Wrestling the demons within me

I woke up so depressed this morning and I can't even explain why. I was just drained and life had no meaning. It was even worse because things had sucked yesterday, but I was able to function, ya know? This morning I couldn't even get out of bed. It's days like this that make me hate myself even harder because I couldn't take care of me, let alone my kids. Elora dressed herself and I didn't even brush her hair before she went off. Liam went in what he slept in, but I did dress and change Olive, for one. Once she was out though, she kept whining so much that I finally put her in her playpen with a bottle so she whine there and I'd know she was safe...and I fell back asleep.

What kind of parent does this? And this is what it was like for months before I was hospitalized. I can't go through that again. I've been hypomanic for weeks now and I suddenly wake up hating life and wanting to crawl into a hole in the ground. I resented everything this morning, even my poor little girl because to tend her meant I had to get up and move. I hated on me more because I haven't felt those feelings of resentment since before I was hospitalized, and I thought they were gone for good.

Sometimes I don't feel like I deserve the children I have. They are so good and wonderful, and I'm such a terrible mother to them. Why do they have to suffer because Mom can't do even their most basic needs? It's not fair to them, and it only makes me feel worse. I didn't even want to take my meds today, and I certainly didn't want to take them as prescribed. Thank God we have the safe where Josh is the only one with the code, because today is one of those days where my old coping skills are begging to be used.

It's just not fair that I have to deal with this. It's even less fair that my kids have to deal with it. I mean, I was struggling yesterday, but not so much that I couldn't take them swimming, and take Liam to swim lessons, and go to the park, and then go to Zumba. I was able to do all that, and then suddenly the next day I hate my life so much that I just want it to end? What is wrong with me? Why am I going crazy? Why do I have to cycle so damn hard? Why can't it be a nice gradual slope or something? Why is it more like a cliff? Does anyone have any answers?

I've forced myself to get online and socialize in my support groups today, and it's helped, but I don't feel it's enough. I have therapy today, and I'm dreading it. I feel so terrible and so miserable that I think this is going to be a not fun session. I wonder if a lot of this has been triggered by the most recent homework assignment I was given because since I've been working so hard on it, my mood has taken a sudden and severe turn for the worse. Why is that? What is it about getting this assignment over and done with that is wreaking havoc on my life? My therapist swears that writing will help me, but it always seems to push me down lower. I bounce back up eventually, but right now, I'm scared I won't bounce back up. 

That's the scariest part of these mood swings...when I hit the depression side, I panic. I feel trapped and scared that it'll never go away again, and I'll end up killing myself to stop the pain. I can't hack feeling so terribly all the time. You have no idea what it's like to hate being in your skin, when just existing every moment is agony, and you'd do anything to escape that. That's the hell I was in back in February  and that's a hell I never want to be in again, yet it seems to be coming again...out of nowhere. How do I help me survive this one?

It's hard being a mom some days...it's hard being ME some days...

So I'm reading this book that my neighbor let me borrow, and it's triggered a lot of feelings and emotions in me. I'm only half of the way through, but so far it's been mostly guilt over how crappy of a mom I am some days.

I'm reading it, and the main character talks about how she watches her mom have peppy days, and then dark days, and I empathize with her, a lot. Mainly because my kids have to suffer through my up and down days, and it's only been the last few weeks that they've had any semblance of what a normal mum should be. My kids had to deal with a mum that couldn't get out of bed, and if she did, it was only to go downstairs and collapse on the couch and sleep some more. That's what they put up with for weeks upon weeks before I was admitted this last time. I'm seeing my therapist twice a week at the moment, and she's constantly inquiring if I've taken my meds that day or not, and chewing on me hard if I haven't because that's what did me in this last time...I'd been off my meds for 4 months prior to going inpatient.

So back to this book and the feelings it evokes...I've been told that I am entirely too analytic for my own good, and that side of me gets in the way of me tapping into my emotions. Well, I don't know if I was doing much analyzing today as I was reading, because I felt lots of things. I feel so strongly for both the mum and the daughter because I relate to them both. I remember being a teenager and being so out of control and not having any idea what was wrong with me and why I couldn't control my emotions. I most definitely relate to being inpatient in the psych ward. But I also relate to being a bipolar mum, and my kids suffering because I'm the one raising them. I get the terrified feelings of panic, the despisal of self because you're lashing out at your kids and you don't want to, and you don't mean it, but the words or actions come out anyway. I understand the seemingly unendurable weight of depression, and the fog you're in, where nothing can spark interest in your life, and there's no meaning to your existence, so why keep going?

Maybe I'm being too hard on myself, I've also been told that I'm entirely too overcritical of myself, but I feel like I'm constantly failing my children. There's no empirical proof of this, (I think)...I mean they are fed, bathed, clothed, and hugged and loved on, but I'm not taking them to the park everyday, or I'm not consistently taking them to story time at the library. I don't sit and read books with them for hours at a time. I feel like I'm not doing a good job teaching them about our religion or about the Bible and those stories. There are so many ways I feel like I'm letting them down, and I can't get over the crushing guilt of that.

I hate myself when I'm having a dark day, as this author puts it. I hate it when my dark days spread into weeks, then into months, and then me ending up in the hospital for weeks at a time. It's a vicious cycle that I fear will never end. I just want to be that 'Leave it to Beaver' mother who has fresh baked cookies waiting for her kids when they get home from school, who participates in the PTA meetings, who can honestly have dinner on the table when Dad gets home from work, AND have the house looking spotless 99% of the time. But that's just not me.

I'm lucky if 2 out of 3 of the main rooms are clean, and I try to keep the living room presentable at all times. I despise cleaning and am currently decluttering my house so it's easier to keep clean. I'm also a terrible cook, so many nights it's either my husband grilling something up, or else it's something out of the freezer for the kids. I struggle with keeping up with laundry, I can't ever stay on top of it because I get bored, or overwhelmed, and it will simply sit, in piles waiting for someone to get to it. The dishes are probably my biggest nemesis, and thankfully that's a chore that's been handed over to the oldest.

I just feel like such a failure because I have let my kids down so many times. For example, during my last depressive episode my oldest wanted to go to the pet store. Just to look around for a little while. I couldn't do it. Every day she would come home because I'd promised to take her, and I'd have to let her down and tell her mommy was too sick to go that day, maybe later. We still haven't made it to the pet shop. My middle two seem to be the least fazed by my episodes right now, my 5 year old can control the TV, and anything she or her brother need, she'll get without any assistance from me. As I stated in my earlier post, the one who I feel suffered the most was my baby.

I had an impossibly rough and traumatizing pregnancy with her, coupled with severe postpartum depression. I never really 'snapped out of it' with that, and I longed to give the baby up for adoption. I had a hard time bonding with her....for 13 months I couldn't bond with my youngest. I cried a lot over having that fourth baby, it felt like such a burden to our family, and I felt it was all my fault for getting pregnant. Maybe one day I'll post about the struggles my kids dealt with while I was pregnant with her because I was a zombie. I was on and off bedrest, I had gestational diabetes, and I was unmedicated for my bipolar disorder. It was a perfect storm of traumas to leave anyone spent and exhausted.

So she is born and becomes daddy's little girl. I had no interest in her. I tended to her basic needs, but I didn't interact with her like she needed because I just couldn't find it in me to get worked up about her. I wish I'd sought help for this sooner, maybe then I wouldn't feel so guilty now, but it wasn't until I was in the hospital and had time to process things that I was able to come to terms with my emotions and ambivalence towards her. Now, nearly a month later, you'd never have known we had a difficult relationship. Fortunately for me I have very forgiving children and when I opened my heart up to her, she welcomed me with open arms into her heart as well. I was truly blessed to have that occur.

Now that I'm stable, I am doing more of the things I like with my kids. We go to the park, we play outside, we read Scriptures and have story time. I'm better about keeping the house picked up, and I'm better about being more loving with my kids. That's the part I feel they miss out on most. Consistently having a mother that shows her love for them in so many tender ways. Because I can't be that mother when I'm not stable. No matter how hard I try and how hard I want to be, being a great mother does not come easily when I'm in a depressed state. My manias are generally very short lived, so I can't really comment on my parenting during those times.

So that's some of what I feel when I contemplate being bipolar as well as being a mum. It's so difficult, but when I'm doing well, it's one of the most rewarding jobs I've ever done.