Can't Do It Alone

I've been weaning off of antidepressants (well, TRYING) since probably January of this year and had to go on another antidepressant to get off the 1st one. It's not working. My anxiety is through the roof and I'm sick with worry over things that I can't even define. Things that I would have been able to deal with in an appropriate manner now send me into tears. I couldn't sleep for 2 days straight, nor could I eat, and I can no longer remember why it seemed so important to me to go off of antidepressants in the first place. So, I called the doctor and got an appointment and got on a therapeutic dose of the 2nd antidepressant I was taking to get off the 1st. Oh, and something to sleep at night, until that SSRI kicks in.

The thing is, I remember this feeling as EXACTLY what I felt almost every day of my life from about 3rd grade on. This used to be my normal. No wonder I was so fucked up in my teenage years. After 10 or so years of normalcy, to go back to that was unbearable for even 3 days. No wonder I wanted to never wake up every single time I went to sleep. No wonder I was so sickly thin in my youth. Fuck. There is no way I can do that again.

I've read different internet articles wherein people speak about how you're not "living authentically" when you're on an antidepressant, that the reason you're depressed is because you need more therapy to deal with other shit you've repressed, that you should WELCOME the heightened emotions because it means you're ALIVE. Well, shit all over that. I firmly believe that the people who believe these things have not reached the same emotional depths that some of us have, the depths that have made me believe that hell is actually a state of mind.

I've done therapy, I've made the hardest change I never thought I could in going NC, I have a life that's worth living. I will be damned if I'll let my fucking brain ruin it. I will not let my faulty neurons make me into a selfish, sobbing wretch, steal me from my children, bludgeon any joy I see in this world. I will not let me be over because at some point I have convinced myself I didn't need the help that these medications give me.

I am weak, but I am going to be strong again.

A Few More Steps

I had a terrible, fragile weekend. All the dark things crept up on me, and they were so dark and cold. I bounced back on Monday, thankfully. I haven't had an episode like that for 10 years. The hungry ghosts wanted their pound of flesh in the most intense and lonely way. A little gift from my childhood and DNA. All I can do is stamp my foot and insist the ghosts won't take me. It's excruciatingly humbling to feel their strength. I cut the ties. I cut the ties.

Rant 101: It Starts Young

If you are a parent, and you're not respectable, why on earth should your children respect you? Because you coupled with someone and created another human being? If you are a giant piece of shit whose claim to fame is banging more dope in a 24-hour period than all your frenemies, you have no fucking right to be up in arms when your young teenager, who's seen IT ALL in their young life, clocks you in the face and tells you they'll kill you if you ever touch them again. When that kid has seen you beat up their mom/their siblings all their life; when they know what it feels like to have bruises and emotional scars for having the nerve to be in their house; when you have never given them a second of honest affection - how can you demand they love and trust you, and above all, MIND YOU.

How can a kid respect such a stupid person? A person who didn't plan to have a family, but, whoops - the babies just happened. Or, my life sucks, so let's bring a child into this situation. A person who demands you respect them because THEY MADE YOU, you wouldn't be here because of them, in this fine, lovely, warm-and-fucking-fuzzy life they've given you. When a good night in the house is the only night both of the parents are gone - maybe with their very-important-friends, but you are not allowed to have friends because YOU ARE A CHILD. I CAN HAVE THESE FRIENDS BECAUSE I MADE YOU. I can have friends who leer at you, I can have friends with obscene criminal backgrounds, I can have friends who are STUPIDLIKEME because my child/ren don't have the right to care who I surround myself/them with. You have to feed yourself (I bought the fucking food, can't you cook it?), clothe yourself (if you don't like your 3 sizes too small clothes, fuck you!) and survive without any real humanity. And to top the shit off, YOU HAVE TO LIVE WITH ME. What a revelation.

I see this theme so often, and it hits close to home. My parents didn't bang dope, but they are/were stupid, stupid people, and I feel lots of empathy for these kids who are just trying to grow up so they can get the hell out. If their parents weren't narcissists to begin with, their addictions made them so. I'm a little tired of people using their, "I'm sick. It's a sickness." It might be a sickness, and it's not a fucking excuse.

That goes for your straight narcissists, too. No excuse.

Quit making babies you can't give love to. Just quit. You can't raise them, and you don't have any right to tell them how to raise themselves if you can't even wipe your own ass without a map.

What to Name It?

It's been four months since NC with the mother. I haven't missed her a bit.

I've been continuing with meditation and trying to heal myself. I've been immersing in things I enjoy, especially genealogy. My latest kick is DNA genealogy, and in the spirit, I did a DNA test to try to track down some family history. I then uploaded my raw data to a website that scans it and lets you know if there are any red flags. Turns out that, genetically, anyway, I have two mutations that are known to cause hemochromatosis, an excess of iron buildup in the body. I'm waiting for the blood tests to come back to see if I am affected, and now the burden is on me to contact all my aunts & uncles to let them know they may have this genetic thing. Oh, yeah, I've got to tell my mother, too.

So, I'm sticking with a looser version of the form letter I found on the CDC website to inform family members. They're getting a letter. I greatly fear that when mother gets her letter, she will take it as an invitation to start up again. So, I'm panicky and keep putting off sending the letters.

It's a test. I made it four months and now I'm being forced to approach the gates and whistle to see if the dogs come a-runnin'. I'm arming myself with pepper spray and a fight-or-flight prep, and I don't want to have to do this. Ssshhhhhhhhit.

It's Good

Since I sent the "gift" back to mother a month and a half ago, I haven't had contact with her. She has sent Christmas and birthday cards to my little boy and not to my older son, presumably because she feels she should do her best to make the youngest see her in a favorable light. My husband has opened these cards for the little one and screened them. It is so friggin' freeing to be able to envision an NC life. I can really feel how amazing NC is. A life without being gaslighted, sabotaged, lied to, corrupted, isolated, and inappropriately controlled is sweet.

It wasn't that long ago I was defending her and in denial about her manipulations. In a biblical phrase, which appropriate for her bible-thumping ways, "For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face..." (1 Corinthians 13:12) She used to say how she preferred the King James version, but I couldn't speak as to her preference now that she can't shove her beliefs down my throat.

I can just BE.

Love

I want to let the N-survivors know that you are part of my family of choice - honest communication, no strings to strangle on. Although I don't identify with mainstream religion, I find myself getting a bit maudlin around the edges this holiday season. If you were at the N-free holiday party in my mind, you would probably get pics of me that would vary from mildly embarrassing to career-changing, and I'd be good with that. Here's to another year of moving forward. Love ya :)

And It Continues in the Grand Tradition

Last night when I got home, I picked through my mail. One of the packages was a largeish priority mail, and I thought it was my shipment of tea, so I ripped into it. When I peeked inside, there was a package wrapped in gift wrap. Without taking the package out of the mailer, I flipped the mailer over and looked at the handwriting on the back. Fuck. That's mom's handwriting. Then I think, well, maybe she's sending an early Christmas present for my little one. So I pull the package out and find a "To Bessie, with Love, Mom" sticker on the side.

I'm not opening that shit for anything. It's going back to her unopened and with a note telling her that I don't want gifts, I want to be left alone. The more distance I get from her, the more keenly I feel the manipulation when it occurs. I haven't talked to her for months, since before the letter communications, and I haven't communicated anything to her between my post where she sent me the flowery/snide birthday card. Now she's sending me a gift-wrapped present by mail? So, I'm like a 4-year-old who she can lure back to her fold with some gift? Also, the passive-aggressiveness that goes along with this burns my ass. I haven't talked Christmas at all with her or my DS, so this lets me know she believes she won't see me at Christmas. If you're not going to see me at Christmas (which I know, and obviously she knows), send my kids something, asshole. Don't give me shit. I'm insulted, and I see how much she doesn't fucking know me at all.