Rinse and Repeat?

I've dealt with depression since 2009. I most likely have had it all my life but didn't know it. I fell into a deep depression in August of 2008, just before the one year anniversary of my brother’s death. I finally started medication in the spring of 2009 and it saved me from falling further into a very deep dark place. On and off over the years I've caught myself on the cusp of this deep dark hole, often enough that I named it. I call it “My Cave” because I want to isolate myself and stay in bed with the curtains drawn and the lights off. My Cave has called my name for days, weeks, even months on end over the years. There were times when I couldn't fight it's call, even with medication, and would give in for a day or at worst a week. During the past year I've been able to keep it at bay with medication and with the love and support of W. Having someone to talk to about everything - no matter how big or small- is often what I need most. In December I started having stomach issues and the first medication I cut out was my antidepressant. NOT one of my best ideas and looking back I can see that it was extremely stupid considering the hell I was walking through with mom at the time. However, hindsight is always 20/20. Since stopping the meds I've been battling My Cave and generally losing small step by small step until I was already falling and didn't see it. Between all the things mom would say and how overwhelmed I was caring for her, My Cave was having way too much fun tweaking my thoughts and feelings. On Thursday I saw my physician and have since restarted my medication and I see a huge difference already. What made me see the light?  

On Thursday as I was pulling out of our driveway to go to the doctor I tuned in some random station and was just letting the music wash over me. I had two cards in the passenger seat- one from my aunt and one from a family friend. It was looking at those two sympathy cards that had me catching my breath. I can't say exactly what got through- all I know is in that moment I suddenly saw what was happening. And it was the wake up I desperately needed. I cried as I drove and played back the past week.

On Friday the 6th, my mom passed away at 8:18 am. The night before I was able to spend time with her and say my goodbyes. I was able to tell her I forgave her for the harshness of my upbringing and I found some peace in that- peace that I hadn't had in a long time. Friday morning Dad and I were with her as she took her final breath. I am blessed to have been there and see that she wasn't in pain or suffering. There truly is something defining about being with your loved one as they pass from this life to the next. It’s an experience that changes you fundamentally and profoundly. I honestly can't put it into the correct words- I've tried for years. It is, simply stated, life altering.

After mom passed came the part that always has and always will suck- making the phone calls to loved ones to let them know of her passing. I received various reactions: shock, indifference, sympathy and lots of tears. I cried through 98% of the calls. I watched my dad make his calls and saw the pain it was causing him. I wanted to take the pain away from him and knew I couldn’t. It’s a hard spot to be in and one My Cave used against me later on. One of the calls still plays over in my head because of the tone of the conversation. I had called an old family friend- a woman I've known since I can remember. She was always a second mom to my brothers and me when we were growing up. It was this woman, in her loving tone that told me she was here for me and that if there was anything, anything at all, that she could do to just let her know. I can't remember everything she said but those few words and the way she said them- they stick with me. I know without a doubt that she would do anything she could for me. I've never doubted that love. I never once questioned if she would be there if I needed her. I've never called on her, to put that bond to use. One reason being I never wanted to burden her and two, I knew if it got back to my mom I’d have hell to pay. Acknowledging why these words are sticking with me is acknowledging the grief I have over the bond mom and I didn’t have. I never questioned my mom being there for me- she was always there when Tony and I needed her. I however have often questioned how much or little she truly loved me. As I've written before, our relationship wasn't the picture perfect illusion we portrayed. I cry for the relationship I wish I'd had with my mom. I grieve over what wasn't and the pain of what was. Prior to Thursday My Cave wouldn't let me see this. All it would let me see is that I had failed to take Dad's pain away and that I was inept at knowing what he needs from me. Illogical yes, but My Cave has never been and never will be logical. 

The rest of the 6th was spent running errands with Dad and W. We, dad and I, needed to keep busy. We weren't ready to sit and cry yet, so off to lunch and to Sam’s Club we went. Everything was going okay when I wandered down the canned food aisle and found myself staring at the fruit cocktail cups I would normally be picking up for mom. And that’s when the tears flowed- standing in an aisle of Sam’s Club. It was a peek in to the changes that would be starting right then- my life with my mom and my life without my mom. I didn't break down in some grand fashion. I simply let the tears fall as they needed.  I pulled it together and kept on shopping. I didn't even cry that night over it- My Cave instead turned a normally happy dream of Harry Potter into one of death and Dementors. It was awful and when I awoke on Saturday I felt like I hadn't slept a wink. I ended up taking a naps on Saturday and Sunday. I pulled away from W without realizing it.

Over the weekend it was decided to switch bedrooms with dad. It means he’s downstairs in his own little world and we, W and I, are upstairs by our son. It changed how the house feels and it makes me feel totally grown up. I no longer live in the basement of my parent’s home. It’s a change I didn't think would hit me quite as hard as it has. I was left thinking, “When did I grow up?”, “How will I support my dad?”, “How do I make our family better and stronger?”, “How am I going to afford all the bills?” and so many other things that I suddenly felt lay on my shoulders alone. I didn't spend the time I should have on these things; I didn't talk them out with W as I should have. Instead My Cave took over.  I let My Cave tell me it was all on me and let myself get overwhelmed. All I could see was the shit once again rolling down hill and landing at my feet- for me to dig through alone. I was isolating myself just as My Cave told me to.

As we moved items from one floor to the other over the course of the next few days, My Cave was enjoying the freedom it suddenly had in my head. Every little thing W said or did was suddenly a GIANT flaw. He couldn’t be upset that he kicked a table. He couldn't cuss at dropping something. He couldn't let his frustrations show even the littlest bit. I took it all as an affront to the grief I was swimming in- though I wasn't telling him how I felt. I started looking for a way to tell him off. I even started doubting if we could make this relationship work long term. Things were changing at a pace I wasn't ready for and My Cave used this against me. Now keep in mind, I didn't realize this was happening while it was happening. It was on Thursday that the light turned on. 

While I drove to the doctor on Thursday afternoon, I talked things out. Yes, I was the weird woman in the car talking to herself. Only I wasn't just talking to myself- I was talking to My Cave. I suddenly saw that I was doing what My Cave had made me good at- pushing the good out of my life. I saw how I was pushing W away and vowed to cut the crap. I was expecting perfection from everyone, especially myself, when I was slowly crumbling inside. I gave Dad leeway to grieve as he saw fit but none to myself. I kept making up lists of things to accomplish and not getting far enough on them. I was holding myself to a standard no human can achieve. My Cave was definitely in control and was enjoying its new found freedom. When I did give in to the tears I did it alone, exactly how My Cave preferred me to. I saw that My Cave was trying to take over and acknowledged that I need the meds back on board so that I could keep myself balanced. As soon as I stepped in to the exam room I started crying. I knew I needed the help and I knew I'd get it.

When I got home from the doctor on Thursday W was cooking dinner. I told him I needed to talk and that it might hurt to hear what I had to say. I cried a lot. I admitted I was looking for a reason to push him away and that until the meds were level in me, he was not to believe me if I said “Get the F*$% out of my house.” I told him that I was waiting for him to treat me the way my ex had when Tony passed away. I admitted I was feeling overwhelmed with all the changes that were happening. I explained what I was worrying over and we were able to discuss those concerns. I reiterated to W that I want a future with him and that he is the one I love- now and always. I did see how it hurt him to hear me say “I was ready to tell you to get out and stay out.” I knew I had to be brutally honest even if it did hurt. I explained to W how My Cave manipulates me- how it turns little things into big issues and big things into little items so that nothing gets dealt with properly. I talked about how he can best help me. I’m lucky that W understands and will give me what I need when I need it- whether it is a simple hug or some time to be alone. At the end of our conversation I was able to see My Cave retreat and feel some relief.

I've been back on the meds a few days now. My Cave is back in check and I have confidence it will stay in its proper place. I'm not going to allow My Cave a repeat performance of 2008. I’m aware that some days are going to be easier than others. I know a day in My Cave isn't the worst thing I can do, but staying there for too long is. I've realized I'm not expected to have everything set for the rest of my life RIGHT NOW. I have a list of things that I need to do over the next few weeks and I am tackling them one at a time. I am grieving my mom’s death and the loss of what I dreamed our relationship should have been. I’m not alone; I have W and the love we share to count on. I have my dad to care for and our son to raise. I’m re-writing my grand plan again… and that’s perfectly okay.  

I'm fine....

I've been on the verge of tears 90% of the day. When mom doesn't get good sleep I get the brunt end of her attitude and cruelness. I normally don't post on my personal page about what exactly is going on because I continually hear “it’s the disease. She'd never say those things if she wasn't sick.” I'm tired of hearing that because these are things she has said to me my entire life. She has fooled everyone from the get go- we do not have the relationship she portrayed to the outside world.

It is not the disease that makes mom say cruel things to me. She has been emotionally abusive to me since I can remember (about age 5 is my earliest memory) and it’s always behind closed doors. I remember one summer that she was watching two of the neighbor girls while their mom worked. New brown carpet had just been installed in our kitchen (who the hell puts carpet in a kitchen???!!!) and I spilled grape Kool-Aid on the table and some dribbled on to the floor. Mom was enraged and without thinking about the witnesses she grabbed me by the throat and banged my head into the kitchen wall repeatedly while screaming at me for spilling on her precious new floor. Tony came to my rescue and got mom to stop. I was crying silently but the looks on the faces of my two friends- complete and utter fear- those were seared deep in to my memory. My mom terrified them and as soon as their mom got home they told her what happened. Of course their mom did the right thing and demanded to know what happened. I’m not sure exactly what was said but I remember mom never lost her cool in front of those girls again. She'd wait till they were gone before she unleashed her anger at me. She didn't physically hit me again after that afternoon, but the emotional abuse got worse from there on out.

I learnt to play along with her charade because if I didn’t I paid for it. Tony protected me as much as he could. And when I got old enough to get a job I got one just to be out of the house. I didn't need the money; I needed the escape from her. I realize now that Tony stayed at home as long as he could so that he could protect me.  When he moved out, he always made sure to visit for dinner once a week and he made sure he saw me at least twice a week to see how things were.  He'd take me to a movie or out shopping because he knew I needed to be built up after mom tore me down. He worked hard to undo the damage mom did to me.

When mom and I were out in public together we could joke and be silly- the picture of perfection. And I always wished we could be that way at home too. I tried once in middle school and got my head chewed off. I could call her a “dork” or a “dumbnut” out shopping and she'd say the same thing back and it was all good. But being silly while no one was there to witness our “perfect mother-daughter” relationship was futile. She'd call me lazy, a whore, an airhead or she'd revert to her favorite way to cut me to shreds- “I have to love you because I gave birth to you, but I hate you!” -any time I tried to bring the fake into our real life. I learnt quickly where I stood with her and how to not provoke her. During high school I did all the things expected of me and dreamt of the day when I would be off to college. I made up for being the goody-two shoes the moment I hit college. I drank, I slept around, partied almost every night and skipped a lot of classes. I can honestly say I don't remember much of my sophomore year. I crammed a lot of bad crap into my first two years of freedom.  

The day mom found out she was pregnant with me she was actually scheduled to have some sort of procedure done on her uterus. I have been told she screamed “NOOOOO” when she found out she was pregnant. Dad has always reassured me that she wanted me and that it was the shock of finding out that she'd finally gotten pregnant when the doctors had convinced her she'd never have a third child that made her scream. I don’t doubt that she wanted me. I just don't think she wanted a daughter that is the polar opposite of what she is. Instead of a little mini mom, she got a mini dad. I've always taken after my dad in personality, attitude and intelligence. She was always jealous of the bond he and I have. I remember that when I was about 6 or 7 one of the little neighbor girls told my mom, “Amy loves her daddy more than she loves you.” My ass was beet red and I couldn't sit down for two days when I got home that afternoon. I didn't understand why loving my dad was such a horrible thing or why mom could be a daddy’s girl with her dad, but I couldn’t with mine. But I did learn to never ever admit that I loved my dad more than my mom again. I learnt to say what mom wanted to hear and to not trust the majority of people to protect me and keep my secrets.

Now that mom’s memory is fading and her mind is going fast, the cruelty has come back to how I remember high school. One minute she is thanking me for taking care of her, the next she is telling me what a lazy bitch I am. She accuses me of trying to steal her husband by making her look stupid. She tells me W deserves to marry a better woman- a woman capable of bearing his children and taking proper care of a man. She says I’d be an unfit mother so it’s a blessing that I never had any children. When I change her, she pinches at my arms and my breast. As I try to move her up in the bed she grabs at where my pacemaker is and has gotten the edge of it a few times. She will beg me to sit with her and when I do, I get to hear her talk about me. She talks to people long gone and tells them just how rotten I am- how I'm being mean when I change her diaper, how I make her roll on her side because I'm too lazy to just pick her up. I take hearing all this as long as I can and then I make up an excuse to leave the room. I go down to fold laundry and stand next to the dryer and cry. Or I slip into my office and just shake from the silent sobs.

   

The disease is causing her to say cruel things to Dad. She accuses him of hiding from her, of ignoring her, of not loving her. I will not allow her to be cruel to dad so I call her on it and make her stop. He doesn't deserve to be berated because he goes to work. He does all he can for her- he sits with her, holds her hand, reassures her that she is not being put in a home and he continues to love her as he has for 47 years. I make sure she doesn’t hurt him like she hurts me.

But who stops her from being cruel to me? No one- instead I get told "it's the disease" and that she isn't in her right mind. Maybe I should go back to saying “I'm fine” and leave it at that.