octolilly [through the years]

Being quite proud of the three page list I created, we took off to the grocery store last night. I was also proud that I finished my food plan for the next two weeks. But my pride shrunk quite a bit when we reached the checkout line and realized that I’d left the ability to FUND these purchases at home on the dining room table. And so I humbly dashed home and dashed back. We now have food. We will survive.

But the only thing I regret is that I ignored my PLAN first thing this morning and promptly had a semi-interesting quesadilla, chocolate fudge ripple ice cream, a slice of Drew’s birthday cake, and a glass of chocolate milk. And that was just for breakfast. As you can see, I’m doing really well with self-control.

You’d think that after eating all of that, something would snap (besides my pants) and I’d get a CLUE that not only do I need help but I also need to take the first step. But it wasn’t until my darling and patient husband sent me an article on depression this morning that something snapped in my head and I finally figured out that I really do have to make the first step.

The article mentioned that a few key signs of depression are:

▪ Daily sadness
▪ Loss of interest in activities previously enjoyed
▪ Restless, anxious or irritable behavior
▪ Trouble concentrating, focusing or remembering
▪ Excessive weariness and lethargy
▪ Sleeping or eating too much or too little
▪ Unexplained aches and pains
▪ Thoughts of suicide or death

And that’s when I made an appointment with my doctor for Tuesday morning. Because I’ve had ALL of those symptoms. And I have spent too much of my life believing that depression isn’t real and that imbalances are only because you aren’t doing something right in the eyes of God.

I owe it to Drew to figure this monster out.

I thought I hit rock bottom a few months ago. Perhaps last summer, while in the midst of the post-partum blues that by GOD I knew I did NOT have because they don’t exist, right? It really did feel like rock bottom and I imagined there was no way to feel any worse about myself or life in general. However, I was wrong. Today, officially, is rock bottom.

I have been saying for MONTHS and MONTHS that I need help. But the only time he’s really listened was the week he took all the knives with him to work. After he told me, I almost felt peaceful. Safe. But they came trotting back home. I still can’t find where he put the scissors but I think the lure of sharp things is currently not an obsession.

But I’m still struggling. Every single day. And I’m sick of “things are going to get better” and “maybe we can talk about it this weekend.” Somehow the weekend rushes by (mostly because we eat pizza and watch Frasier to much and the inevitable snobbery we begin faking is somehow terribly funny and I forget that I’m falling apart inside) and it’s Monday morning again. And he’s off to work. And it starts all over again.

One of our Drama’s is that there is very little food in the house. He heads to the grocery store each time I need it but I’ve GOT to lose some weight so I keep thinking I need a PLAN. He offers to go pick some things up but I know that whatever he brings back will not help. Not that it’s chocolate and pies (oh, God I wish) but there isn’t anything that makes me Interested in Cooking by Any Means. So I’ve been working on an Excel spreadsheet. I love Excel. And I keep attempting to plan meals in it, adding up WW points in each column, and priding myself on the amount of blueberries and lean meats that I’ve so suavely incorporated.

Only to have him casually say (over another Boring Lunch today), “do you think maybe you should take some cooking classes or something?” AUGH!

I am not my Grandmother, or my Mother, or HIS MOTHER. I can do crock-pot things, bake, and such…but what he was really saying is that he is tired of each meal being a dramatic presentation of What On Earth Are We Going To Eat? I don’t have anything prepared when he gets home (at lunch or dinner) and I’m often in a puddle of tears.

It isn’t that I can’t cook or can’t plan – um, the Excel Spreadsheet, Presentation A. I am WORKING ON A PLAN. And I’ve made a kick-ass roast several times while living here, so that should earn me about a thousand points. At least.

So, I asked him if he thought I wasn’t a good wife and he said, “that’s not a fair question!” Yes, that was an answer whether he meant it or not. It’s pretty obvious that marriage isn’t what he thought it was going to be. I could say the same thing.

I have said this many times but I will say it once more: Our meal drama (and other drama’s) is just a symptom of a deeper problem. I NEED HELP. I am so tired of the positive platitudes that he keeps telling me. I’m an emotional mess. I cry pretty much all day long, every single day. I hate my life. That is my mantra. I say it probably FIFTY times each day.

I wish I could wake up tomorrow and we could just leave this place. I’m tired of the prying eyes, the phone calls suggesting that maybe I need to return to God since my eyes seem so sad (AUGH!), the questions of when am I going to get Drew’s hair cut because goodness – he’s going to look like a girl, and the overwhelming amount of boxes I still haven’t unpacked because I have no energy or drive to get anything done. I hate that I have no life anymore.

And I hate that the one person who is keeping me sane is the one person who is DRIVING ME CRAZY RIGHT NOW. I know that he’ll walk through the door around six o’clock and we’ll stumble through dinner drama and shout and fuss and then I’ll end up in bed, sobbing. And he’ll wrap his arms around me and I’ll calm right down and fall asleep. I want there to be more resolve than that! But it isn’t happening. Yet.

At least maybe in writing I can find some release enough to keep my tears at bay while I try to figure out what on EARTH to make for supper.