Thanksgiving

I have a lot to be thankful for this year.


My boys are growing like weeds- a little wild and out of control, but strong and resilient in all the right ways. The Princess is, too. She's in preschool now and it's a perfect fit for her. She's made a lot of friends and loves her teachers. The oldest, Mr. Cool, is a senior this year, and I hate that we are so far away from him, but I am grateful that he is growing up to be a wonderful young man. I am so proud of everything my kids are doing- from guitar solos and prom to giggling babies and fingerpaint.

And I have my health. What's left of it, anyway. :) Physically, I could be better. The fibromyalgia is kicking my ass, leaving me with pain and tingling in my legs that waxes and wanes with no rhyme or reason. Plus a few other bonus issues.

Mentally... *sigh* you know what? Not that great. I mean, I guess I could lie to you and tell you things have been all roses and lollipops since my last post when the boys were just six months old, but it would be a big huge lie. Some of you who follow my blog already know that. As condensed as I can make it, here's what's been happening in the last six months or so...

I had some minor surgery. Not too big of a deal, but I wasn't able to care for the kids for a few months afterwards. Day care was set up for the munchkins, and some heroic friends and family stepped in to even do some night care. Despite the fabulous support network we had in place, I think this is where I started to get more depressed. I already had post-partum depression, I already felt like a crappy mom that didn't know what the hell she was doing half the time with two little boys that seemed to zap the life right out of me.

(And let me just insert here- Hopefully it's understood, but just in case- I don't share my experiences looking for pity or sympathy, I share in hopes that it will help someone else that might be going through something similar, and they will feel less alone because of reading about my experiences).

Day care ended and the kids were home for what we hopefully called "summer vacation." On Monk's days off I took the kids to the zoo and playground. We did art projects. We played outside. We had high hopes of getting at least the Princess back to school in the fall for the morning session, but we had no way of getting her there and back. More depression. Hopelessness loomed. Pain worsened.

Then I went ahead with a "solution" that I had been thinking about for awhile.

I tried to kill myself.

It made sense at the time.

As simplistic as those words are, they are pretty brutal when just written on the page like that, like they could be any sentence. I will try to explain, to work up to it, but really, nothing helps. You'll either understand and forgive or not. I hope you try to understand. (And if you are reading this and you are in the same place, there is help out there- Suicide Prevention Hotline 1800-365-4044 or 401-272-4044, Butler Hospital Patient Assessment Services 401-455-6214 or 401-455-6215. Or you can always call 911 or go to your nearest emergency room).

Here is the part where I try to explain. I still don't think the words exist for how awful I felt, or how much pain I was in. I really thought that my kids would be a lot better off with someone else as their mom, and the fact that three of them are so young only made me more sure of my decision. I figured they would forget me and learn to love a new mommy and eventually that would be the only mommy they would remember. I even had a person chosen who I thought would be a terrific mom to my kids (her handling of the whole situation proved otherwise). I figured the kids would get way more from her and my parents than me, always in pain, taking all kinds of pills to try to manage it, not to mention my other health problems. And of course there's Monk, who despite how much I complain sometimes, is really a good dad and I knew with me gone he would step up and be able to take care of everything (especially since I had made a list of instructions of everything he needed to remember to do). :)

Obviously, my plan was thwarted.

Not a bad thing.

What I was really surprised by was Monk. After they shipped me off to the crazy house (exactly what I needed, and very restful, by the way), they told me that he had arrived and wanted to speak to me. I was afraid. This was not my plan. Never when I was thinking it through did I think someone would stop me somehow. Now I was faced with a whole new set of challenges- namely, what do I tell people? Oddly enough, as okay as I had become with the idea of people eventually finding out I had taken my own life, telling them I had just "tried" to- but failed- seemed like... well, I know I should have been grateful, but it just seemed like one more thing I failed at, just like I had been a failure at being a good mom. So when the staff told me my dear husband had trekked "all the way" up to the hospital to see me, I was so scared of what he would say, what he would think of me. I thought it was a good possibility that he was coming to tell me he was taking the kids and I would get the divorce papers in the mail. But when he walked into the room, he hugged me (despite my sweat-stained paper clothes), the tightest hug he's ever given me, and choked back tears as he gently asked me what was going on and what did I need? I was shocked. I know he's my husband and all, but I guess the depression really clouded my judgement- I figured he would be relieved to be rid of me and all my problems. I was totally wrong, luckily I can see that now.

Since then our marriage has really grown stronger in some ways, but that's not to say that everything has been perfect- far from it. We've both had a lot of work to do, and it's been overwhelming sometimes. We've said things we shouldn't have. We've fought in front of the kids- something I especially hate doing. But we've also learned to appreciate each other in different ways, and not to take each other for granted (usually).

Some other things I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving weekend are: my church and my faith in God. Without the people in my church praying specifically for my recovery and a little peace for my mixed up soul, I don't know if I'd still be here. I'm thankful for my family and friends who stood by me while I sorted everything out, and helped out when we needed them to.

So I'm glad my plan didn't work. There's still a lot of stress in my world, but I'm a little better equipped to deal with it now. And I'm much happier, not to mention grateful to be alive and with my family for another holiday.