Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Black Eye.

6 years ago, I thought I was happy.  I thought I was living a wonderfully enviable life, and nothing could take me out of there, and put me on the other side.  But suddenly, there I was, looking through dirty glass, at my family, at my life, at my future, and I was just watching.  
And that's a horrible feeling.

A year ago, my life was very different, again.  A year ago I thought I knew the path my life would follow, and I felt better.  I felt like the Joanna I thought I always could be.  I felt alive and safe and scared and happy.  I was sure I was happy; because I trusted.  I trusted and I was happy.

When you trust fully, with your complete self, and honestly seems like a given, not a maybe, or a wish, it's the most freeing feeling...  it is the most happy feeling.  It is beautiful.  I wish everyone felt this all the time. I wish it were the truth of life, and humanity, and love.  

There is no doubt or worry when it comes to trusting love.  It is the safest, warmest... it's home.  It's home.  You are finally home.

Oh my goodness, how could anything be more perfect?

It can't be.

And it isn't perfect at all... because it's not real.  There is no safety in love.  If you trust fully, you lose everything.  You lose everything.  

No.  No.  No!

It can't be real.  If you believe in it all, if you have believed in it, then when anyone, even your own self, tries to tell you it is not real, you can't believe it. Why would you want to?  Who wants to be unhappy and disappointed, or devastated and wasted by truth?  So you keep trying to prove your own view of the truth to yourself... and you refuse to see reality.

 How long does it take to believe it?  What if you don't want to believe any of it, except the good things.  What if you want to just keep looping back in time, over, and over, and over to that place where everything was beautiful, and you felt safe.  What if you'd rather live with a false sense of happiness, and keep pretending in the truth you used to know, than accept that life can't be that happy and that perfect.

Well, then you become like me.  I have been shocked--and I mean fucking blown away--any time reality crept up on me and even dared to whisper:  "It's a lie."  

When I look at the calendar and see PMDD written a few days away, I don't think, "Alright, it's going to get ugly."  I just feel what I'm feeling at the moment, which is usually fairly normal, and I am not at all prepared to feel too tired to move... to think... to tired to care about anything.  I am never prepared to feel nothing.  Apathy is terrifying.  And when you are feeling so much, even when it's sadness or anger, the idea of apathy seems so distant... and unwanted.  

"I don't care."  I say that a lot.  I really don't.  When I feel the numbness and emptiness I truly don't care about anything lately... I have to reach deep inside myself to feel anything at all.  And trust me, I wonder how I can be a good mother when I am like this:  but I fight it.  I fight it and I make all the right faces, and do the best I can.  I'm sure there are worse mothers than a mother with PMDD.  

At no point am I thinking about myself, and what I want or need.  I'm thinking about what I should be doing and I need to be doing to make my children feel loved and happy.  And when I can't deliver, I am devastated.  I'm devastated every month.  And I want to tell you it's not fair, and I don't deserve this, but I can't say either of those things. Because people suffer from all kinds of problems... and I'm just one person.  

When we first found out we were having twins, someone told me, "God only gives you what you can handle," and they were thinking we were the perfect couple to handle the craziness of twin babies.  We could do it, and so we were blessed with two healthy babies at once.  And I wonder if I am supposed to be handling all this PMDD stuff the same way.  I should be able to handle it.  I have, so far, haven't I?  I'm still alive.  I'm alive, even when I often don't want to be.  So that's at least handling the worst of it, yeah?  

And I also wonder if I should be able to handle my life, as it is now, and how it has gone along, and all the hills and valleys and light and darkness, and somehow come out of it with a... what?  What am I supposed to do with excruciating pain and disappointment?  What am I supposed to do with dreams deferred?  I guess that's what I'll find out.  

And, I don't need help.  Not from anyone.  My life got so much harder by "helping."  Some  kinds of help leaves deep, ugly scars, I'll always see, and never forget.  

To my helpers:  What did God think you could handle?  Knowing you're a sick, twisted person? Dying alone?  I'm sad for you...  Because I think I'll be alright... and I'm not so sure you ever will.


Monday, November 23, 2015


There is something called PME, which is premenstrual exacerbation of already existing major depressive disorder or some other mental illness.  I was once told that, by the doctors at DHMC, that that might just be what I was experiencing, since my baseline (how I feel when I am not luteal) is not so awesome.
However, if you actually have PMDD, you would know that after 5 years, you start to get less and less hopeful about feeling better, and losing half your life to something you can't control... you will start to feel depressed all the time that you can't be what you want to be and do what you want to do, because you have a calendar reminding you how many days you have until you potentially can't even get out of bed for a week...

So PMDD, just leads to depression all the time, you see?  I do feel better when I am not luteal, but no where near how I should be, knowing myself and all I used to be!  I'm just anticipating the darkness, and hoping it doesn't fall on a holiday, and hoping this new medication will work, and wondering why the other medication I tried made things feel worse... worse...

I'm trying Lamictal now.  It's a mood stabilizer.  So Prozac, Wellbutrin, Cytomel, Lamictal, and Adderall... and Klonopin when I need it.  I can not use it at all some days... I don't need it when I am in the follicular phase, unless something situational has blown my brains apart.

So, what I'm saying, is if you have PMDD, and your quality of living and ability to function starts to diminish for more than 14 days of the month, it's because the walls of that well are slippery... and you're trying to climb out, but you might keep slipping back down, and want to just rest there, and say, "Forget it."  FORGET IT!  How am I supposed to climb a fucking vertical wall with nothing at all but my feet and hands?


I need a rope.  I need upper arm strength.  I need someone will a harness to come get me, and pull me out, even if they do it by one foot and I'm dangling upside down banging my face off the side. I don't even care.  At least I'm looking up and knowing there is light, and I want to be there.  And if I'm all battered and exhausted when I'm deposited on the ground, on the Earth, I can lay there, face up and see the sky and the tree branches, and I can breath, and deal with my bloody nose and abrasions later.

My goodness, if I look presentable after two weeks of PMDD, than I'm totally beating this thing, and not beating the Hell out of myself.  I haven't yet gotten there yet.  Lamictal takes about a month before I'll know...  If it will help...

A bloody face is a small price to pay, to feel the sunshine on my face, and not be alone.

It doesn't mean I'm giving up, if all I want for Christmas are more yoga pants and clothes that feel like pajamas, yet might be presentable in a public setting, right?  I mean, getting dressed 14 days out of each month feel like a Hell of of job, so, like at least 7 pairs of Yoga pants, and tops would just be Heaven... Heaven.  Hey, My uncle just saw me last night, and even though I hadn't showered and was covered in sawdust, and wearing sloppy clothes, (from helping Sam with a woodworking project), he said, "Joanna, you look so much better.  The last time I saw you, you looked like you were fading away."

And, you know... Shut up.  You know you don't even have an excuse for wearing Yoga pants all the time, and you do it
anyway...  Or you really, really want to!

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