Private Journal Entry - July 7, 2009

This "private journal entry" was originally written for my eyes only.  A way to express myself openly and truthfully without feeling judged.  The emotions are raw, the writing, blunt and unedited, the feelings are sometimes very hard to revisit (at least the negative ones), but so very very real.

It is now published as part of my mental health timeline.  To start from the beginning, visit: Through Hell and Back (more than once)-Timeline of Recovery and Discovery.  

July 7, 2009--revised June 2011 (that day is still so vivid in my memory—I just wanted to add a few things I remembered)

 Last Wednesday was a really hard day for me.  I lost my temper and yelled at the kids often.  I was continually angry.  By the time Rob got home from work I was at the end of my rope…DONE!  He announced that he had scouts at 7:00PM.  The anger overwhelmed me.  I told him, “I totally support you in your calling (cub scouts)…just not on Wednesday nights.” (and I meant it)

The kids went to bed early and by that time I was frustrated and tired beyond my capacity to function (the anti-depressants left me rather lethargic there in the beginning)…and I still had so much to do that night (pick up toys, dishes, sweeping, etc).

I began wishing for a terminal illness to swoop down and take me away, or at least a severe disease that would leave me bedridden and near death.  (I really wanted to die.  I was so tired physically and emotionally…I remember feeling like I just wanted to lay down…fall asleep and, hopefully, never wake up.  Then I decided that maybe a “near death” illness would have the same effect.  I would be well rested and, once recovered, would have a new outlook on life.)  I just knew (or thought) that was all it would take (to make my life right again.)

The more I contemplated a terminal illness the more I became aware of just how serious I was.  Leaving was not an option (I had seriously contemplated that many times before but knew that I would be ridden with guilt for abandoning my kids for the rest of my life.  I had already caused them so much sorrow…I didn’t want to add to it). 

Suicide?  Not an option! (As tempting as it seemed sometimes, I have a deep rooted belief that it solves nothing.  So I didn’t even seriously consider it then, thank goodness.  Here’s what I wrote in my journal: (not an answer, go to hell, still leave my family in heartache and sorrow and a whole lifetime of mental issues as a result). 

But, a terminal illness, it seemed to be the answer. 

It actually scared me (Terrified me beyond description is more accurate). Rob still wasn’t home so I called my mom.  We talked, I cried, and made a decision to not only take anti-depressants but to see a counselor as well.  Plainly…I need more help.

Rob went to the store after scouts for milk (completely unaware of what was happening at home) and came home with a dozen roses as well.  He said, “I could tell you were having a hard day.” 

What a sweet boy.  I love the man I married.  For all of his faults, he is still PERFECT for me.  Truly!  (I believe this even more now than I did back then) 

I love him even more because I totally blew him off, being swallowed up in grief, and he still stuck around to comfort me.  I love him!  I need him!

Now, almost a week later, I have called a counselor.  I still have yet to hear back.  I will call again.

(By the time I wrote this the anti-depressants had FINALLY started working.  I was feeling the effects of it and was far less groggy)

I’m learning to enjoy just being level.  Not mad, not necessarily happy…but complacent/level.

Hopefully it will get better and I will feel more moments of content and even JOY. 

I hope. 

I hate feeling angry all of the time.