Depression
Yep. I struggle with depression. Have for many years. They say laughter is the best medicine and I do stave off the darkness a little with humor.
Today, for instance. I was very hungry. I wouldn't say I'm a picky eater, but I have some quirks when it comes to food. One being that expiration dates are not just a suggestion to me. I take them very seriously. Except today. I ate expired hot dogs. And I mean a MONTH past their expiration date. And I ate expired soup. And I didn't care. If food killed me it would just confirm every bias every negative person has ever had toward me because I'm fat. "See! I told you she would eat herself to death. You owe me $5." These are the conversations I imagine family and neighbors will have.
Then I told the husband "If I die today, it's because I ate expired hotdogs and soup. Just tell the coroner that. But make my obit sound a little more interesting. Food poisoning is dull. Say...my intestines exploded. That's way more interesting." The husband laughed. I was only half joking. But it did lighten my mood a fraction. I guess I'm not ready to die quietly and mysteriously just yet.
Meanwhile, my dark mood wasn't helped by yet another incident with the teen boy late today. He was using his little brother as a tackling dummy again. "It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt!" someone used to say. Someone got hurt. Again. I get exhausted repeating myself to my nearly 6' tall teenager who weighs 180 lbs of pure muscle. He threw his tiny 70 lb brother onto the sofa several times in a row with increasing force until I heard the tell-tale THUD of head impacting wood instead of sofa cushion. Oh god... Plus the crushing force of 180 lbs of muscle impacting a tiny chest and knocking the wind out.
Max was curled in a ball making a noise no human should ever make as he tried to get air back into his lungs. Yes. I freaked out. I was ignored repeatedly and my baby got hurt. When he was finally able to breathe again, I had to listen to the teen say over and over and over "See! He's fine. He's not even crying. He's fine." *poke poke* *shove* "See? Fine." Son, see how he is curled in the fetal position and not breathing normally? THAT'S NOT FINE!
Oh I was livid. And scared. It's not a good combo. When Max finally started to cry, the teen had already left the room in disgust because his brother hadn't tackled him back, per his invitation. Because retaliation always makes everything ok, right? And a near lifeless boy curled on the sofa is no fun. Max holding his head and crying in pain would have pissed him off, so it was good he'd left the room. Me? I just wanted the Dad to do a concussion check. He's a coach. He took a class. He's supposed to know what to look for. No one was taking me seriously! Oh it's just Mom over-reacting again.
When he finally came out of his man cave to look at his little boy, the attitude changed. YES, this was serious. YES, we may need to go to the ER because it's long after hours for any regular doctor visit. You are in your PJs and just put all your clothes into the wash? Seriously. I got dressed in a hurry while he dug for some info on Google to remind him about concussions. Then he called a nurse hotline from a fridge magnet we got in the mail. We are still between insurance plans since the layoff.
The nurse calmed us all down. Ran through a checklist with lots of questions. Tylenol. Check. See if he can sleep. If the pain is still there in 6 hours and he can't sleep, ER time. For now, just watch and see. He is sleeping. I don't know if I'll ever be able to sleep again.
Was it over? Was calm restored? No. Teen came out and made smart ass remarks about how weak his brother is. How he didn't get THAT hurt. How he did nothing wrong. He never does anything wrong. Everything is always someone else's fault. I testily reminded him that I told him to STOP and that Max was going to get hurt. And oh look. You are too big to mess with him that way! Just leave him be! He decided to take his frustration out on me. Called me every name he could think of. I'm a crappy mother. I'm not his mother. I'm no one to him. If I die, he's not going to my funeral. He'll just stay home and play video games because it's just another day where no one who mattered died. "I hate you so much!!" *storms out of room* I yell after him "Oh yeah? Well I'm not feeling all that great about you either, right now!"
He storms back into the room, grabs a bottle of spring water out of the case on the floor near the kitchen, opens it, rushes into my office and throws it into my face so forcefully it hurts and I am instantly soaked to the skin. My chair, soaked. Desk area, soaked. My god, who knew so much water could come out of one of those bottles so fast and HARD. Then he laughed and pointed in my face and stomped away.
The sheer violence and malicious intent left me in shock. It was my turn to have the wind knocked out of me. My anger turned to fear. He's shoved me before. He'd gotten up into my face and threatened to strike me. He's broken things. He's slammed things. Those were in moments of meltdown. This time it was calculated, cold and hateful. I limped to the bedroom, quickly slammed and locked my door and changed out of my soaking wet clothes. I was sobbing hysterically. He yelled from his room. "That slam was pathetic. I can slam a door WAY harder than that!"
I sat shaking for a long time. I was in full panic. I didn't feel safe. I had to get out of there! I quickly dressed, grabbed a couple things, found my shoes and purse and prepared to run out the front door. Where? Where the hell was I going? John came back upstairs after settling Max in the guest room (a quiet place far from his brother.) He saw the look on my face and knew instantly something was very wrong. "What did he do now?!" I cried into his chest and related what had happened. I had to go. A hotel. I was going to a hotel for the night. "OK. Just let me know where you end up so I can call you if Max needs to go to the ER later." He's such a good guy. Didn't even blink when I said I was leaving to stay somewhere else for the night. But the comment about Max and the ER brought me back from the brink.
I can't leave my baby until I know he is ok. So I sit here, crying. Typing. Wanting to GO. RUN. Mentally kicking myself. Where did we go wrong? We love that teen. I gave up my career and later my health/mobility to be a mom to my boys. I don't hit. I don't nag. I don't yell unless things get crazy (like tonight). I'm quiet. I'm helpful. I'm supportive. I love freely and happily give all to make them happy. How does a child so loved, cherished and cared for turn into a hateful monster. I just don't understand. How does a child do something so cold, calculated and hateful to his mother? His disabled mother who loves him.
How do you look at someone who has lost most of her hair, walks slowly with a cane, can't stand up straight, is in near constant pain and never does anything to cause anyone any pain or sorrow and is only here to help in any way possible...how do you look at that face of love with zero compassion and throw something at it? I really don't understand. I'm so lost right now.
Today, for instance. I was very hungry. I wouldn't say I'm a picky eater, but I have some quirks when it comes to food. One being that expiration dates are not just a suggestion to me. I take them very seriously. Except today. I ate expired hot dogs. And I mean a MONTH past their expiration date. And I ate expired soup. And I didn't care. If food killed me it would just confirm every bias every negative person has ever had toward me because I'm fat. "See! I told you she would eat herself to death. You owe me $5." These are the conversations I imagine family and neighbors will have.
Then I told the husband "If I die today, it's because I ate expired hotdogs and soup. Just tell the coroner that. But make my obit sound a little more interesting. Food poisoning is dull. Say...my intestines exploded. That's way more interesting." The husband laughed. I was only half joking. But it did lighten my mood a fraction. I guess I'm not ready to die quietly and mysteriously just yet.
Meanwhile, my dark mood wasn't helped by yet another incident with the teen boy late today. He was using his little brother as a tackling dummy again. "It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt!" someone used to say. Someone got hurt. Again. I get exhausted repeating myself to my nearly 6' tall teenager who weighs 180 lbs of pure muscle. He threw his tiny 70 lb brother onto the sofa several times in a row with increasing force until I heard the tell-tale THUD of head impacting wood instead of sofa cushion. Oh god... Plus the crushing force of 180 lbs of muscle impacting a tiny chest and knocking the wind out.
Max was curled in a ball making a noise no human should ever make as he tried to get air back into his lungs. Yes. I freaked out. I was ignored repeatedly and my baby got hurt. When he was finally able to breathe again, I had to listen to the teen say over and over and over "See! He's fine. He's not even crying. He's fine." *poke poke* *shove* "See? Fine." Son, see how he is curled in the fetal position and not breathing normally? THAT'S NOT FINE!
Oh I was livid. And scared. It's not a good combo. When Max finally started to cry, the teen had already left the room in disgust because his brother hadn't tackled him back, per his invitation. Because retaliation always makes everything ok, right? And a near lifeless boy curled on the sofa is no fun. Max holding his head and crying in pain would have pissed him off, so it was good he'd left the room. Me? I just wanted the Dad to do a concussion check. He's a coach. He took a class. He's supposed to know what to look for. No one was taking me seriously! Oh it's just Mom over-reacting again.
When he finally came out of his man cave to look at his little boy, the attitude changed. YES, this was serious. YES, we may need to go to the ER because it's long after hours for any regular doctor visit. You are in your PJs and just put all your clothes into the wash? Seriously. I got dressed in a hurry while he dug for some info on Google to remind him about concussions. Then he called a nurse hotline from a fridge magnet we got in the mail. We are still between insurance plans since the layoff.
The nurse calmed us all down. Ran through a checklist with lots of questions. Tylenol. Check. See if he can sleep. If the pain is still there in 6 hours and he can't sleep, ER time. For now, just watch and see. He is sleeping. I don't know if I'll ever be able to sleep again.
Was it over? Was calm restored? No. Teen came out and made smart ass remarks about how weak his brother is. How he didn't get THAT hurt. How he did nothing wrong. He never does anything wrong. Everything is always someone else's fault. I testily reminded him that I told him to STOP and that Max was going to get hurt. And oh look. You are too big to mess with him that way! Just leave him be! He decided to take his frustration out on me. Called me every name he could think of. I'm a crappy mother. I'm not his mother. I'm no one to him. If I die, he's not going to my funeral. He'll just stay home and play video games because it's just another day where no one who mattered died. "I hate you so much!!" *storms out of room* I yell after him "Oh yeah? Well I'm not feeling all that great about you either, right now!"
He storms back into the room, grabs a bottle of spring water out of the case on the floor near the kitchen, opens it, rushes into my office and throws it into my face so forcefully it hurts and I am instantly soaked to the skin. My chair, soaked. Desk area, soaked. My god, who knew so much water could come out of one of those bottles so fast and HARD. Then he laughed and pointed in my face and stomped away.
The sheer violence and malicious intent left me in shock. It was my turn to have the wind knocked out of me. My anger turned to fear. He's shoved me before. He'd gotten up into my face and threatened to strike me. He's broken things. He's slammed things. Those were in moments of meltdown. This time it was calculated, cold and hateful. I limped to the bedroom, quickly slammed and locked my door and changed out of my soaking wet clothes. I was sobbing hysterically. He yelled from his room. "That slam was pathetic. I can slam a door WAY harder than that!"
I sat shaking for a long time. I was in full panic. I didn't feel safe. I had to get out of there! I quickly dressed, grabbed a couple things, found my shoes and purse and prepared to run out the front door. Where? Where the hell was I going? John came back upstairs after settling Max in the guest room (a quiet place far from his brother.) He saw the look on my face and knew instantly something was very wrong. "What did he do now?!" I cried into his chest and related what had happened. I had to go. A hotel. I was going to a hotel for the night. "OK. Just let me know where you end up so I can call you if Max needs to go to the ER later." He's such a good guy. Didn't even blink when I said I was leaving to stay somewhere else for the night. But the comment about Max and the ER brought me back from the brink.
I can't leave my baby until I know he is ok. So I sit here, crying. Typing. Wanting to GO. RUN. Mentally kicking myself. Where did we go wrong? We love that teen. I gave up my career and later my health/mobility to be a mom to my boys. I don't hit. I don't nag. I don't yell unless things get crazy (like tonight). I'm quiet. I'm helpful. I'm supportive. I love freely and happily give all to make them happy. How does a child so loved, cherished and cared for turn into a hateful monster. I just don't understand. How does a child do something so cold, calculated and hateful to his mother? His disabled mother who loves him.
How do you look at someone who has lost most of her hair, walks slowly with a cane, can't stand up straight, is in near constant pain and never does anything to cause anyone any pain or sorrow and is only here to help in any way possible...how do you look at that face of love with zero compassion and throw something at it? I really don't understand. I'm so lost right now.
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Guido
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