it seemed highly unlikely. 

Thanks a lot, Blue Valentine. 

Philip relayed the fabulous statistic to me from his therapist that it takes an average of 5 years to truly move on from a divorce.  Great.  Thanks, Phil.  This might explain why, when I thought I was through the worst of it, I realized I’ve barely scratched the surface of the dark pool of damage that still roils beneath my skin.  If I didn’t choose right before, and I hurt someone badly, what’s to keep me from making that same “mistake” again?  It seems to me that divorce drives a few unpleasant points home.  a.) nothing is forever, b.) maybe I’m not biologically engineered to be married, and c.) it’s possible I can never trust my judgment again.  Just sayin’. 

On top of my reservation at the Haven o’ Guilt and Doubt restaurant, I really messed up with Arden this week.  My experience reminded me of a room decoration my ex sister-in-law had:  a weird mirror her mother had given her.  It said, “Mirror Mirror, on the Wall, I am my Mother, after all.” 

It’s true.  We are our mothers. 

There are many things about my own mother that I wish I could emulate.  She actually enjoyed cooking for my crabby, picky ass.  She was a perky morning person.  She liked hanging out with me, and thought I was funny.  There was always some random goody in my lunch bag, sometimes with a note. 

Then, there were things I didn’t want to emulate.  Little things, like not wanting my friends over a the house or me spending the night with them, either.  Her insistence on making my bed every morning.  Forcing me to eat peas.  And sometimes, the way she chose to discipline me. 

Without getting into details, because that’s not fun for anyone, I decided long ago that I wasn’t going to discipline my children with spanking or hitting or slapping.  I didn’t like what it did for me, though yes, one could argue, the fear of my dad beating my ass was quite the motivator in making it home by curfew.  What I didn’t like in my own past and in my close friend’s lives, was watching their parents lash out physically in anger.  There IS a difference between swatting a child on the rear when you need to get their attention, and letting your anger boil out of your pores while you lose control of your limbs and your mouth. 

I’ve found that discipline works best with Arden when I am calm, cool, and detached.  But the other day, something happened.  She did what most teenaged girls do, even though she’s only 6. She screamed into my face. It was some ugly comment or another.  It was like another person took over me, and what followed shocked me.  My instantaneous response to her behavior was something my mother had used as an outlet for her anger many times in the past.  It surprised both of us:  Arden stared at me, eyes wide, and I stared back at her, my eyes even wider.  I immediately pulled her into my lap, apologized, and took responsibility for my actions and my anger.  I told her she owed me the same courtesy, and she turned into me, hugged me and told me she was sorry, too.

This isn’t a gripe about my mother or how my parent’s generation dealt with smart mouths and disobedient children. She did what she thought worked best, just as I am doing the same with my own children.  My dad, though he rarely had to physically punish me, loved running surveillance on me as a teen and busting me for being places I shouldn’t have been.  I didn’t have much privacy, and in retrospect, that was probably ok.  I don’t agree these were the best methods for dealing with me, but they worked for them and that is all there is to that. 

For me, though, letting my anger out in physical ways seems backwards to me.  Just today, I told Arden and Lily that the next person to lay hands on someone else out of anger was getting in REALLY.  BIG.  TROUBLE.  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wondered if they were going to be thrown back at me because I have, myself, acted out of anger.  I just want to screw up my kids in new, different ways:  I know I’m far from perfect but I also know what felt really bad to me growing up, and I don’t want to serve that kind of crappy feeling up on a plate in my own house. 

Now that I’ve flayed myself and walked barefoot across broken glass, I can move on with my week.  I’ve got a fun 3 day weekend at the beach to look forward to.  Let’s hope I can make it without any more gut-wrenching movies or anger-infused mommy moments. 

I’m having one of those nights where the pounding of the rain is a perfect mirror of how I feel.  Table for Pity Party of 1 . . . I think I’m completely wiped out.  I wish it was the kind of exhaustion sleep could fix. 

My list is long right now:  I’m physically and mentally still wiped out from Disney; I am not running well; I just signed away another year of my life on a lease that holds me in the house I’m in (and it is a house I do NOT like); I haven’t seen my significant other alone except once in the last 2 weeks; my kids are also still recovering from Disney and they are a bit difficult to deal with right now; I had a public scene last night wherein I was forced to drag one of my children out of a bowling alley, complete with aforementioned child stripping off her dress for some unknown reason and running away from me barefoot next to the building while shaking her fist at me and standing in leggings and nothing else; I desperately need a vacation but I’m not going to get one anytime soon (by vacation, I mean one where I can relax, and most likely without kids); I’m still smarting over the friend dump but am actually more angry now than sad; I miss my sister and it’s unfair that we live so far apart; and finally, dating someone with kids has really made me aware of how hard it is dating someone with kids.

That’s really gotten me thinking . . . between his child custody schedule and mine, it’s a wonder we can meet up at all, but much of it is done with the kids.  Which then gets me thinking about life with FOUR kids instead of two - his duo and mine.  Combined, their ages are 3, 5, 6 and 8.  Mentally I’m thinking, Holy God, that’s a lot of growing up years left. He’s amazing with kids; I’m satisfactory. In all honesty, I’m struggling - no, flailing - with parenting right now.  I try lots of different tactics, I work hard on myself, but lately I feel like I’m losing the battle and banging my head against the wall with my kids. 

I feel like a big empty glass and I have nothing left to give.  This feeling is familiar and I know it means I need to care for myself a bit more, take it easy on myself, stop running myself into the ground - both literally and figuratively.  Once again, the laundry will wait for me - until Lily tells me, with one hand on hip, “Mommy, I have NOTHING to wear.  Why don’t I have any clean clothes?” 

I took four hours today and attempted to clean and organize my house.  I’ve been on the fence about staying here for quite a while now.  I finally decided to just sign the lease.  This means a couple of things:  I have to ask some men to help me hang some shelves and pictures on the wall (sexist, I know, but I can’t measure anything nor hang anything straight or with the right hardware).  I need to paint Arden’s room, and I need to sand down the spackling I put on my bathroom wall back in, oh, last June.  If I’m going to stay here, I need to stay here.  I’ve been in a state of fluctuation, hoping the stars would align and I’d end up the owner of a very cute 1600 square foot home just down the street from where I live now, all blooming gardens and quaint 1950’s rancher charm.  Instead I will be battling another Invasion of the Camel Crickets and Night of the Living Mold Smell, cooking in my icky kitchen and trying to cram thousands of dollars worth of inventory into my laundry room slash pantry slash warehouse.  It’s all good. 

For tonight, it’s silence and sleep.  I’ve got my final job interview tomorrow and I need to be sharp.  I spent some time feeling grateful about the person I’m seeing, as he completely understands the level of energy it takes - sustained energy - to manage the kids, balance a business, keep the house inhabitable and still have a life outside of them.  He is a runner, so neither of us get upset when the other has to delay a date to squeeze in a run or get up at ungodly hours to meet a training team or run a race.  When I focus on the good stuff, it’s easier to be more patient with the things that provide me short-term heartburn. 

I miss Tricia and Philip tonight. I’d kill to be sipping some gin and juice with Susan, and I could really use a night at a gay bar listening to bad 80’s dance music with Stanley.  I’ll settle for the back of my eyelids.

Really, all one needs is eclairs and friends.

Truth 1:

I am coming out of the worst depressive episode of my life.  It lasted from approximately December 17th through yesterday morning.  I don’t do math, but that equals a lot of days and nights.  “Bad” days prior to this lasted as described - a day or two.  I shored myself up, waited it out.  This time, the rules were completely different.  Starting the day I received the notice that my divorce had been finalized, it went downhill from there.  I think I had expected the divorce to make me feel free.  Instead, I simply felt unmoored - like I was floating over a huge expanse of ocean with nothing and no one to hold me.  There was a huge financial pressure squeezing me, the behavioral changes in my kids, this house I live in, a year of crappy and unreliable relationships, drowning in some sort of codependent nightmare relationship with a close friend, losing the image of what my life was supposed to look like while frantically trying to rebuild a new and better picture of the future that will be.  Health issues, a year spent running - literally and figuratively, aging parents, the usual and standard self-loathing of my physical body refusing to conform fast enough for my ever-persistent need to be different, better, improved.  A year and half worth of therapy that has made me strong but so self-aware that I can get away with nothing anymore, and when bad habits shed their disguises, they are no fun. 

I am terrible at seeing myself from the outside.  To me, yes, the previous year had been difficult.  It wasn’t until Jennifer made me add up all of the pieces, especially over the past couple of months that I realized how much I’d really been through.

I refuse to get into the details of the last couple of weeks.  It’s ugly and it’s humiliating and it’s just frankly disappointing that I fall back into old patterns and old vices when the shit hits the fan.  I’m all about outing myself and my silliness if I can think it will help someone else, but this won’t.  Nothing good will come of discussing the true low I hit and I’m not going to put myself through it. 

The worst of the depression revolved around my self-doubt.  It includes thinking that I cannot make good decisions, or that I will be able to have healthy relationships down the road, or that I will ever be able to throw the yoke of despair off me forever.  It’s quite possible that I won’t, but Jennifer’s diagram of what has happened to me over the past few months made it easier to see that all of this “stuff” combined with the holidays was a perfect storm and perfect storms don’t happen very often. 

Someone asked me if I thought I would have been better off staying with Mike because I was never this depressed before.  The answer is yes and no.  Yes, I might have been less outwardly depressed, but it was only because I was stuffing all those feelings down and covering them up with parties at my house, internal pressure, granite countertops and expensive shoes.  My pace today is still frenetic, but compared to the way I burned up hours in my past life, I am moving at a snail’s pace.  Slowing down, taking deep breaths and sifting through the reasons I ended up here has made me both strong and extremely vulnerable.  I’m where I am because this is exactly where I need to be.  There’s no shortcut, especially since I wasted years of my life (and my ex-husband’s) by trying to take shortcuts every chance I could. 

so . . .

John and Karen - thanks for opening your house to me, distracting me, feeding me too much chocolate and chicken and vodka.  John, all those runs have been life-saving. 

My running buddies who are now friends:  Sarah and Meg, all that giggling and hard work made me confident I could handle anything - even half marathon training in 100% humidity.

Sean, thanks for all the sushi and conversation, and being able to put some personal stuff aside to just be a friend to me.  The 2010 Porsche Driving Tour was definitely a highlight and brings me some peace whenever I feel most peaceless. 

Susan, as always, you came through in a million amazing ways.  Having you here with me and knowing you see right through me is priceless.  Being able to listen to you without fearing what you’re saying because I know you are right is a rare thing.  I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve you but it must have been something akin to saving Christ from the crucifixion. 

Theresa, your tea and your house have been lifelines for me in so many ways, along with the way you’ve made me a part of your lovely and quirky extended family. 

Philip, I know things are hard for both of us right now.  You are confused, I am angry and so very sad, but we will get to a better place someday down the road.  I will always owe you a huge thank you for doing what needed to be done.  I know I helped you through a big part of your year; you helped me through a big part of mine.  I think we should both pat ourselves on the back for being mature and aware enough to realize the limitations we both have right now.  Just as you watched me make bad decisions earlier and suffered, I owe you the same courtesy. 

Stanley, the email you sent me a few days ago brought me to my knees.  I feel the same way about you.  I may be older, wiser, and much better looking (only one of those is true), but you truly inspire me.  You are an amazing friend and one of the kindest people I’ve ever known.  You are one of those irreplaceable gifts that came after going through hell.  You’re like the blingy medal at the end of the race.  You make it all worth it. 

Tricia, you are still my hero - even though you don’t get why you are.  Talking to you feels like home and I miss you tons. 

My family, especially my sister and my parents.  I know I put you through the wringer.  I wish things had been easier for all of us, but that’s not life and I’m okay with that.  I can’t imagine my life without you in it.  My sister gets me in a way very few people do.  I’m so glad I have one. 

Lily and Arden, you have no idea what you’ve done for me just by being my children.  I gave you life, but you have kept me alive as well.  At the lowest points, I remember that the basic fact - and most important - is that I am your mother and nothing else matters but you two.  I know my decisions have made your lives harder but I’m certain we are all growing stronger by the minute and we will survive this together, laughing and dancing to Lady Gaga.  I know you’ve sensed the wrongness that has surrounded me for a while.  Thank you for all the extra hugs and kisses, for nurturing me when I’ve most needed it, for being the amazing people you are.  You are the most amazing gifts and I will never, ever leave you. 

Truth 2: 

I absolutely will make it out of this.  I’ve got one hand on the edge of the crater and I can see some light peeking over the top of it.  Just a little bit farther to go.  It’s blind faith at this point, but so many people are rooting for me that I just keep digging my feet into the wall and pushing myself up a bit further.  If this many people think I can do this, they can’t all be wrong.  Right now I’m okay substituting their confidence for mine.  Mine is hiding somewhere in the sand, refusing to come out.  I’m hollering.  It will eventually obey and return to me.