It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
I’m not even sure where to start, to be quite honest- so I’ll start with I haven’t been great lately. I haven’t wanted to write. Knit. Take pictures. See much of anyone. Go anywhere. Or partake in actual verbal conversations, though the ones I’ve engaged in lately have managed to cheer me up some. Even my sense of humor has been waning.
I am uncomfortable, even in places I am usually comfortable at. Uncomfortable with people I was once comfortable with.
These past few months have pretty much turned me into a feral cat looking for someone to leave a bowl of food and water out on the porch. Preferably not trail mix, though- I learned last week that too much of something can be very bad for my stomach.
There have still been bright moments along with the not so bright ones, which give me hope. And much needed breaks from the anxi-pression tag team duo pummeling me as of late.
My son will be moving in a few weeks to his father’s– something that I think is going to be best for him. They have a great program at the high school there where the teenager can earn dual credits, so hopefully he’ll only have a year of college left once he graduates.
It will be a bigger city with more opportunity and diversity. Exposure my child desperately needs.
There’s a small chance he may only stay the summer but I’d be surprised if he changed his mind.
Grief comes in waves. Even though the past few years have been hard, I am going to miss him. I’ve been the primary parent for 14 years- doing pretty much everything on my own (luckily with help from family and friends when needed). It will be a huge change for all of us.
But I am going to be honest. There are a lot of things I haven’t enjoyed about parenting. Times I wished I’d been able to have a little more freedom. Times I wondered if I should have been a parent at all. And I have been thinking of all the things I could have done better.
Hindsight is a bitch.
Life has not turned out remotely close to what I imagined, but I have done the best I can with what I have- including parenting. I’ve tried to do what I thought would be best for my child. He has always been safe, loved, fed, and clothed. In fact, growing up here, he’s been rather spoiled by his grandparents.
However, he’s reached the age where this is a decision he can make for himself.
Once my heart stopped breaking and I quit comparing myself/feeling like a failure, I began to think about life as the weekend parent. I realized I would be able to do things I haven’t gotten to do for years.
I could take longer trips if I wanted. I would be able to come and go as I please 90% of the time now. I will be available to work whatever hours, even have the availability to pick up a second job without wearing the guilt of not being home very often.
I won’t feel guilty for coming home late because I went to the gym after work (once the rona is no longer an issue). The leftovers will still be in the fridge the next day when I go to eat them for lunch. I would have a lot more time to myself to recharge/enjoy being alone. No interruptions. There will even be more opportunities for sleepovers at the gentleman caller’s.
But I think my son moving might be the best thing for our relationship. And again, the best thing for him.
His upcoming change of address has put a fire under my ass to get my finances together in order to move out to the country by December. I haven’t figured out how, quite yet, but I have a couple of ideas up my sleeve.
In the tow of all this pending change, all of my wild emotions, I realized getting my shit together means finally making an appointment to talk about antidepressants. So I did.
This is part of taking care of myself. If I am going to be successful, to be a better parent, it’s a must. I know we don’t always have good days, but I would like to have more good days than bad.
I don’t enjoy all of the up and down, the irritability, the sadness, the overthinking, feeling lethargic, the need to be left alone for days, or having to tell people repeatedly that my mental health is shit so I will have to call or see them later.
Possibly months later.
I also noted that while I am well aware I juggle with anxiety and depression, I have to accept them. That they are part of me and it isn’t my fault.
Being aware and accepting it are two different things. Someone close to me, who also struggles with mental health, said they wished they could have just 24 hours where they felt good again. And when I thought about it, after saying I wished I could take their struggle/pain away, it hit home. Hard.
I think it’s my mental health that makes me so curious about our quest as human beings to seek out happiness. To find joy. To discover that half full glass of something delicious.
Because I want more of it.
I don’t expect the medication to be a cure all, but I do think it will help keep me steady so I can stay on track and move forward.
I’ll find a sweet spot again. I just have to keep going, one step at a time. Embracing the good days and giving myself grace on the not so great ones.
I hope all of you guys are doing okay- I know I’m not the only one struggling right now.
More posts to come.