I did the unthinkable, the unforgivable, as a parent last night. I cried in front of my child. I am the grown up, I am supposed to protect her and make her feel safe and yet one too many stressors and I just…broke. I wasn’t sobbing and hysterical, I just teared up and sort of whimpered, “Why can’t something just go right?”
According to that last child psychologist who put every bit of my child’s behavior at my doorstep because she senses my depression and anxiety thus I am The Problem…I am probably the least fit parent on the planet. God knows, you can beat your kids, starve them, neglect them but god forbid you have a legitimate mental condition that causes you to behave in ways contrary to your own nature and beliefs…you are unfit. What that woman did to me psychologically with her “3 visits, your kid behaves in front of me, you’re the problem” bullshit is criminal. That after the therapist who diagnosed as borderline after 2 visits and 20 years of every other therapist saying not otherwise specified. They all want to rewrite history, they all want to label me after a couple of visits…
And THEY are the reason I no longer trust therapists or even believe in them. Once again, that is all on me, as I am mental and thus they are right, I am histrionic and unable to handle the truth about myself.
See, it’s not enough my brain lies to me, distorts things, and tells me how so much is wrong with me I should just off myself. NOPE. I get therapists who pretty much confirm what the scumbag depression is telling me. And this is supposed to make me better but instead, it has made me so much worse. Therapy used to be a good thing for me, back when I could rant and rave and not have myself labeled with a personality disorder during a hypo mixed phased or a deep depression. Because sorry, when you’re hypo and irritated, everything does become black or white. People are evil or they are good, there is no in between. That is NOT borderline, because six months later when the meds are working, you see the shades of gray. That is chemical imbalance, damn it.
But no, thanks to a couple of shitty therapists in a row who were supposed to help me…I’ve lost my faith in the therapy process and come to rely solely on blogging, research, peer support here on wordpress, and medications. We all know how well the medications work for me. Though to be fair, the mood stabilizers and anti anxiety meds are old reliable. It’s the anti depressants that fail me again and again or I have bad reactions and because I’m part of .001% who reacted that way, I must be making it up because big pharma and the docs say those aren’t known reactions…
I am rambling. Good. It means my anger is overriding the weepiness. I cling to my anger because society respects it more than genuine emotion. Anger and hatred get good press, look at who is our president. FEELINGS, like sadness, empathy, compassion, tears- those get the bad press, those are FROWNED UPON IN THIS ESTABLISHMENT. So bring on the anger, let it keep me simmering and above the surface.
As for last night’s break…It just stemmed from a week of kittens dying, my Mira computer overheating and me too stupid to clean the fan, the floors are caving in to the point my bathtub and toilet are going to be on the ground soon even though the maintenance guy pointed out it needed fix and stupid me assumed maybe since he saw how bad it was with his own eyes maybe it would actually get done…and then there’s my kid, perfect angel for everyone else on the planet, who just constantly defies me and bickers every time I say no and even after seeing me cry and me weepily asking, “Can’t we just be a loving family and respect each other?”…it took an hour and a half to get her to stay in her bed and quit making demands of me…
Who wouldn’t break?
Right, it’s just me. The therapists thought so.
I am buried alive here with everything that is wrong and while there are definitely some sucky problems..Six weeks ago, it wasn’t this bad. And I attribute this to being on a singular anti depressant regimen. I need dual anti depressants when it gets this bad and yet..I can’t bring myself to call the doctor’s office because their short staffing has made it a nightmare to just get refills let alone accomplish starting a new med without an appointment.I see the nurse in ten days, I can tough it out, right? Because what’s worse than feeling so broken due to depression is calling the professionals for help and feeling neglected, rejected, and pushed aside like you’re just an annoyance. And while that may be my interpretation, distorted by depression…it just feels shitty when your doctor, who you count on to help you get through this shit, is running an outfit less organized than the McDonald’s drive thru.
What hurts the most is knowing back around March 19th, I was doing pretty damn well. It only last a couple of weeks but it gave me hope that I could rise from the depressive ashes. Except the seasonal dragged me back down the second the weeks of gloom and rain and cold returned and it was like going through winter all over again. To feel so good only to have it ripped away is just brutal.
So maybe my kid will be traumatized for life because mommy broke down and cried a little. I’m human and I’m struggling and no one will lift a finger to help me so if breaking down on occasion gets me through..my kid will just have to be traumatized. Though at 7, I’m not convinced she has the capacity for that because then she would have to feel something for someone other than herself and honestly…Spook just doesn’t. I don’t know if it’s normal behavior for her age. I just know it’s scary for me, thinking if I don’t instill some empathy and conscience in this child, I could be raising the next Aileen Wournos. Or worse, the next President Trump.
Yeah, I said it. That is worse than the female serial killer.
And while I’d love to say that’s the depression talking, it really isn’t. I just have a real problem with people who have no conscience or empathy, regardless of their age or station in life.
Maybe if I get medicated properly it won’t get me so riled. Until then..I’m broken. And it’s okay to be broken. Broken things can be repaired most of the time.
Let’s hope I am one of the “most of the times”.