Life Is What Happens....

I've been missing for several days because I've been caught up in life.

You see, something has happened. Something almost imperceptible externally, but oh so noticeable to me. The earth has shifted on its axis again. My world has righted itself.

That deep green mucky hole I've been wallowing in has been filling up. For awhile I've felt as if I might be able to grab the top and pull myself out. And now I have.

Don't get me wrong, my living room gorilla hasn't suddenly turned into a cute little monkey I can put in a cage. He's still there. But now he prefers to hang out in the bedroom or the bathroom. Sometimes he even heads out to the garage.

Those are the good days.

I wish I could pinpoint exactly what or when everything changed. I can't. But I can tell you when I first consciously noticed it.

Sitting on a plane with Hollis, shortly after take off from Norfolk on our way to New Orleans, the sun started to rise. The tiny toy world from above the clouds is always amazing, isn't it? But that morning the amber glow of fresh sunlight made everything, even our unnatural silver tube, golden.

I watched Hollis, squirming in his window seat with excitement, wanting to see everything but happy just riding along waiting to discover what would happen next. I realized that I was happy to be there with him, on that journey, even if we never reached our destination.

That's what life is, isn't it?

So in the air at 15,000 feet, with my son and our sun, I realized that I want to give my children more of me. Not more of my physical presence, or even more time reading books, coloring, or rough housing, but more of what is essentially me. The part of me that I so often try to keep closed off from everyone, even those who love me best. The part of me that depression makes so ugly and moribund.

I'm going to try to enjoy my journey even if the destination isn't necessarily clear and the ride isn't as smooth as it could be.

I want to see what happens next.

So I'm going to turn my head to the sun as often as I can and remember that feeling I had at 15,000 feet; the belief for one moment that everything was going to be just fine.

If that doesn't work, I'm going to focus on this:



and this:



and keep breathing, keep living.

It's a start.

The Electric Kool-Aid Effexor Trip

I've made no secret of the fact that I'm on anti-depressants. In fact, I probably tell too many people. Is it awkward when you meet someone at a cocktail party and you say, "Hi, I'm Stephanie. I'm on short term disability for depression and I'm taking Effexor. So nice to meet you. Oh, I think the bathroom is over there...."?

Oops. My bad.

So far the Effexor is working nicely. It's been gradual. It's not like I woke up overnight and started praying at the altar of the optimists and cheerful people, but I'm getting there. And the Effexor has been great. I've heard nightmares about side effects, so I was a bit worried going in. Especially since Lexapro, which is supposedly loved because almost no one experiences any side effects while taking it, did a number on me.

For the 5 or 6 months I was on Lexapro, I walked around like a zombie during the day. I felt drugged. Then I started having hair problems. My hair, oh people of the internets, is one of my best features. It's nice and wavy and a lovely dark blond color with honey highlights. Oh and it's really thick, but not coarse at all. My hair rocks.

When it started falling out I started freaking the F out. It may seem vain but there was no way in H E double hockey sticks that I was going to end up depressed and bald.

Not to mention, the Lexapro wasn't doing a whole lot for me anymore.

In came the Effexor.

Effexor is one of those anti-depressants that you can't just stop taking. You have to gradually build up to your therapeutic dose and then when you stop taking it, you have to step down gradually as well. A good friend of mine who recently weaned off of Effexor had to start and stop about 6 times. Her doctor finally had her doing something really complicated like cutting open the smallest pill dosage they make, mixing the powder in apple juice and drinking 3/4 of it, 1/2 of it, 1/4 of it, etc.... That finally worked. She tried to describe what it was like when she tried to stop taking it, but I, who had just fallen in love with Effexor, wasn't really listening.

Um, Tiff, what was it you were trying to tell me again?

Yesterday was a busy day. We got up, had breakfast, corralled two small people into clothing and jackets, loaded up the car and headed to the Norfolk Botanical Gardens to meet my friend Lauren and her son. The kids played for hours, and wore themselves out nicely. We headed home, did the lunch/nap thing and I blogged and edited photos. Somewhere in there I remembered to take my antibiotic and Flonase for the plague that I've had for a month now, otherwise known as the ear infection, sinus infection, bronchitis trifecta.

Last night I could not sleep at all. Finally at 1:30 am, T came downstairs, shut my laptop and asked me to come to bed. I flipped out on him. I had a little tantrum where I ranted about how he wasn't the boss of me and I just wasn't tired and I wasn't going to just sit in bed and stare at the ceiling. I threw myself down on the couch and pouted like a teenager for about 10 minutes. Then, when enough time had passed that I could pretend going to bed was my idea, I went upstairs.

That should have been my first clue.

Once in bed, I couldn't sleep for more than 30-40 minutes at a time and I had the most bizarre dreams ever. At about 4:30 in the morning, I realized that whenever I closed my eyes, I was seeing brightly colored lights. Not my dark eyelids, but a pattern of colored dots that swirled and turned into candy and spiders and giant polka dots and brightly colored lights and then multiplied on top of each other in undulating waves and then transformed again. Then it started happening while my eyes were open.

It was like watching a Fruitopia commercial on an endless loop in a 360 degree theater with my eyes propped open with toothpicks.*

Just when I was about to wake T and have him taking me to the emergency room for my psychiatric committal, or call the police to see who spiked my Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper, I remembered that I forgot to take my drugs.

Oops.

I woke T up, took my pill, and then tried to explain what was happening to T. He talked me down from my little trip and I was finally able to get a few hours of sleep. When I woke this morning it was better, but when things moved they had little motion trails behind them, like those pictures of you see of subway trains with trails of light behind them. (Don't worry, I didn't drive.) My synapses finally started firing normally at about 12 today.

That was quite a trip and you can be sure that I will not be forgetting my pills again.

I already have a pill box, and T mercilessly makes funny of me for it. But my mommy brain can no longer remember if I've taken my Metformin and my vitamins. Well, the box doesn't work if I never even get it out of the cabinet. In my ditzy defense, this is the first time I've ever completely forgotten my medications. In any event, I've come up with a new system that should be foolproof as long as I go to the bathroom every morning. I don't foresee this being a problem, since I have the world's smallest bladder.

Nonetheless, I think I'll be traveling with an extra bottle of Effexor in my purse from now on. I mean you never know when you're going to be caught in a massive snow storm while you're driving a half mile to the 7-11. I don't want to have to figure out if those mounds of brightly colored candy are real, or just plastic orbs from Holden's ball pit.

* Am I the only one whose cat was transfixed by those commercials?

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I have pictures up on Lawyer Mama Dabbles if you'd like to see something that isn't reminiscent of an acid trip.

Opening the Door, Just a Crack

I feel like I've been dishonest on my blog lately.

You see there's this 250 pound gorilla sitting in the room with us and I've just been ignoring it. I sit on the couch with my mug of tea, blithely chatting with you about my new camera, Brittany Spears, and the Iowa primaries. Then I get up and carefully step over those large gorilla limbs to get to the teapot.

Depression sucks.

There's no other way to say it. Well, hell, we all know there is, but I can't think of a more succinct way to say it.

I've been sinking into a green hole for awhile now. I've hinted about it. I've whined about it. I've even danced around my anniversary date with the great gorilla. But I've never really come out and said it. So let's get it out of the way.

I'm depressed. I'm on a new medication. I'm seeing a therapist. I've taken a leave of absence from work. My job that I love, that I'm really good at, that I can't seem to properly perform in my current state.

So now you know.

Now you know that I'm not perfect. I'm not superhuman. I can't do it all. I can't have it all. Frankly, right now I'm struggling to just hold on to the things that matter the most.

And it's really hard for me to let other people know about this very real, very raw struggle I'm having right now. Some of my co-workers read this blog. Some people I've known since high school read this blog (Hi, B! Hi, C!). My family reads it. But this is my space. My space. And even if it makes other uncomfortable, I'm going to write my truth.

Let's face it. I'm not really worried about others being uncomfortable. I'm more worried about what others will think of me. Because that's what I do. I talk a good game about not being a conformist, yadda, yadda, yadda, but my life is really about as conventional as it gets.

In one of my posts I once wrote,

I do not save lives. I will not cure cancer. I will never fly to the moon.

If I have an Achilles heel, a tender spot in my self worth that can be breached, this is it. The feeling that I am not living a life of meaning. The fear that I won't leave this world a better place. The fear that I chose the path of least resistance.

Gwen wrote a post several months ago that struck a similar cord in me. She wrote about how so many of us grew up thinking we were extraordinary. That we would do amazing things. We would change the world. And, of course, most of us haven't done that, have we? That pretty much sums up my completely unrealistic discontent.

I know that relating my depression to the realization that I'm not as damn special as I've always thought I was is too simplistic. But it is part of the picture.

In becoming a mother, I faced a seismic shift in my personal identity. It happens to all of us. We have no control over it. It just happens. One minute it was all about "me" and the next it was all about "baby." Now it's all about "toddler." Oh, and "toddler." Can't forget the second one.

While this change in identity and expectations is automatic, it doesn't make acceptance of the change any easier. And it's been hard for me to align my internal view of myself with external and instinctive actions.

Don't get me wrong. I do not regret having children. My family is the one thing I can see with perfect clarity. My family is the best of me. But something about this identity shift, something about becoming a mother has changed me.

Before I even contemplated children, my life was fine as it was. My accomplishments weren't ground breaking, but they were mine and I worked hard for the life and education I had. Now, for some reason, being great at my job and working hard and playing hard just isn't enough for me. I want meaning. I want worth. I want something more.

I just wish I knew what that something is.

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Don't feel too sorry for me. I wrote this post more than a week ago but have trying to decide whether to publish it or not. I have bad days, I have good days. At some point the good will outweigh the bad. I know it will.

I do know that tomorrow will be a good day. You see, the DC Metro Moms Blog is having a party and I'm heading up to DC to see some old friends , some friends I somehow missed meeting at BlogHer, and meet some new ones. And if KC hasn't popped yet, maybe she'll be there too!

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I have new photos of the boys up at Lawyer Mama Dabbles.

Better Living Through Pharmaceuticals

"It's snowing still," said Eeyore gloomily.
"So it is."
"And freezing."
"Is it?"
"Yes," said Eeyore. "However," he said, brightening up a little, "we haven't had an earthquake lately."

-- A. A. Milne

OK, folks, brace yourselves. It's time for another Lawyer Mama "woe is me" post. But this time I decided to write about depression on a good day. On a day when I can stand back and look at the Big Monster with a bit more detachment. Hopefully I won't get any anonymous "suicide prevention" pamphlets left in my office by well meaning co-workers or frantic phone calls from family members checking to make sure I haven't driven myself and the boys into the Elizabeth River.*

Life is made up of hard days and good days. I know that. I've also been keenly aware since adolescence, that I seem to have more bad days than most people. But days that most people would consider bad, I just call, well...usual. I'm moody, contemplative, a little bitchy and extremely sarcastic. But that's me and I like it.

I think too much. This is the curse and blessing of being an introvert. Much of what is best in me is never seen by the outside world. Some of the best discussions I've had about life, love, history, politics, and the law have been internal. That's just how I process the world. Internally. But with this internal world comes a necessary detachment from the external world. Striking a balance between the two was difficult for me growing up, but it became easier with time and practice.

Then I had children and my internal world started spilling over into the external. I had all this love and all these thoughts I couldn't keep to myself. Or I would burst from the wonder of it all. I watched my Hollis with all the love in my soul shining right through my eyes. Emotions and thoughts I'd been protecting and bottling up and hoarding for my own private use came spilling right on out. Crawling there, across the floor, for all the world to see.

With this escape of my internal world also came an inability to escape into my internal world. Life became overwhelming in a way it never had before. I couldn't keep my internal world in, and I couldn't keep the external world out.

Life as a new parent is overwhelming for even the most balanced and emotionally healthy of people. I understand that. Everyone needs help coping at times, whether it be through a support system, some time away, or medical intervention. I know that too. But I denied that I had any problems. I denied that my life wasn't perfect. I denied that my life could be anything other than blissfully happy with my new baby and my great job. I don't ever admit that I need help. That's just the way I roll.

Eventually, something happened. I wish I could tell you what. It may be this blog. I started writing about things I normally keep hidden. It may be finally getting to know good friends in my area that I could talk to every day. It may be finally settling into a new routine in a new place with 2 new children. I don't know what it was. But I finally admitted that I needed help. And it took me a little while, but I finally got off my ass and got some help.

I saw a new doctor. After listening to my symptoms and, more importantly, listening to what I thought was wrong with me, she asked, "How do you feel about anti-depressants?" And giving me permission to admit that I wanted the help, she followed up with, "I'm a big believer."

So Lex@pro and I got to know each other. The first week or so, I thought I'd made a huge mistake. The drugs made me feel a bit foggy. Things didn't bother me the way they used to, but they didn't bother me at all. I felt as if I might not be bothered to say "ouch" if someone dropped an anvil on my foot. On the plus side, the kids could scream as much as they wanted and it didn't faze me a bit.

But I wasn't me. The contemplative, moody, complicated part of me that I love (and I like to think those who love me, love) wasn't there. She went to sleep for a few weeks. I worried that she would never be back. That simply wasn't an option for me. After talking to T about it, he also agreed that it shouldn't be an option for me. So we agreed I would give it a month. After that, I would ask my doctor to switch my medication.

She came back.

She's still here. She writes on this blog every now and then. Sometimes she gets nostalgic. Sometimes she thinks too damn much. But she's me. I like her.

I hope you do too.

* Sarcasm, people. I haven't actually had any pamphlets left for me. I have had phone calls and concerned emails. Yes, I appreciate those but I also promise you all, family members, friends, random passers by, regular readers, and total strangers I sent to my blog, that I know when and how to seek professional help. But thanks for your concern. "Mwah!" (That's a kiss in Holden-speak.)

Breathe

I wake up with a crick in my neck. It's not an unfamiliar feeling to me. It happens whenever I can't sleep or I'm overly tense. It's as if I spent the entire night fighting my demons or trying to swim through quicksand.

All day at work I feel the tension in my back, shoulders, and neck. As I draft circuitous contracts and make meaningless phone calls, the tension only worsens. I feel as if I can't quite catch my breath.

At home, I feed the boys. I wipe away spills. I clean thrown food. I broker toy treaties and set lines of demarcation for play.

I clean up poop. From Hollis. From his brother. From the floor. From the furniture. A potty training battle ground. My dignity the casualty of war.

I bathe them. I force their little squirmy bodies into pajamas, a diaper, and a pull-up.

The boys and their frenetic energy don't slow as I clean their dishes, pick up their toys, fold their clothing.

And finally, wearily, I slide down to the floor in the playroom. I sit with knees up to my chest, arms around my ankles and chin upon my knees. A precarious, protective balance as I watch my boys play, chasing each other in circles around the room.

Holden veers out of the endless loop towards me, running pell-mell. I brace myself for impact, to be pulled into the game, tightening my arms and legs against his assault. But Holden slows, grabs on to me. I feel his little arms circle my back and legs.

He lays his head on my shoulder. My breath catches, stops.

I pull my arms up to hold him, to capture this moment, but he's elusive, a slippery sort of toddler. He wriggles backward from my grasp and pauses before turning. He flashes me a quicksilver smile and runs back to chase his brother.

And then I exhale.