Another Kind of Roller Coaster.

A few days ago, I thought I was doing better.  I felt pretty much at peace about the outcome of our referral, and I was glad to be on the tail end of those few weeks.

But then on Wednesday, I crashed...again.  I just crashed.  All of the emotional and physical exhaustion of the past month felt like they were suddenly crushing my shoulders and pressing down.  I looked at my messy kitchen, where the dishes were still lying from the night before, when I was too tired to clean them up, and I felt overwhelmed by a task that would normally have taken me twenty minutes to complete.  Just looking at the dishes on the counter made me want to cry and I somehow didn't know where to start.  All I wanted to do was to crawl into bed and lie there and cry.

Thus, in a move that was the antithesis of my usual parenting style, I told Matthew that he could watch tv...all afternoon.  He couldn't believe his luck, and he whooped and hollered as he ran for the remote.  I went upstairs and lay down in bed - another move I never make.  I tried to read, tried to doze a bit.  Nothing worked.  I ended up just lying there, thinking about how sad I was.  I cried.  I cried for those two beautiful children that I miss so much, and whom I'll never get a chance even to meet, much less parent.  I ignored all of the logic that I've been applying for the past few weeks, and let myself feel the loss, and grieve it.  I felt so empty.  I ached for them.

For three hours, I stayed in the bedroom and mourned, while Matthew watched tv downstairs.  He regularly ran upstairs to touch base.  For the first hour, he thought he was in heaven, being allowed to watch so much tv.  The second hour, he was still pretty happy about it, though more restless.  The third and final hour was hard for him.  He came upstairs every ten minutes, wanting to be with me instead of watching tv.  But I just couldn't engage him well, so I kept inventing excuses for him to be downstairs watching tv.  I stayed in my room.  I came out after three hours, when it was time to take him to hockey.

I felt like a horrid parent that day, though a friend assures me that kids also need to learn to deal with the hard times that we have, as parents.  I get that, at least in my head; but my heart still knows, and doesn't like, that I sucked at parenting on Wednesday.  I haven't really recovered from it yet, either; I'm still not in a great space.  Though I've cleaned up the kitchen, and though I've been able to put up a better front, the truth is that I feel fragile, and it takes next to nothing for me to feel overwhelmed and tearful.  I'm still not sleeping much, and I'm exhausted.

I get that all of this sounds like I'm depressed.  I am.  I don't think that it's a long term issue, but I'm clearly manifesting some of the signs.  On Monday evening, I went to see the therapist that I started up with last year, and I'm going to continue to go for a while.  It's so good to be able to talk with someone about things that I can't seem to verbalize elsewhere.

Walk with me through this part of the journey, too, ok?  Challenge me on the good front I'm putting up.  There are going to be better days, I know that, and there are going to be good days even in the midst of this hard time.  But I think I need folks around me...despite my desire to isolate myself.  I'd appreciate your company.