Mumstrosity

Yesterday, I was honored to share a "Mumstrosity" regarding an important anniversary for me. Click here to visit "Happy Anniversary to Me" at Mumstrosity.

And in case you haven't heard of the blog "Mumstrosity", hop over immediately and read the stories.  As Liz at Mumstrosity describes her site:

About

Welcome to Mumstrosity.com

Mumstrosity.com is based in Australia.

What is a Mumstrosity?

Mum·stros·i·ty

[Mum-stros-i-tee]

-noun , plural -ties

1. The state or character of being a monstrous mum.

2. An incident or act involving ones offspring that has resulted in a mother feeling bad or
experiencing ‘Mummy Guilt’

Mum·stros·i·ties

[Mum-stros-i-tees]

-plural

1. Collective name of several ‘Mumstrosity’ incidents.

eg. “On www.mumstrosity.com you can find a collection of ‘Mumstrosities’.”

Here you’ll find my blog, a collection of Mumstrosities and a few awesome giveaways .

We’re all human, and sometimes we just fuck things up. When your a mother, the likelihood of you fucking something up can be times by the number of children you have – in my case, x3.

You’d think the more children someone has, the better they would be at parenting. This is not the case; you see, the eldest child is always going to be a learning point, the second child you try to learn from the ‘mistakes’ you made the first time round, but things still don’t go smooth. By the time you get to number 3, or any surviving succeeding children thereafter you don’t know what the fuck to do and just let them run wild. or something.

I am, a Mumstrosity. Are you?

~Liz

About Liz

Liz is a twenty-something stay at home Mum of 3 who divides her time between drinking coffee, blogging, changing nappies and shopping. Probably in that order.
She began blogging in April 2010, started Mumstrosity.com in January 2011 and is also an admin at DigitalParents and Blogger’s Manifesto.

Happy Anniversary to Me!

Tomorrow is my one-year anniversary.

One year ago I made a poor decision.  The decision resulted in many complications in the life of my loved ones, children, and friends.  Unfortunately the consequences could have been fatal.

To celebrate life, today I choose to remember my unsuccessful decision from a year ago and honor how far I have come in my journey for balance and wellness.

(Photo: Larry Poncho Brown)


One Year Ago Today:
Many of us have been told, “Your problems aren’t that bad. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps!” or, “If you only took 15 pills, you weren’t really serious.”

Unfortunately, I was serious.

I swallowed pills. LOTS OF PILLS. As I laid in bed, I began to reconsider my actions. The wee ones had stayed the night before at the in-laws and were still there.  I stumbled downstairs and attempted to wake my sleeping husband. I said, "I think I made a bad decision." He was quite groggy and I wasn't sure if he heard me, so I shook his shoulder and said, "I may need to go to the doctor. I just swallowed a couple of pills."


Husband jumped up from the couch and went into serious panic mode. By this time I was feeling very light headed and tired. The room was spinning in pleasant circles and I was relaxed. I remember laying down on the couch and slurring, "You know what? I think it's going to be okay. I am just going to sleep for a while."


After that, my memory of the next 48 hours is sketchy at best. I have been told that Husband called my mom, who came over to our house. Since I was barely coherent, Husband carried me to my mom's car and stuffed me inside. Mom drove me to the hospital where I was whisked into the ER for evaluation.


I was committed to the "behavioral health ward" for observation and treatment. I have just returned home from the hospital and here begins the journey towards wellness...


Why did you want to take your own life?


This question is probably the hardest to answer. My problems at the time seemed insignificant, so I brushed them aside and hoped they would go away. I was in denial. I thought that by brushing the worries aside, instead of confronting them, I was somehow getting rid of them. But I was merely storing my problems in a little box in my brain -- and one day that little box become full and I guess it finally exploded.


Deep down, I don’t think I really wanted to take my own life. I wanted people to see that I had problems. I didn’t have the courage to simply put my hand up and say "I don't know what to do anymore."


I thought to myself: How can I possibly go up to a loved one and say, ‘I’ve got problems and I think I’m going to kill myself because of them’? I was embarrassed. I certainly didn’t want people saying that I had psychiatric problems.


At the threshold of suicide, I sought to understand the extreme limits of my ability and willingness to endure my emotional anguish and still remain alive.


There is "a realm of experience that is ruinous, where ceaseless pain suffocates the spirit and consumes the will to live". These were the moments when I began to consider the possibility of suicide. Faced with the crazy swirling of all the feelings, thoughts, and actions...


Suicide attempts cannot be understood by isolating any one moment in time that leads up to "the event". Instead I look at it and consider: What frightful clash of internal and external forces could cause a person to consider self-annihilation a feasible and reasonable option? What abandonment of hope could challenge my basic innate instincts toward self-preservation?

The story of suicide begins with the feeling of an unbridgeable sense of alienation, and a deep need to hide your pain. Withdrawal begins and then deepens -- gradually, almost imperceptibly. Eventually, the person who was once there is no longer present... she only goes through the motions of living. Hiding behind a facade, feeling isolated, and vulnerable to the urgings of suicidal thoughts. When left unchecked, the thoughts entice her to one fatal choice.

I am lucky that I survived that nearly fatal choice.  My precious wee ones and loved ones did not need that fateful choice to be successful...

I now know they need me here.  I think of all of the wonderfulness I would have missed had I exited the stage.

NOT.THAT.GIRL

Sometimes I joke about being batty. But I guess I assume everyone must seem that way at one time or another, right?! However, I think the last week or two has proven that I am, perhaps, as cracked as Humpty Dumpty.

Cracked. Demented. Unhinged. Deranged. Insane. Cuckoo. Mad. Touched. Looney.

Emotionally, I've been a complete mess. A blubbering, teary mess. Over nothing. In the last 48 hours, tears have overwhelmed me SEVERAL times for all kinds of trivial reasons. Things that I normally wouldn't give a second thought to have turned me all kinds of melancholy.

I'm not that girl. 

I. AM. NOT. THAT. GIRL.

Or at least I wasn't recently.

*sigh*

How do I find a STABLE ME again? 

That is the million dollar question right now.

Beautiful Crying? Not On My Watch

The past few months, perhaps, I've mentioned my emotional challenges and slight (aka major breakdowns).  A few weekends ago, I had quite a meltdown.  Let's just call it an "Ugly Cry".  I'm happy to report that I'm getting better every day.  Your support and sympathy was not only greatly appreciated, it lifted my spirits to heights usually only experienced after consumption of several consecutive chocolate bars.

Surprisingly, Husband was scared shitless very concerned about me during the Ugly Cry.  I've been known to cry, but I do my best to NEVER cry around him -- or the children.

So even though he was hoping to avoid my crying jag by staying clear of our bedroom where I was holed-up in the afternoon, he was unsuccessful.  The only bathroom in our home is on our second level, right outside our bedroom.  Apparently Husband tried to tiptoe up the stairs and into the bathroom, but he made a mistake when he flushed the toilet.  I heard the toilet flush and called out, "Who's there?!" and he was stuck popping his head through the bedroom door.  He took one glance at my puffy eyes, red nose, and lack of motivation to get out of bed to make a family supper (because in my world, Ugly Cry automatically exempts you from cooking) and said ever so carefully (lest my temper flare at a random inflection in his tone of voice were to set me off again...) "You okay?"

At that point, I was F.I.N.E. (F**ked-up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional) and simply nodded.

But boy, oh boy!  What an awful Ugly Cry will get you.

Ugly Cry got me:

* Take-out supper for the family.

* I didn't have to fold one piece of laundry all weekend.

* Children were kept occupied so I could lay in bed all afternoon, reading to my hearts content. 

* No smart-ass comments from Husband for an entire weekend!
* AND, biggest bonus, he cleaned the toilet for the first time EVER in our decade of time together.

SIGH!  

Let me reiterate: I'm happy to report that I'm getting better every day.

Thank you!

Yep! Still lots of crying over my dear friend, Kelli. Having a hard time functioning. Please pray for me and more importantly, her family. Thank you!

Should have...

I should have realized. I SO VERY MUCH should have realized the desperateness of her situation...

Sigh!

It's so insane that folks still cannot talk about their mental health issues. Why is mental illness still so taboo? My heart still bleeds for my sweetest friend who killed herself last Wednesday. Why couldn't I help her? Why couldn't she reach out to me or any other of her numerous friends? Why did her NINE YEAR OLD DAUGHTER have to find her dead? Seriously?!?!?!?!?!? As a survivor of a valiant, recent attempt... I don't understand.

Please don't get me wrong. I think it was an accidental overdose, but I still am not finding forgiveness in my heart, which makes me even more angry and upset with her AND MYSELF! I should have recognized the severity of the signs. I should have been there!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I should have there...

Beyond Repair

My heart is utterly broken and possibly beyond repair.

A dearest friend committed suicide yesterday morning. Her impossibly innocent and sweet 9-year old daughter found her dead, as well as her six year old son. She leaves behind a husband, 9 year old daughter and 6-year old son.

I'm haunted by the fact that she told me less than two weeks ago, "Ann! I am you! You are me! Please get help. Don't stay in your depression. You can get better. Do it for your kids. GET HELP."

REALLY?!?!??!?!?!

Do NOT tell me to "do it for my kids" if you are going to take yourself out a week or two later. I'm so angry and sad and disappointed and guilty and FUCKING PISSED OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am heart-broken and want more than anything in this world, I want to have just have a few more moments with KF to hug her and tell her that LIFE IS WORTH LIVING.

And on the other hand, I feel like I want to go drink too much and take a tons of pills too. I get the crazy, DUAL, simultaneously thinking that depressed people think -- such as, "you are not enough as a human being so the world would be better without you" AND the sane person thinking who says, "Nothing is that bad in the morning -- hold on until morning."

I am aware that this post doesn't make sense, but I can't help myself.

I am heart broken and sad and devastated and trying to be strong for everyone else -- but what I really want to do is curl up and cry for the next several months. Please pray for my friend and her family.

We all need it.

Light the World

As I've mentioned before, I've suffered from and dealt with severe depression for most of my adult life. It was particularly challenging dealing with my depression after the birth of my children. I definitely had a bad bout of postpartum depression after my youngest child, Little Man, was born in November 2006. Fortunately, I was able to get the help I needed but it took a lot of advocating on my own behalf -- at a time when I felt least able to advocate for myself. The horrifically sad news is -- many women are unable to advocate for themselves and do not receive the help they desperately need.Please check out some of the below resources if you or someone you know is dealing with depression -- postpartum or otherwise.

There is help out there!

My life is . . .

is totally and utterly crazy. In trying to prepare myself for all the mental aerobics that have been ensuing due to my participation in the PHP program, I have felt unskilled. BIG. TIME. My mind aches like never before and all my emotions feel raw and fragile.

Yet, even through all this busy-ness, I still feel extremely blessed. There have been a million times where I catch myself thinking, "This experience / phase in my life journey will either make me invincible or break me."

Road to Wellness

Because of a bad decision or two, I am attending an extremely intensive three-week mental health program.

The Minnesota Department of Health's website describes a Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP) as "a time limited, structured program of psychotherapy and other therapeutic services and provided in an outpatient hospital facility or community mental health center. The goal of PHP is to resolve, or stabilize, an acute episode of mental illness. PHP includes intensive therapeutic services provided by a multi-disciplinary staff to treat the recipient's mental illness. Examples of PHP services include: individual, group, and family psychotherapy services; individualized activity therapies; and patient training and education. Recipients are admitted to a partial hospitalization program based on a physician referral."

* * * * *

To date, I have attended approximately 10 days of the 15-day program. It is reminding me of long ago forgotten, healthy coping skills, identify my distorted thinking patterns, become aware of my negative self-talk and replace the negative thoughts with positive or healthy behaviors/though patterns. Sometimes self-doubt creeps back in to my floundering brain, then I begin feeling foolish for needing assistance regulating my emotions. SIGH!

I am tired.

Mental Illness

I have lost several important people in my life to suicide.

Losing someone close to you to suicide is something only those who have experienced it first hand can really understand. Everyone seems to have their own ideas about what events lead to the suicide. There is always more than enough blame to go around, not to mention the deep self doubt that maybe, the survivors could have or should have done or said something to change the end result.

No one is to blame. Let me state it again: I want to be clear -- no one is to blame for another person's suicide or suicide attempt. Suicide is the end result of mental illness. Whether the illness was long-term or short-term, at the time of suicide, a thought disorder was present.

Click here for a suicide fact sheet. Additional information about suicide and depression is available through SAVE's website.

If you are thinking about suicide, please click here or here or here or here or here for help.

Or call 1-800-273-TALK (8255), a free, 24-hour hotline available to anyone in suicidal crisis or emotional distress. Your call will be routed to the nearest crisis center to you. It's CONFIDENTIAL and FREE!

Failed Attempt - Lots of Pills

Many of us have been told, “Your problems aren’t that bad. They don’t add up to suicide,” or, “If you only took 15 pills, you weren’t really serious.”

Unfortunately, I was serious.

Last weekend, I swallowed pills. LOTS OF PILLS. As I laid in bed, I began to reconsider my actions. I stumbled downstairs and attempted to wake my sleeping husband. I said, "I think I made a bad decision." He was quite groggy and I wasn't sure if he heard me, so I shook his shoulder and said, "I may need to go to the doctor. I just swallowed a couple of pills."

Husband jumped up from the couch and went into serious panic mode. By this time I was feeling very light headed and tired. The room was spinning in pleasant circles and I was relaxed. I remember laying down on the couch and slurring, "You know what? I think it's going to be okay. I am just going to sleep for a while."

After that, my memory of the next 48 hours is sketchy at best. I have been told that Husband called my mom, who came over to our house. Since I was barely coherent, Husband carried me to my mom's car and stuffed me inside. Mom drove me to the hospital where I was whisked into the ER for evaluation.

I was committed to the "behavioral health ward" for observation and treatment. I have just returned home from the hospital and here begins the journey towards wellness...

Why did you want to take your own life?

This question is probably the hardest to answer. My problems at the time seemed insignificant, so I would brush them aside and hope they would go away. I guess I was in denial that by brushing them aside, instead of confronting them, I was merely storing my problems in a little box in my brain -- and one day that little box would become full and explode.

Deep down, I don’t think I really wanted to take my own life. I wanted people to see that I had problems. I didn’t have the courage to simply put my hand up and say "I don't know what to do anymore."

I thought to myself: How can I possibly go up to someone and say, ‘I’ve got lots of problems emotionally and I think I’m going to kill myself because of them’? I was embarrassed. I certainly didn’t want people saying that I had psychiatric problems.

At the threshold of suicide, I sought to understand the extreme limits of my ability and willingness to endure my emotional anguish and still remain alive.

There is "a realm of experience that is ruinous, where ceaseless pain suffocates the spirit and consumes the will to live". These are the moments when one begins to consider the possibility of a suicide attempt. Faced with all of the feelings, thoughts, and actions...

Suicide attempts cannot be understood by isolating any one moment in time that leads up to "the event". An important question emerges: What frightful clash of internal and external forces could cause a person to consider self-annihilation a feasible and reasonable option? What abandonment of hope could challenge my basic innate instincts toward self-preservation?

The story of suicide begins with the feeling of an unbridgeable sense of alienation, and a deep need to hide your pain. Withdrawal begins and then deepens -- gradually, almost imperceptibly. Eventually, the person who was once there is no longer present... she only goes through the motions of living. Hiding behind a facade, feeling isolated, and vulnerable to the urgings of suicidal thoughts. When left unchecked, the thoughts entice her to one fatal choice.

Let's Be Real

Oh my goodness! I just read the most "real" article I have ever had the pleasure of reading about taking anti-depressants, pregnancy and parenting. It is quite a long article, but it so very worth it.

http://www.brainchildmag.com/essays/winter2009_moore.asp

I, just like the articles author, struggled violently with the decision of whether I should (or shouldn't) take anti-depressants while I was pregnant. It is such a double-edged sword. Was it safer for my unborn baby to have a basket case of a mom-to-be or to have anti-depressants passed through my blood stream into theirs? What about my children who were already born?! Was it safer and "healthier" for them to see me as a sniffling, crabby, bitch or as a stable mommy who was content, patient and loving?

Read the article and seriously contemplate the negative stereotypes and bias' our culture still harbors against folks (specifically moms!) who suffer from mental illness.