So I wrote a blog. I’ve been writing them for a year now. You know, with all my free time whilst I raise twin toddlers. I occasionally sit down between cooking meals, changing diapers, doing laundry, cleaning toilets, not sleeping, etc... and throw together some ramblings about my short comings. My mental illness, former addiction, parental failings, sin in my life, you name it. That’s what I do. I am an open book. I’m not actually whining, contrary to what some might think. I’m just not ashamed. I’m not afraid to be transparent. I just share who I am, faults and all.
Two weeks ago I was tired and frustrated with all the continually and sometimes judgmental and contradictory rules of parenting and my own inability to keep up. So I finally chose to write about it. And most people got it. Most.
Mother of sanity...
It’s memorial weekend. We are up at the cabin with family. A time where we are supposed to be resting and relaxing. A time of thankfulness. A time of remembering those who have given their lives for our freedom.
My husband has been working overtime and doing freelance work so we’ve been looking forward to this trip for weeks. We even bought our twin two year olds their first fishing poles and planned a treasure hunt.
And then there’s me.
A massive ball of, “just take me to the sanitarium."...
It's been a shitty couple weeks. There it is. I swore. I’ve been doing that more than usual lately. Out loud. So if that is happening in my daily life, why wouldn’t I share it here? But it bothers me so much it cripples my mind. Self flagellation immediately ensues. That I am worthless. I can't even control my stupid mouth. I never have been able to. I live in one constant moment of open mouth insert foot. It's better I not leave the house.
I love Jesus. I do my devotions. I go to church. And I still swear. But I feel worse about cursing then I do about over eating, or about talking negatively about something someone posted on facebook, or that white lie I told last week, or a family member I still haven't forgiven...
I used to spend a lot of time drinking alone in bars. On a daily basis. I told myself that only sad alcoholics drink alone at home. This somehow made my addiction feel slightly less pathetic. I would sometimes rotate locations on different days of the week so as not to arouse suspicion. I would spend hours pretending I was working hard on my computer because I was going to solve human trafficking. I was going to end world hunger. Me. News flash ... I wasn’t working...
I thought about killing myself again today. Not the first time and likely not the last. Some people have Cancer. Some people have Aids. I have a mental illness. I cannot qualify it’s seriousness or pain. I just take my medication and pray that it does not take my life. Many of my friends don’t even know this about me. Surprise.
There are no parades. No colored ribbons. No t-shirts. No races to champion the cause. No soap boxes with celebrities on bullhorns. Just a stigma. Just the shame...
Like I'm talking about the weather. Or last nights baseball score. Or what's for dinner. There will never be a good way to broach this painful part of my life. And so that it won't destroy me, I choose honesty. Attempt to make it normal.
Even if it wasn't...
I have twin, two year old boys. Translation? I don’t know what it’s like to not be tired anymore. Two nights ago, around midnight, I found myself just finishing up the housework in the kitchen and desperate to go to bed. My husband was being obnoxious and less than helpful, teasing and taunting me. Next thing I knew, we were in a full on soap suds fight, chasing each other and squealing at the top of our lungs. This lasted for a good ten minutes. And it was perfect. You are never too old to laugh. To giggle hysterically. To play...
The world of Facebook can be epically soap opera -esque. Miscommunication and misinterpretation run rampant and there is no Supreme Court to rule over stupid posts. For the most part I try to keep my page a relatively friendly and debate free zone. Relatively.
I have had to, on occasion, delete comments of others or ask friends and family members not to post certain things on my wall (ie. Politics, etc). But occasionally I will share something that I find interesting, humorous, or even provocative.
This does NOT mean that I agree with it...
I was a totally weird kid. I had zero social skills and no indoor voice. Usually, because I was uncomfortable. I just didn’t understand it at the time. It’s likely not much has changed. And frankly, I’m okay with that. Childhood is hard enough but throw in being a missionary kid with an undiagnosed/unmedicated mental illness at a boarding school in the middle of the Indian Ocean and what do you have?
The perfect storm for the friendless...
When I was a little girl we went over to a friends house for dinner. The family had an older son who had lost a leg to amputation. Without hesitation, I told him, "Don't worry, it will grow back." I wanted everything to be better for him. But I did not understand his condition. Most people who have not experienced a form of mental illness often don’t have the first clue how to speak to someone who has. This is apparent in the many cliche and seriously unhelpful one liners I have become accustomed to hearing over the years. The intention is good, the result, not so much...
