Insomnia and I are long time friends ….

Insomnia was one of the “things” I picked up during the Great Depression of 2011.

I have always been a bit of an iffy sleeper.  I go to sleep easily, but I wake up 4 hours later with my brain in a whirl whilst I work through every possible permutation of everything I said, did and nearly did in the day.

Each outcome will have a new set of possibles and then I have to work through them.

Anxiety and stress is really an exhausting friend to keep.  Demanding, needy, and never looks out for your best interest.  She is not a friend you want to get to close to, and you really do not want her stupid status updates at 23h00, 24h00, 01h00 and 02h00.

Unfortunately it is one of those thing where the more anxious and stressed you get, the less you sleep.  The more tired you are, the more anxious and stressed you get, so you are exhausted and your nerves get more frayed and you desperately need to sleep.

But you are too stressed and anxious to sleep, so your brain does not get quiet and there you are staring at the ceiling wondering if you could turn the television on, and put the sound low enough so your partner does not wake.

I have a script from my guy-in-a-white-coat that gives me a small white pill of “instant sleep.”

I am fairly sure that Sleeping Beauty took an Ivedal which may explain why she fell instantly asleep.  Possibly it was in the drinking water hence the entire castle following suit.

The downside is I get a bit of amnesia before I fall asleep, so sometimes do and say things I have zero recollection of the following day.

The upside is I sleep like the dead, and wake up each morning feeling refreshed and alert, and never lie awake trying to stop myself thinking about the blinking light on my desk, even when my eyes are closed.  Sometimes I crack one eye open to see if I can catch the blinking light out.  Being tired also makes me delusional.  More than usual.

I forgot to renew my script yesterday.

Last night I had no white pill.

Instead I got finishing a book in the hope it would make me go to sleep.

Putting the light off and closing my eyes and thinking “go to sleep thoughts.”

I counted sheep backwards, I usually start at 1001 and work my way to 1.  I never get to 1, I get bored around 950.

I think soothing thoughts, calming thoughts, I take deep breaths and try to relax.

At 1am I realised this was really not working.  I put on my daggiest bathrobe, traipsed downstairs and did some work.  I climbed back in to bed at about 5am, watched a bit of tv and tried to fall asleep.

The sleep fairy snuck by at about 06h50 and blew “instant sleep” in my face.

Connor had to scream “MOM, you need to get up we are going to be late!!!”  After the third time, I got out of bed, bleary eyed and punch drunk.

I could easily be an extra on The Walking Dead right now!

It is 10h35 and I am going to make a cup of tea, find a warm blanket and see if I can quietly sink off into blissful sleep. I have no idea how new moms go through sleep deprivation and do not end up going insane

Insomnia Final

 

I have a fabulous Organics hamper to give away, but really need to be able to focus to put that together.  Promise I will do it for tomorrow, as well as announce the winner to the Disney pack ….. brain she is just too exhausted right now to do much beyond breath-aim-to-the-kitchen for tea.

 

Depression and Medication …. its a fun game of tag you are it …

1302_crows

I have been patting myself on the back lately as I seem to be on a good level emotional keel.

2011 was a year with a slow slide downwards, and then an eventual bottom out, that left me weeping and clinging to the edge of sanity with torn and bloodied fingernails.  I’d love to regale you with tales of how I conquered that shit, but that bitch kicked my arse and then came back to poke me in the eye!!!

In 2011, I built a close and totally dependent relationship with a psychiatrist who seemed to understand how to help me.  We worked through a few options of medication until we found the “most right for today” option.

I arrived in his office when I was shaking and jibbering, so he did have rather broken person to fix. I was convinced that there was not enough medication in the universe that would possibly help me.  But I was wrong.  Not the first time, not the last time.

The right medication is pretty unbelievable.  I was in an absolute state, and many of my symptoms had stopped being psychological, and had become physical symptoms.  I had neck and back pain that felt like spasms. I had also been clenching my jaw so hard for so long that my face ached.  I had clenched my jaw so tightly that I had cracked one of my molars.

Depression and medication is a bit of a challenge.

Medication, at some point, makes you feel like you have got a handle on life and that you might try to nurture a pot plant.  At least for some part of the day.

The problem with this buoyant feeling and the twinkle in your eye, is that it makes you feel like you are “alright” and just might be coping.  So the first thing that you do is toss your meds – ‘cos who needs those when you are feeling so damn good!!

Once you are feeling good, with such a good handle on not having an emotional vomit every time you go out for dinner, well then the nest step is to cancel those Dr Psychologist appointments.

First, they are not free.  Secondly, it is an hour of you sitting on a couch talking about shit that you really would rather not think about,  And thirdly, at some point your medical aid runs out and you are coughing up a few thousand, to chat to someone, about shit you don’t want to think about any more, because you feel so damn even keeled!!

So you cancel the crap out of those weekly appointments.  Because now you have the coping mechanisms that only drugs and therapy can make you think you have.

Flush with the extra hours available in your week, and the chance of maybe a few rand saved, you face your new life with a whole new outlook.

Depression, anxiety disorder, panic disorder is no picnic.  I know “depression” is a term that gets bandied around fairly freely – and I am definitely not the one to judge whether someone is having a bad day or is diagnosed with depression.

So here I sit.  Feeling not so bad.

I have cut back on some of my medication. I take a slow release SEROQUEL XR, and an IVEDAL sleeping tablet at night.  I used to take another set of medication during the day, but as time went by I realised I could cope without it, and cut back, as I felt the Seroquel was working well for me on it’s own.

I could probably sleep by myself.   I could probably.  But right now I am reasoning “why take the risk when what I am taking have little to no side effects, and what I am taking works?”

I have cancelled my Dr CBT, and I am feeling all pretty “hey check at me, nearly got this LIFE shit sorted…”

But around the edges, I start to realise that cracks are starting to reveal themselves.  Not big hulking sink-the-titanic cracks, but hair-line fractures.

It’s time I book another “just checking in” session with my psychiatrist and more importantly make an appointment with DR CBT.

And such is the “always there” black dog …… even when you think he has gone away.

On a non-related note, do you know the collective noun for a group of cats, is a pounce of cats?  I love that – my favourite collective noun is a “Murder of Crows” more … I do love collective nouns.  This last paragraph has no relation at all to the last post, but this is sort of how my brain works.

Bad Blogger … go sit in the naughty corner ….

I have been a very bad blogger.  I have not been very good at posting for the last few weeks.

It really is not for a lack of writing.  I realised I have 105 “draft posts” that I have not posted for varying reasons, so clearly I have stuff to say.

I feel a bit like I am losing my voice – my ability to express myself – right now I am feeling very much like this image – but with better cuticle and nail care!

hand-over-mouth-iStock-300x275

It is very frustrating as part of how I process “stuff”is by getting it out, and ideally getting it out on this blog.

Right now I am feeling  very “idea and thought” constipated – all these thoughts, ideas, frustrations, moments of joy, moments of anger, and well … frustrations are bottled up and not getting out.

Clearly I need a purge.  Usually I will look for the most inappropriate time or occasion to do this …..

I was busy writing a post about how I have been fortunate enough not to have MY BLACK DOG OF DEPRESSION back in some time.  I was all “hey check me out, no worries…. har har har….”  Yes, well, who is laughing now?  Not me in the event I was being a bit vague.

I have honestly not missed the whooshing sound of his tail, and the pitter patter of his feet at night.  As much as I try to picture him as this loping large black Labrador, I really think he is a m-fuker and can do without him.

I am starting to think that I might have “announced” it a bit prematurely, and maybe the inability to speak, to say what I feel, what I am thinking is probably a sign of a dip in the not too distant future.

It might just be an overdose on all the chaos and madness that is associated with this time of year.

Anyway, look out for some vague really makes-no-sense posts coming up … apologise if it all appears a bit nonsensical.

Pole dancing and other pursuits ….

I’ve been running around with this thought in my head for a few weeks, and am struggling to put it in to words so that it make sense.

I saw this link recently which was a post about Toddlers and Tiara’s {excellent post} and it made me splutter in anger/frustration.

Not because it said anything that was not true, but because the video reminded me of how much I hate /abhor this show.

And how angry it makes me.

It brought up severe feelings.  It is not just this show – though the show is enough to push a mom over the edge, but it is because this culture is a symptom of something so much bigger.

I am not the best mom in the world.  I realise I often make some stupid parenting decisions, which I hope I learn from them as I go ahead.

Even with my rather limited IQ and parenting issues, I can see that spray tanning my child, and pimping them in a two piece on a stage might be questionable behaviour for any parent, even one with limited IQ.

Having my young daughter parade on stage in what is really a downsized version of an adult outfit, and mimic’ing adult behaviour is a not really a sign of a good parenting decision, no matter how big the trophy or how ridiculous the title

I have caught Toddlers and Tiara’s a few times and sit there and wonder what the hell these parents are thinking!  Seriously, what the freaking hell!

That being said, I look at the parents – even if you exclude their toddler who is clenching false teeth to give her the perfect smile, has hair poofed to an inch of it’s life, wearing more spray tan than “The Only way is Essex” and a wardrobe that would make the Jersey Shore single figure IQ cast jealous – and really seldom think they are stellar parents making fabulous parenting decisions.

I do tend to sit there and go “what the fuck?” and that is before I have seen the child.

I get how the mom will often think this is a great idea – moms get to do stupid things, often, that is  our right.   Surely a sane dad would think “there must be something wrong with my 4 year old daughter being waxed, primped, and posing on stage in a bikini and then sashaying about like she is a 20 year old?” and maybe put up his little fist and go “Hey, I prefer my daughter not to look like someone who appears on Hollywood Boulevard.”

The parents explain why they parade their children on a stage and promote these girls whose only “good attribute” is their external beauty or perceived beauty.  The most common reason is always about how good it is for the child/baby.

No one mentions how much discomfort/pain this child goes through to be plucked, pulled and painted to look like a doll.

No one comments on the behaviour which many of these girls exhibit which is rampant self-absorption and a skewed perception of reality.  Also they are encouraged to be DIVA’s demanding and rude, and of course the stuffing in of food high in sugar and caffeine to keep their energy going.

The entire show is hideous.  It reminds me of that audition on Bruno where they are trying to show how far a parent will go to get their child into an advertisement.

Auditioning for a children’s fashion shoot in Los Angeles, Bruno asks a group of showbusiness mothers a series of questions about what they would allow their child to do for the shoot.

“How would your daughter handle being dropped four-storeys?” he asks one, to which she replies: “I think she’d be a little scared at first, but she can do it.”

Bruno then reveals that the fashion shoot will involve one child dressed up as a Nazi officer pushing a wheelbarrow holding another young girl dressed as a Jew into a furnace.

One of the mothers auditioning her child says: “It sounds theatrical… as long as she gets the gig.”

I think as parents we all make, well, dodgy decision with our kids.  Then when given time to reflect realise we have been a bit dick-orientated and try our best to correct the behaviour moving forward, say, rather than entering them into the NEXT competition.

I did the photo competitions with Connor, and dragged him to a few hideous commercials.

The days were long, the work tedious and at the end of it all it had nothing to do with Connor.  It was all about me and my need for outside affirmation that my child was truly a beautiful child – because if he was pretty, then surely that made me a good parent (or a better parent)!

Eventually I realised that my need to win had nothing to do with Connor.  But all to do about me feeling that “he was the best looking child” and decided to not take him for further castings – he really hated them, and I was having to bribe and coax him to do them.

I cannot stand child based beauty competitions.

I blanch when I get a request to go and “LIKE” the link because someone’s child is on a list of 400 kids where clearly the competition is about how many “LIKES” they get which does not make them the best/most beautiful child, but who ever has the mom who can campaign the hardest.

The issue that I wish to raise at the moment – though not in the most eloquent manner – is girls – and how we are projecting them in public, and the stereotypes we are buying in to.

Not just small girls, teenage girls, and adult girls.

I cannot watch VH1 or MTV because besides the inane repetition of the most ridiculous lyrics to date, every girl is presented as either a p0le/lap dancing freak or a bikini clad, large sunglasss, and gloss lipped woman who drapes herself over a rather imbecile looking rap star/singer/recording who is lounging in a house/on a yacht that clearly is not theirs, saying something along the lines of “yoh-yoh-yoh.”

Fucker, please!!!

Every show I watch which features a girl/woman in any way has her dancing.  But she is dancing like a stripper or a lap dancer. For small denominations.

The girls all appear the same.  All aspire to be the same thing – part time prostitutes/full time strippers who sole purpose for being on earth is to be drooled on by boys.

That being said, what message are we, as moms, as grown women, sending to our daughters by attending pole dancing classes or by installing a pole at home?  When did learning to be a stripper and imitate moves found at Mavericks become a household mainstream activity?   I think there can be a convincing argument for great exercise, and wow, how it tones your thighs, but still what is it exactly you are learning to do?  And is it okay for your daughter of 5 to watch and learn to do with you?

Have you watched a 12 year old girl dance lately?

Have you watched a 16 year old girl dance?

It is enough to make you throw a bag over their head and run off and put them on an island somewhere so you can desensitize them to this media flooding in of a how a girl is meant to look and act.

Toddlers and Tiara’s is just another symptom of how f’ked up society has got and how children/girls are turned into sexual objects before they can spell Dr Seuss!

When did boys win?  When girls started doing pole dancing classes and called it exercise.

{this post is a bit of spluttering …. I still have not quite found a way to convert it into good english, but there we go}

Depression in children … whose parents have depression ….

Once we have got past the party in a cellophane wrapper that Depression and Anxiety Disorder is, it really is something I would be reluctant to wish on nearly just about everyone.

It’s not like a broken leg where you have a cast and the cool kids sign, and in 6 – 8 weeks you can take it off and that is you good to go.

Unfortunately it is bit like diarrhea.

It strikes you usually in the middle of the night.  You spend quite a bit of time in the bathroom wondering if you will survive this.

When the sun rises you still have shit coming out of every orifice, and it is such an unattractive process you really do not want to post it on your status update.  You do not want everyone to know that you are making skid marks in your panties, and more importantly you have no idea where you got this bug from, and how long it is going to hang around for.  So instead you make jokes about “feeling a bit off colour” …..

So enough about me and the simile that is depression and diarrhea.

I really “fear” for my children.  I worry that they will not inherent my good hair and nail genes, but instead will be the proud new owners of full scale depression and anxiety disorder.

Can I prevent it in some way?  Sadly no.  Can I worry and stress about it?  Worry is my middle name.  Actually it is Lucille, but you know what I mean.

I worry about all of them.  I worry about Connor the most, he is so sensitive and has always been an “old soul” – he got really upset when he found out about what happened to Jesus around Easter time.

Connor was at a Roman Catholic school when he was young.  Great school, they were quite into Hail Marys and Our Fathers though.  I was willing to over look my discrepancies with the trinity because I liked the school.

The first year Connor was there they taught the usual run up to Easter.  I fetch Connor from school and he is sobbing.  Like crocodile tears with snot.

He gets in the car and goes: “Why, why, why did they kill Jesus?!” and bursts in to tears.

That really was one of the first, of several signs that Connor just took too much from a situation.

Connor gets very upset if we are upset.  Not because he is in trouble, but he gets upset if we are upset.

If we are sad, Connor is desperately sad.

It is like his boundaries of what are his feelings versus the feelings that belong to another person are a bit hazy.  Sound familiar?

The reason I am raising this issue today is that Connor has been struggling with stomach cramps for a few days.

Stomach cramps and me, have a very close relationship.  I have so much buscopan, levispas, bevispan, and anything else you can get on a script or if you cry loud enough at an all-night pharmacy – doubling over and crying like a 3 year old, can sometimes prove quite effective.

I started my IBS relationship in about 1994.

It was there before, but 1994 was my first big person job, and with my first big person job came IBS for 3 – 7 days per month.  For years I thought it was menstruation cycle link — fraid not.

Connor’s complaining about cramping makes me worry he has the first signs of IBS.  I worry he has the first signs of IBS.  I worry that IBS is a pre-cursor for signs of depression.

My (other/too many to number) concern is that taking Connor to a psyciatrist/psychologist to have been assessed for depression/anxiety disorder, will add as a catalyst to depression … I know that sounds unreasonable, but there it is.

How my unpredicatility affects my children …

I was over visiting Bipolarmoms Blog and read a post where she indicates her reaction to both her mom’s depression and her father’s depression:

My mom, however, was prone to wild and unpredictable moods. I was more affected by my mom’s unpredictability than I was by my dad’s withdrawal.

This is something I worry about a great deal.

I have had a good second half of this year, with most of my demons/black dogs being kind enough to give me a short respite from all things self-hatred, self-doubt, and over critical in my judgement of myself.  Much of the depression, anxiety and self-deprecating behaviour has abated.

I am not naive enough to believe it has all vanished, but I feel a lot less heavy.  A lot less weighed down by my baggage.

I am not exactly unicorns and daisies having carnal relations, but I definitely wake up with less of an urge to pull the covers over my head and pray I can remain in bed all day.

Granted being retrenched was not the key highlight in my year – I was pretty sure it was going to kick me off the edge of the proverbial cliff.  It has allowed me to tackle something I probably would not have been courageous enough to do had I not been forced in to it, namely Happy Helpers.

It has allowed me to cast my view inwards, but in a positive light - ”what can I do to get this to work” or ”how am I going to get past this set back” or “how can I get this business to move” – and to try to see things that don’t work out as learning curves, rather than fall on the floor and cry curves!

This post is not about that.  It is about the fact that I do not think I am this even keel centre of solid reliable behaviour/reaction when it comes to my kids.  I am in a word erratic.

I tend towards outbursts of cussing and really showing my distress in a situation which should appear all good parenting and mother’s apron.  I do not ease into activities with the kids, I go into them thinking “okay, how long do I have to endure this, before it is finished” …..

I am really struggling with sound and my reaction to it at the moment.  And really what can one do about sound, short of wearing ear plugs – but that then makes me hear the whooshing sound that blood makes in my ears, and I can’t do that either.

Kennith suggests I am over reacting and to test that he has taken to chewing 10 – 15 hardc spur sweets at night in bed.  Or  munching on three crisp crunchy granny smith apples.  I am starting to wonder if he is really wanting me to beat him with the lampshade, or whether this is a test in my ability to sit quietly and not react.

But back to the point of this post.

A simple task of sitting and overseeing spelling or reading homework with the kids, causes me huge distress.  I really want to run away — far away.  I hear how much fun other moms are having doing stuff with their kids - if Facebook Status updates are to be believed – and I wonder how I am getting this all so very wrong, as I am not enjoying it so much.

Connor is very aware of my outbursts and my flicking between calm and rampant-bitch, and I can see the careful way he often treads with me. His face goes into a state of fear when he sees me tipping over the edge.  Connor has probably seen and experienced the worst I have to offer.

Georgia does not appear to care. I think she wakes up in the mornings wondering how she can set about pushing my buttons,and then goes about it with a zealous abandon.  Bless her totally unawares socks!

Isabelle is the one I am trying my utmost not to fk up.  She is my third chance at being a better/normal mom.  Gd knows I try with her.  I try to remain level and even tempered.  I try not to go off in fits of rage.  I try to deal with her by first taking a deep breath before I walk in to her tantrums.

Stumbling on that phrase from Bipolarmoms Blog, really gave me pause for thought, concern and reflection.  Wondering how much my “moods” are affecting and will affect my children moving forward.

Still gabbing on about the Chemist ….

I tend to have absolute faith in doctors and chemists. (dentists too actually….)

I like to see them as these infallible creatures who are able to dispense information, wisdom and good health.  When I sit in the doctor’s chair, my brain leaves me, my IQ drops and I am a sponge to what ever they say.  I am the patient, they are the miraculous healer!

I hand the responsibility of my  health over to the person sitting on the other side of the desk, with an MD certificate.  Doctors (and chemists) are almost godlike in my eyes – not to be questioned, to be thanked with a small, yet gracious, bow or curtsy.

Yesterday’s realisation that they are actually fallible, and make mistakes, unfortunately does shake the foundations of my belief system a bit.

Granted all I have to show is that I had three months of feeling “not quite right…” but it could have been worse.

I had the benefit of having a few months of intensive “psyche care” last year, so I knew that I had something to fall back on as things start to shake slightly off their center axis over here.

But, for someone else that situation might not have been that supportive.  Their breaking point might have come earlier.

I don’t feel an overriding urge to go to my chemist and stand there and throw my toys.  This does not take away from the fact that I feel angry that I have had to do this slide and this crumble, when in fact I did not have to go through this.  I could have continued on my road to the “unicorns and zen gardens” but instead did a little detour through Hades.

I do feel I want to take my little tupperware dish and go and explain to him the situation, so possibly he uses this as a “ah hah” moment to take more care going forward.

The part that makes it difficult is that I start to think “I am sure this was my error….” or “Chemists are much too important to worry about my trivial little issue…” or “I am sure it is nothing, I will just leave it …..”

I know I should go to the Chemist and show him that he did muck up … but it makes me feel uncomfortable, and I start to feel guilty that somehoe this was my fault <>

For now I will take my “new” stuff and wait for the cracks and tears to heal up ….

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