Backsliding

It’s beginning to feel like everything is getting all messed up again.

Another psych assessment today, culminating in a place on the waiting list for long-term – ‘I would say at least a year’ – psychotherapy.

A row with Ian. I wish he could see that it would be infinitely more helpful to be there for me, talk to me, support me, rather than lecture me. To get over this man flu and start engaging with our family again. To not make me feel guilty for taking one child out and leaving him with the other. Honestly – I feel guilty about leaving him to take care of his own daughter.

A day with my mother coming up; the first since she found this blog and found out what has been going on.

I log onto Facebook; my friends log off.

I desperately, desperately want some company. Empathy. Love.

But the world only wants me when I’m strong, normal. functioning.

I lay in bed last night and thought of suicide. When could I do it? Not this week – I want to at least see Katie’s first nativity. Not right before Christmas; I couldn’t ruin this supposedly happy time of year for my family for the rest of their lives.

Then I think, God knit me together in my mother’s womb. I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Suicide is a sin. Can one commit suicide while still trusting in God? Is there a place in Heaven if I do?

I feel trapped.

I know this is God’s plan for me. I know this has drawn me nearer to him and made me cry out, cling to him in a way I never have before. Jesus suffered, and he was without sin. I am full of sin, so of course I should suffer. I am not angry at God. I am not asking him to take this away from me.

I will smile.

I will work.

I will take care of my children.

I will grit my teeth while my husband berates me.

I will do my best to serve God.

But it’s just hard.

It’s a blip

Just a blip.

An understandable blip.

Difficult week. Shedloads of work. Ill husband. Ill kids.

Yesterday was brilliant. A day in London with my boy. Christmas lights and dinner and a musical. He was great. Good company, sweet, loving, polite.

Tonight, though – all wound up.

Why? I don’t know.

I am really going for it this Christmas.

Last Christmas was awful. I felt like a shell. I remember Ian and my mum agreeing how amazing I looked – all 8st 0lb of me – and yet when I look at the photos, all I can see is that I was at breaking point.

I thought it wasn’t going to get any worse, but it did.

And where am I now?

Better than I was.

Far fatter than I was, if that’s a sign of recovery – although I know my family and in-laws will be remarking upon it.

Planning a Sunday school nativity, and laughing and having fun.

But tonight I feel so empty. Lost. Lonely.

It’s a blip.

I must tell myself it’s a blip.

Is it always going to be like this?

This week has not been the best.

Every member of my family, except me, has been laid low by illness.

I’ve had a meeting with Tom’s teacher in which we agreed that his needs are worth investigating.

I’ve had Tom sobbing and howling and declaring his uselessness because he’s been banned from using a fountain pen in class.

I have booked an appointment for Tom with our regular GP, and then Ian has told me to cancel and rebook with someone else because the doctor will assume that any issues are down to my mental state.

I’ve been lectured by my husband because I’ve had a couple of glasses of wine each night this week, and therefore I’m on a slippery slope into alcoholism.

I’ve looked after my friend’s child and had Ian tell me that actually, I’m resentful and am only doing it because I feel guilty.

I’m facing a meeting with my parents for the first time since they discovered my little breakdown.

I guess this is the reality of life with a mental health issue, life post-suicide attempt.

No one trusts me.

Everyone thinks my judgement is flawed.

Everyone thinks I’m one glass of wine away from a breakdown.

Dear Lord – this is not what I want.

I want to rebuild things.

I want to be a good mother.

I want to be a good wife.

I want to be able to show my natural and normal emotions without being accused of being mental.

It is really, really hard to lose the trust of the person who promised to love you in sickness and in health.

I feel so lost.

A confrontation is brewing

Some time in the next week – it could be Tuesday, or it could be Sunday – I will see my mum for the first time since she found my blog.

I am so full of conflicting emotions about it.

I feel guilty. Really, really guilty. I know I tried to protect her from my mess, but I failed, and I feel awful for it. I know she will have read things I didn’t want her to read.

I feel ashamed. I know I have let her down, failed to be the A+ daughter she always wanted and expected.

I feel resentful. I don’t blame her for my depression, but I do feel that things may have worked out differently if, from the time of my very first episode, I had been met with empathy and concern rather than anger and disdain.

I feel closed-off. I don’t want her to hug me or weep on me or demand to see my scars.

I feel repressed. I don’t want to talk about it, but knowing that my mum knows has tipped me into this forced ‘la la la, everything is great’ charade.

What will happen? I suspect she will hug me a bit harder than she usually does, but then we will tiptoe around that great big depressed elephant in the room.

We will never mention it again.

In some ways it’s what I want. I want to go on living as normal. I really, really do not want to feel like I’m under parental suicide watch.

But in other ways, I so wish we had the sort of mother-daughter relationship where this had not come as a surprise to her, because I’d been able to confide in her. Not feel guilty. Not feel like a let-down. Not feel like my value in her life comes from being the perfect daughter, clever, confident, a good mother, responsible with money, in control of my emotions, causing no embarrassment, stress or ruffled feathers.

There is a positive. I will do my best to have a proper, open relationship with my children. I think we’re already getting there. Ours is not a peaceful, tidy house; we shout at each other, we slam doors, we’re too lazy to wash up some evenings. But despite our failings, I think we have a more honest bond. We can all express when we’re cross with each other. No feelings are bottled up in my children. We can accept each other’s failures and forgive. On a personal level, I have learned the value of giving a hug and saying I’m sorry, or I understand.

It’s been an emotional week for many reasons, and the impending confrontation is not helping.

I am so thankful that I can take it to the Lord.