Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Springtime and the living's easy....sort of. sometimes. okay not really.

It's so weird how cyclical I am. It's as though the individual cells in my body can anticipate things before my brain starts to figure it all out.

I get edgy this time of year.

There are reasons, so goddamn many of them.

Yeah, so this post will likely have a lot of the swears. You've been warned.

I was reminded of one of them this morning by my Timehop app. I think I may need to seriously delete that thing. As fun as it is to see old pictures of the kids and all that, it's hell on someone with PTSD because I get transported back in time.

Today it was this one.


2012 was rough. I mean, it wasn't as bad as 2011 because holy shit that year sucked from beginning to end, but 2012 was rough.

This day, three years ago. I can't honestly even remember who the second person in the hospital was that day, but I know for sure that one of them was my Mom. She had been flown to a hospital almost an hour away from here because they were trying to save her remaining leg. I was leaving my kids here with my inlaws, then driving back and forth from that hospital almost every day so that I could sit in a chair and watch her sleep, hoping to catch some doctor that never showed up, trying to ask questions that never had answers. Until one day when the conversations all stopped because she decided they couldn't talk to me anymore. HIPAA is a law with good intentions that makes life hell for families.

She told me that afternoon that I hadn't been there for her, then told me that she was leaving as soon as she could get out of the hospital and that there was nothing I could do to stop her.

She told me this after I'd left my children for her, drove almost an hour to be there and sat beside her for hours before she woke up.

I was stuck firmly in the middle of the generational sandwich, trying my hardest to take care of her and my kids and my marriage, failing at all of it miserably. I was never enough to anyone, for anyone and my health was suffering as a result. I ended up in therapy. My kid ended up in therapy.

It was awful. Truly.

I start to think that maybe it's finally time that I write about some of these things that happened and then my throat feels like it's going to start closing up and my heart races and I shut that right fucking down because I don't need to be throwing myself into a panic attack.

I'm in a good place most of the time, and I need to stay here.

Sorry, Timehop...I know you're a cool app for most people, but I just can't right now.

I was telling a friend, one who is struggling in some of the same ways I do, that most of the time I am good. Upright and functional, I even shower and go outside sometimes on purpose.

Then there are the other times.

Thankfully they don't happen all that often, thankfully the kids are so busy and needy and demanding that they force me out of my funk almost all the time. Thankfully.

Thankfully this time of year brings longer days and brighter sunshine and abundant vitamin D to go along with the unsettling it does deep in my psyche.

Thankfully I'm to the point where I force myself to go outside and soak up the rays of the sun because I know that it helps.

And thankfully I have been doing this long enough that I recognize when I'm having a bad day. So I let it happen. I feel all the feelings, wallow in the mud a little bit, binge watch something on Netflix, cry in the shower and get it over with.

So, like I told my friend, if you need to talk to someone who understands, I'm your gal.

And if you want company down there in the hole, scoot over. I'll join ya.

Just know that I'm dragging you out of the hole with me tomorrow.

Because it's spring.

And spring is fucking beautiful.

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