Madness

I feel like I could very easily become an alcoholic. Like, I'm just a step away.

I had a mental breakdown last week. Full on curled in a corner, crying, covering my eyes and ears. I didn't realize being a mother would be so harm. Being a stay at home parent is probably the most difficult job anyone could ever have. I wanted to quit.

It got to me. Your toddler is sick, he cries. Your toddler is hungry, he cries. Your toddler is sleepy, he cries. Your day is filled with the sound of a child crying. Add that on top of trying to pick up, vacuum, do dishes and laundry, school work, and your actual job (that you do from home), your sanity slips - more and more with each passing day.

So I lost it. All of it. My mom came and got the kids. I laid down in bed. I went to the doctor and she told me to sleep more. I guess 2-3 hours of sleep every night isn't a good mix on top of all that either. So I am taking sleeping pills every night. I also have a prescription for anxiety, to use as needed. I've used it once so far. Not sure if it worked or not as the little one went to bed shortly after I popped it.

I've been wanting to drink. For a few nights there, I NEEDED a beer before bed, just to take the edge off. It's scary to me to need something like that, to depend on it.

I sought mental counseling too, but my options are limited as my insurance doesn't cover mental health. Both of the doctors I contacted are out of their office for the next two weeks. So we'll see then I guess. And in the meantime, hopefully I don't lose it again.

Girl to Woman

A question occurred to me the other day while I was writing the brief description of this blog ("The blog of a modern woman who may (or may not) have lost herself along the way"): When did I start addressing myself as a woman? It was only recently (within the last year or so) that I've changed from addressing myself as "girl" to "woman." Like.. "I'm a WOMAN from Southern Oregon".. those kinds of things.

I'm 26 years old now. Shouldn't that change have come a lot sooner? When does one go from girl to woman? Is it "Bam! I'm 18 so I'm a woman"? Or "Yay! I'm 21 so I'm a woman"? Is it "hey, I'm married now, so I'm a woman"?, "I have a child/children now, so I'm no longer a girl" Or "I'm sick of this partying shit now, so I'm a woman".

For me, I guess it's probably one of the latter three. I've been feeling in the last year or so that "I'm too old for this shit." I've noticed that at parties, I'm always tired by 10 and in bed my midnight.  I've noticed that my children seem to suck my very life's essence from my bones. I've noticed that when my husband's in a bad mood, mine also goes out the window. Do I associate lack of energy and excitement with being a woman? Is that what my life is really turning into?

I'm not really sure. But either way, I'm a woman who, for the first time, attended/hosted a party and really just did not want to be there. I'm not sure if it's me, or the way that my friends view me now that I'm a "woman", but things seemed different. Something that I've done for going on 10 years now and has been hilarious, light-hearted joke, suddenly warrants me a very hard hit on the head and a forceful "bitch!". Or that I request a BYOB and suddenly my party guests aren't so sure if they have plans that night or not.

Either way, I realized last night that my priorities have changed - a LOT. I feel like maybe I'm holding on to the friends that I have simply because I am afraid that if those friendships fade, I will have no one else. And sadly, it's true. All my friends have either moved away (and thus friendships have faded), gotten girlfriends and stopped associating with me, or just plain chose different paths than me. I feel like if I let my last couple friends go, then I'll lose a piece of me, but if I try to hold on, I'll lose a different one.

So which piece of me do I want to let go? The one that feels awkward and taken advantage of, or the one that feels so desperately alone?

So That Would Make This Page Two

Picking back up where I left off with my post a couple days ago.

Ben proposed. I said yes and postponed my plans to go to Mexico until the next year so we could plan our wedding. My son would be another year older and would be established with Ben as a parental figure, so it was probably for the best anyway.

In June, I started summer term at my school. It wasn't Mexico, but I was learning and taking classes with a friend so I was happy. Ben and I giddily made plans for a wedding that September - just 10 1/2 months after we'd started dating. However, it turned out that a co-worker had that week off because he too was getting married that weekend. We wanted to take the honeymoon immediately after the wedding, so Ben printed out a vacation schedule that showed us our options.

It turned out that there wasn't too much available that corresponded with a cruise (our preferred honeymoon), but there was one in July. We checked with our venue and it was available for that date! So there we were, a mere 3 weeks before our new wedding date. My mother almost had a heart attack, but in the end it helped all of us stress less.

The wedding was wonderful. Actually, I don't remember much about the wedding. All I really remember was that my dress was too tight around the bust and my boobs were spilling out (probably my fault for pulling them up in the lacing process, but oh well!), and Ben. I'd never seen Ben that handsome. He was in a standard black and white tuxedo, but his tie was also white. The way he smiled when he saw me reassured me, and I knew mine did the same to him. Our wedding was incredibly short, as we had a plane to catch the next morning in California.

It turned out that my summer term professor had a very strict attendance policy and that my honeymoon would knock my final grade down 20%.. that meant that the very VERY best I could do was earn a B, and that was assuming I earned 100% on all my quizzes, my midterm, and my final. So I withdrew from the class.

Our honeymoon was an incredible blast. I've never had an experience like it, and I'm so excited to go again.. hopefully sometime soon. We sailed the Caribbean and ate and slept and ate some more and did things newly married couples do: we tried to make a baby.

So the honeymoon ended and 3 weeks later when it was supposed to be "that time of the month" for me, I waited. It didn't come. I took a test. It was positive. I rushed to Planned Parenthood. It was positive. I rushed to Ben. We laughed and I cried and jumped and giggled: we had made a baby. We told our family. We told our friends. We got many congratulations.

Then a week later, while visiting my father's house some twenty miles away from town, I got pains. I'd had them all day and was sometimes reduced to tears from the pain, but I guessed I ate something very nasty the night before and really didn't want to miss the dinner with my father. Then, about dinner time, I had the pain. I went to the bathroom. There was blood.

There's not supposed to be blood. I'm pregnant. Why is there blood?

I wasn't even aware of my sobs and gasps before Ben, my father, and my stepmother were at the door asking what's wrong. I flushed. I didn't want to see it. Washed my hands. Opened the door. "There's blood"

It was a frenzy. Daddy packed me some of his famous pizza to go. Ben drove. I was in the passenger seat and the pain was getting worse. I clutched my side and cried. Half a hour later, we were at the emergency room. He dropped me off and went to find a parking spot. I went inside.

"What's your problem?"
"I think I'm having a miscarriage"
"Let's get you checked in"

So they did. Then told me that they'd call me when they were ready for me. I Laid down on the floor because it hurt so much. I cried, I worried. People in front of me with common colds. A kid with a broken ankle. I felt bad for him but they don't set casts in the ER. He was doing ok, so I guessed that he was already on pain pills, and that's about all they can do for him. So I waited for them to sift through everyone else ahead of me. I was there for 6 hours, I think, before they got me back for an ultrasound.

It was a tubal pregnancy they said. They said that it hurt because my tube was about to burst. They would have to remove the embryo to save my life. I was rushed back to the OR about 5 AM that morning. Ben waited outside. The doctor was very nice and kept him informed.

It was over. Our baby was gone.

It was in these months that followed that I became a very dark person. Someone I not normally am. I hated people. I'd never hated anything. I intentionally hurt my sister's sister in law. Bad moods of others seeped into me and took root and manifested and became something sinister.

I walked a lot in those months. I would spend hours on the track near my house, with my head down. I would walk miles in that great oval and I would follow the painted line as if it were my rail, my lifeline.I would walk and I would cry, silent tears. I would hate myself more than anything. I would hate myself because it was MY fault I lost the baby. It was because I was fat that I'd lost the baby. It was because I was unhealthy that my body couldn't carry the child. We'd only known about that baby for a week, but it was enough. It was long enough to love it. It was long enough for me to feel a loss so profound.

Ben and I almost divorced. Four months after we were married, we got in a fight. A mental, emotional, verbal, physical fight. We went to counseling.

I had become someone I wasn't. I lost a baby I desperately wanted. My marriage of less than a year was on the rocks. I decided to go back to school, opting for a writing class in a different campus with a professor I adored. I also got a puppy, thinking it would help take the place of the baby I lost.

The puppy chewed everything. It pooped on everything. It cried. When it pooped and I swatted it, it would whimper. And that monster I became after the loss of my baby liked that sound. It liked the sound of something else weaker than me hurting, and that scared the crap out of the real me.

Not to mention we were pregnant again. I couldn't handle the emotional taxation of a puppy (and never will again I'm positive) and a pregnancy. We rehomed the dog and waited to see if this was a tubal pregnancy. I had weekly blood draws. When my hormone levels were high enough, I went in for the ultrasound. It was a healthy pregnancy!

We were so happy. The monster in me was gone. In its place, us. Healthy. This child that I wanted, loved, needed, and lost had come back to me. That was the only way I can comfort myself from grieving further, to think that somehow it's the same spirit as the one we'd lost.

Our marriage was ok. We were fine again. We were in love again.

But, the morning sickness was awful. They had me on 3 different medications for morning sickness. I couldn't drive all the way to the other campus twice a week anymore. So I withdrew from that class and that professor that I loved so much.

He was a planned C section and Ben sat by my side and held my hand and we heard him cry and we cried. We held our boy. It was the happiest day of my life. I knew my family was complete. I had my tubes tied after he came because I knew that he was all I needed. I had my two boys and my husband and we were in love and it was perfect and he was perfect and everything was perfect.

So the next summer, I registered for another class: a fitness class. I wanted to lose the baby fat. Ben was graduating so maybe this time it would be easier. But then he got offered a job, even before he graduated. So here he was, working 6 hours graveyard shift then going straight to working 8 hours at his new job, then coming home and sleeping. We fell out of touch but that was ok because he had gotten a new job doing something he wanted to do (and got his degree in) with better hours and as soon as his old job found a replacement, it would be over.

Having a babysitter worked for a little while, but mostly it didn't. I dropped out of school again.



So here is this pattern. This thing. Every time I try to go to school, something knocks me down again. This term I wanted to take two classes. I had to withdraw from at least one (and preferably two) for financial reasons. I almost did, but at the last minute I decided to hell with fate, I was going to school this term.

So I did. I feel as if I am doing well this term. Midterms are due on Tuesday, so I have the whole weekend to sit on it and work it out, but so far so good I think.

So I planned on going to go to school in fall, but felt guilty about money. My best friend just had a baby too. She needs to go back to work but can't afford daycare, so I am going to take her baby for a reduced fee in exchange for construction work with her baby daddy. So, yet another time fate has smote my dreams of school.

I suggested taking evening classes, since my friend would be off work and picking up the baby around 4:30 every day, it would be easy for me to attend evening classes. But Ben told me that we would not have any time together if I took evening classes.

Meek little Jenners laid down her head, cried and said "it's ok, it's for the good of the family. For one, I won't need to pay for school. For two, I won't need to pay for daycare. For three, I'll be MAKING money providing daycare." I de-registered for my classes. Ben agreed, and I quietly mourned inside for my future that would never be.

In writing my blog a couple days ago, the "to hell with fate" attitude was re-ignited. I told Ben I wanted to go.That it wasn't fair that he could work two jobs and attend school. While that doesn't sound FUN, what it DOES sound like is having a supportive partner who picks up the slack in every other area in life and the household.

What I didn't tell him was this:

When we married, we had agreed that I would be a housewife. I wanted to stay at home with the kids, maintaining the home, cooking. But after being together for almost 4 years, it has become apparent that I don't get that. I need to work ON TOP of these duties. And while Ben works all day, he at least gets to work in the field he desires. He enjoys his work and gets to use the degree while he paid for.

So not only do I not get to be a housewife, but I didn't get to choose my job. Ben chose his job. Mine was thrust upon me; the one option available to the woman that needed to stay home with her kids AND work.

My freedom to choose had been... taken from me.


So, this is why I mourn. I mourn for the education that is so difficult to get. I mourn for the position I put my adult self in when I was a teenager. I mourn for the job I loathe. I mourn for the hard work I feel I do on a daily basis and receive little recognition for. I mourn for the fact that I didn't get to be the housewife I wanted to be, the one that can do the chores and still have time to make a hot meal for her husband and kids. But mostly, I mourn, grieve, and hurt for the me that I've lost along the way - the me that has had to be pushed back, neglected, or buried.