I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but recently I was walking through the grocery store and I saw the magazine cover with Britney Spears on the front, and a huge headline about mental illness. My first thought was "Welcome to my world, baby." I empathize with the girl, but not everyone has the luxury of teams of doctors and endless time to heal. I hope she gets better, but so many people deal with mental illness while working and living and not having millions of dollars to throw about. We don't hear about those people. If they stop wearing underwear and start acting nuts, they just go to the looney bin. It's sad.
Case in point: Yesterday was a good day at the daycare. Yet. When John got home I was in the middle of a panic attack, and I couldn't shake That Horrible Feeling. He walked in, saw me, visibly slumped and said "What's wrong NOW?" When he came down from reading E her bedtime story I printing out a list of psychiatrists from our insurance website. I'm not going to get to the head shaving stage, no sir. When I need help I go and get it. I worry, though, about getting the help I need. Even if it's just a chemical imbalance, needing a mental health pro in our society has a stigma to it, and that's a shame. I've thought about spending a week with doctors to get my medicines/hormones/levels all straightened out. But I'd have to do it in secret, lest people be afraid to leave their kids with me. And the kids are helpful: they keep me busy, they make me laugh, and they challenge me. My problem is not the kids, the problem is that I feel worthless, I feel like the world is about to crush me, that something horrible is about to happen. All. the. time. And then I'm OK for a few days! And then I'm not. So I need some help, but I don't want to lose the chance to be with these kids because of that fact. Catch 22!
Marriage, or any long relationship, it takes so much work and understanding. John has put up with mood swings, depression, anxiety and more. After his initial reaction last night, he hugged me, reassured me, and we talked. Dealing with this crap takes a huge toll on him, too. I marvel at how he stays with someone who needs to take medicine or becomes a mess. I marvel at how well he deals with that mess, and for how long. Sad as it was, I was glad that he was glad that I'm going back to the shrink. Well, a shrink, my last one isn't covered by our new insurance. (United Health Care! You suck!) My appointment isn't until May 29, but I feel better knowing it's coming. I'm not sure if there are any medicines I can take while trying to get pregnant, or if I should put that on hold and just "get right" first. I need to talk to someone and figure a few things out. Until last night I thought I was doing a lot better, but the crushing weight of a sudden panic attack or depressive episode has taken it's toll for too long. John said I've been acting off since about October. October? Jesus. The man is a saint of patience and love.
The worst part is that I'm never sure where I stand on the crazy spectrum until it gets bad. Is this just a bad day or two, or is my brain chemistry all fucked up again? I could rally against the unfairness of having a brain chemical imbalance, or I can just deal with it. I'll move on now, because how many times can you hear about my crazy/my husband rocks without throwing up a little on your keyboard? I think this post is the limit. But before I go back to talking about crafty, please let me thank you. Thank you for listening to this again, thank you for coming here. Getting your comments makes my day, and knowing I have a place to go and vent, or just talk about making things to someone that isn't sick of hearing about it, it makes a big difference. So Dudes: You Rock.
Tonight is John's free night, which means sewing for me! I'm going to work on my quilt. Last night I made an apron and ironed. Ironing makes me feel better. I'm a freak. Plus, I quote MC Hammer for no reason. 2 Legit! Next post, fabric pictures! And more exclamation marks!!1!!one!