Depression

Sibling bonds

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I saw my mother-in-law last night…it was the first time I’ve seen her since she died. She told me that she would be there for me. But I wasn’t in my house…I was in my childhood home. My husband was there too. He was trying to fix something that was  not fixable..

I woke up crying at 4:30 AM. I feel it happening again.

When I got the news, I was driving my car. I wanted to cry.

Then I felt angry. I drove faster than usual. I wanted to punch someone. I almost wanted someone to hurt me so I could kick, punch, scream, and fight back.

When I got home from my swimming class, I wanted to go for a long hard run. But it was getting dark out.

I felt deep sorrow. It took me to some dark places. It brought back demons so ugly, dark, and evil that I couldn’t possibly outrun them by running hard.

How could we not see what was happening? When Matt was taken off of his anti-psychotic medicine what did we expect would happen?

Matt was taken off of his medication because long term use was straining his liver..

Then started the sleepless nights of agitation. The tics and Tourette’s. The gagging and throwing up of meals. The extreme anxiety.

It wasn’t withdrawal. It wasn’t a virus. The old Matt was back. We just didn’t recognize him because he was gone for so long.

Don’t you remember Alissa? I used to read you books at night…books like Little Women. But Matt would pace the floors in agitation keeping everyone up until midnight. I had to stop reading to you. I had to be with him.

Then yesterday my mom told me that the hallucinations came back.

It started with a dream. A dream of Matt hurting my niece. In the dream, he killed her. He has become fixated on hurting her.

You see, I was Matt’s first victim. Year after year, day after day..it was me that he hurt. He punched me. He kicked me. He clawed me. He bit me.

After awhile, it seemed almost normal.

I wasn’t allowed to fight back. I wasn’t allowed to feel anything.

Then I grew up and had a little girl of my own.

Matt became obsessed with her…or I should say that he became obsessed with hurting her. What would happen if I held her head under water? What would happen if I twist her arm? Would she cry? The voices told him to hurt her.

Then one day he did.

He hurt my daughter on her 4th birthday. After my brother and husband wrestled Matt off of her, my brother Luke took Matt home. Matt went into a psychotic episode so bizarre. He muttered to himself for hours not seeming to be aware of his surroundings.

He still obsessed about hurting my daughter for years afterwards. I had to isolate myself from my family. I did not allow Matt around my daughter for years after that.

Then Matt went on anti-psychotic medicine and became a very peaceful loving person. He started giving hugs instead of bruises. Eventually we were able to reunite as a family once again.

But then this happened.

My mom decided to put Matt back on his medication despite the possible health risks.

Matt loves his family and doesn’t understand why he would want to hurt them.

My brother Luke is keeping his little girls away from Matt until he gets better again.

I never understood how autistic people could be violent. Hearing voices that tell you to hurt someone you love does not seem like a symptom of autism to me. But, a lot of autistic people I know who are violent are non-verbal. Would they be telling the same stories if they could talk?? How is this even possible?

I took the news about this pretty hard.

We will be okay. We will get through this again.

I just feel very compelled to share my story with you.

Please, if you are going through something similar…I would love to hear from you. I feel very alone in all of this.

 

A lot of praying, without a prayer

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Playing the waiting game is never the fun and games it sounds like.

Yesterday my mom and Paul’s mom had doctor appointments.

As expected, my mom had the best news. The doctor wasn’t sure if she has glaucoma. She will have to do more waiting. But she does have cataracts and needs surgery.

My mom has always been the best driver that I ever knew, up until recently that is. I noticed little changes, like pulling out in front of traffic when she really didn’t have enough time or showing greater than necessary hesitation.

She is starting to forget little things too. She forgot my sister-in-law’s birthday. She forgot about my daughter’s holiday concerts. I found myself so busy at work that I didn’t have time to remind her either. The gradual decline is troubling at times.

My mother-in-law Martha’s decline has been more of a steep descent lately. She wanted to die at home which is not going to happen. She slept during her oncology appointment yesterday. The doctor decided to stop all treatment and keep her at the nursing home. He used words like keeping her comfortable.

I did start writing about two sentences of a eulogy. Oh, I already wrote it. I wrote it in my head while I was driving, running, and trying to sleep but I can’t seem to write it down on paper.

I started going through the old pictures. I didn’t realize how poor quality they are. The smiling images are not centered, blurry, or dark more often than not. I have gotten used to taking 50 images of the same event and deleting the ones that are not perfect. It’s not like the good old days where we took one or two pictures in an effort not to waste film and having them all turn out bad. I can’t part with the less than perfect images because that is all I have left besides the fading memories.

I feel depressed. Tomorrow is the anniversary of my grandma’s death, next week is the anniversary of the death of Aunt Grace. The despair of death and dying is surrounding me. It makes me feel nostalgic and melancholy on these bleak days of midwinter. This is the month that I lost the most loved ones and another will soon be added to the list.

We last visited Martha at the nursing home on Sunday. How I hate it there. I wondered how the young employees could work there day in and out without pondering their future fate. It seems like a nice place. I haven’t seen anyone mistreated.

What I hate is the joy that is robbed from having no hope. There is no hope that she is going to get better. There is no hope that her life will ever be the same. The despair of not having any hope left is emotionally draining. There is nothing we can do about it. Every time we see her, she is getting worse.

I have always clung to hope in the darkest times, but there isn’t a prayer although there is a lot of praying.

It was hard seeing Martha on Sunday. When we got there, she was laying in an uncomfortable position. We worked together to move her body. I lifted her shoulder while supporting her head. Her words came out in a mumbled whisper. She pointed and we guessed what was being said. She kept saying that her mouth was dry but she didn’t want to drink. She rummaged through her purse for aspirin although she just got pain medicine. She faded in and out of sleep.

Before we leave, we always take her for a walk to see the birds. The nurse carried her into a wheelchair and hooked her up to her portable oxygen tank. Paul pushed the wheelchair as I walked alongside with the IV. You would think that it would be easy to push the IV along but it rolled along like a shopping cart with a messed up wheel. I swerved around as I tried to avoid obstacles trying not rip or twist up her cords that were everywhere.

The birds flitted about in a relaxed manner. The residents spoke of the birds. They spoke of a man that comes around to clip the birds nails and clean out the cages. They spoke of this with great importance. They weren’t in a hurry, they were content to sit and watch the birds like it was the most important thing in the world.

It seemed like a mystery to me. The residents didn’t seem worried or to live in the hustle bustle world of deadlines and time constraints like most of us do, yet they have less time..

Tonight Paul and I will visit Martha. Darryl said that her condition has deteriorated considerably since our visit two days ago. We sense the urgency and are nervous when we hear the phone ring.

It could be any time now..

 

 

 

This, whatever it is..

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Last night after writing, I felt restless.

I had an inability to focus and no desire to do so.

I left home.

I walked out the door and drove off without telling anyone I was going.

I drove aimlessly for an hour. I am drawn to places where I once was happy, but are lost to me now. I drive to the house I used to live in when we were first married, to my grandma’s house, or to the sailing club devoid of boats for the winter. Last night I drove by Lisa’s old house. I glanced as I passed and saw children playing inside. I drove along our old running route. Then I drove aimlessly after that.

I had a conversation with God while I drove. Why weren’t you there for us back then God? Why weren’t you there for me? Where are you now? But I didn’t receive an answer. I entertained the thought that he was never there. Maybe there is no God. I don’t know if I believe or trust anymore. My faith is held intact by a small string.

Paul was worried when I got back home. He forced me to talk to him when I would rather stare off into space, be alone, or attack him so he would stay away. I felt flooded with despair. It threatened to drown me. What is my purpose? Why am I even here?

The sadness was relentless, but I fell into an exhausted sleep only to awake hours later from a horrifying nightmare. I dreamed that I went back in time. There was a horrific lightening storm like one I never saw before. The lightening burned holes in the ground and tried to pull me into it. I had no way to protect anyone. My kids were in it while they were younger, I found my little brothers, and relatives that are long gone now. I couldn’t protect anyone and had trouble finding them.

I awoke in absolute terror. I wrapped myself tightly in my blankets to try to feel safe. But the feelings of terror surrounded me for another half an hour. I got up for awhile, unable to sleep. Then I fell back into a restless sleep for the rest of the night.

I awoke feeling nervous and afraid, like an intruder was in the house. I felt jumpy. I know the feelings weren’t true. I was alone, and no one was there..

The memories keep rushing back. Images ricochet through my mind..Sounds echo through my head… I hear the laughter of children on the playground… I hear them mocking Matt.. I watch as Matt kicks the girl at the roller rink.. I hear her screams and her dad’s angry yell.. I walk through the playground with Matt and his therapist trying to see if the laughter of the children will trigger a meltdown to try to help him somehow stop..I hear the cats cry..I hear a music box and Aunt Grace talking..I hear the laughter of Uncle Harold..

The images and sounds haunt my mind. Whispers of memory. Distorted, out of focus, yet somehow real, remembered faintly.

Then I realized that I was back home. I am feeling the way that I felt back then. The anger, the depression, the fear, the insomnia, the nightmares..

Paul said that maybe I should take some time off to rest. But I am going to work…I am following my regular exercise routine…and I am grasping onto my little string of faith..

If I let go, I will surely drown…

 

Same road, different paths

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A few days ago, my neighbor committed suicide.

This past week after my kids got home from school, Angel told me that she thought something was wrong. “Mom, there are a lot of cars in the neighbor’s driveway. There is also a police car in the driveway. He never had that many cars in his driveway, even for Christmas or Easter.” I looked over that way in curiosity, but dismissed any concerns because I saw the neighbor the day before and he was fine.

It all started a couple of houses down a couple of months before. Our neighbor had a rummage sale on a cool fall weekend. He told us that his wife of over 20 years left him for another man. They never had children, but were delighted to see ours when we stopped by year after year on Halloween. We looked through his rummage sale of broken dreams. He sold empty picture frames where wedding pictures, happy moments, and vacations used to be. He sold games, his and her costumes, wine glasses, and kitchen items. Then after that weekend, the driveway was empty up until a few days ago.

 I frequently saw our neighbor out on the road. When we first moved here, he walked his two dogs by our house. Then after awhile, he walked with one dog. That dog would walk slowly and the man would wait patiently. Then after awhile, the man walked by himself. He was a large man and every time he went by my dog would bark. He walked in all kinds of weather sometimes with weights. He wore a blaze orange hat. Every time he saw me he was friendly. He noticed when I ran longer runs and asked if was training for something special. I told him about the marathon. He wished me luck.

There are a couple of people that I see often while running and he was one of them. I spoke to him a few weeks back. I think it was about the weather. I told him that I couldn’t wait for warmer days as I ran by. Then I saw him the day before he died. We were going in separate directions on the same road. 

I feel sad that he was so lonely and unhappy that he took his life. I will miss seeing him on the road. 

A storm is brewing

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I feel the edginess right before the storm hits. The peacefulness and calm from my vacation is leaving slowly like a summertime tan. I feel the wind surround the emptiness inside of me, trying to find a void to fill with cold icy snow. The warmth and sunshine are gone now. Sorrow, darkness, and anger encapsulates me. I cry out to God, but He doesn’t seem to hear my prayers. I feel the tug of emotions trying to drown me in a river of despair. I am alone. I want to be alone. I don’t want to talk. I really don’t want to do anything.

It has been a hard start of the year. I miss my neighbor and friend that passed away a couple of weeks ago. Every time I look at her house, I think that she is still there. She will pull her car out of the driveway and wave at me. We were supposed to do something together next week. But guess what? I can’t go. I looked over the old messages that she sent me. My heart tells me that she is still alive. She just can’t come outside. My brain tells me to stop being such a fool. Stop pretending that things are fine.

Last summer my best friend moved to Florida. I had the opportunity to spend time with her while we were there on vacation. I didn’t realize how much I missed talking to her and seeing her. I miss her. I don’t feel like talking to anyone else. In 4 months, my oldest daughter will be leaving the house. I am excited for her to start the adult chapter in her life, but I am at such a loss. I started crying while she performed her solo and ensemble song for me. It bothered me that she sold her junior prom dress. It just seems so final.

Then yesterday we found out that my mother-in-law has stage 4 terminal lung cancer. They are giving her around 15 months to live. Wait a minute, I am not ready to deal with the loss of our parents yet. I have been having a hard time with this since I saw her last week. I have been feeling sad and angry. With all of the people that were praying for her and my friend that passed away, why didn’t God heal them? I don’t have any control. Why should I expect miracles? I feel helpless. Who can avoid death? It has given Paul time to say goodbye to his only parent. That has been good for him to spend time with her.

This morning my son got suspended from school. He got in a fight with someone in the hallway. It has been no secret that my son has been struggling with school for the last couple of months. He has been begging us to switch schools for a couple months now. Apparently a boy called him a faggot on facebook back in December and has been bullying him with some other kids. My son got in his face today. I suppose that it shouldn’t surprise me that the day after my son finds out that his grandma is dying that he confronts this other boy. Words were exchanged between my son and this boy. They were pushing and shoving each other in the hallway. Then I received a call from the school that my son was suspended for 3 days. He was trying to provoke the other kid that was picking on him. Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe we can finally resolve this issue head on.

We are expecting a snow storm today. We should be getting somewhere around 8 inches of snow with blowing winds. It just started to snow.

Ending the holiday season

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I didn’t tell anybody this earlier, but I started the new year off on the wrong foot. We had a couple of friends over for New Year’s Eve. Everything went well and the last people left at 1:30 AM. Paul and I finally made our way to bed around 2. At 6 AM, a noise woke me up. Somewhere between 2 and 6 AM, our furnace went out. The house temp was under 50 degrees. We ended up having someone come out at the crack of dawn on new year’s day receiving holiday pay to fix it. It was a rough start. 

Today we took down our Christmas tree. I put all of the decorations back in the crawl space and dug out all of my old journals. I don’t know how quick I will go through them to be honest with you. I always have a rough time this time of year with the lack of sunlight. Even though I take massive doses of vitamin D, my thoughts and emotions tend to be dark. Just thinking about the past can bring me down on the sunniest of days….so this month might be light and fluffy like the winter snow. Talking about the winter snow, Paul and I were able to get out and cross country ski for the first time on the skis that we bought last winter. What a workout! Sure made me feel out of shape, especially since we saw a friend of ours there and he did two laps to our one. 

Yesterday I told you that we were going to one last Christmas party at my uncle’s who happens to be a clean freak. Well, I am embarassed to say that it was me this year that made a mess. That’s right. After being at the party for about a half an hour, I cracked open a bottle of beer. I took 3 sips and proceeded to spill most of the bottle everywhere. It went down my shirt with a majority of it landing on my pants and their off white carpet. I greeted relatives coming to the party looking like I peed my pants. My uncle said I could leave behind some money for the carpet cleaning. I am glad he was just kidding. Or was he? He didn’t freak out though like the story I heard of when my cousins accidently knocked over his fish tank. Other than looking like a complete idiot, the party went well.

Our staff party a couple weeks ago went great too. We took our employees to a painting class. It was so much fun. And I didn’t suck at painting. I was happy to be average. Out of the four of us that went, not one single person between the ages of 30 and 52 ever painted on a canvas before. Checked that off my bucket list and would love to do it again. 

Other than that, I have been trying to upload a video of my daughter and I singing. I haven’t been successful at that. I will probably figure it out by July. Geez. We sang our Christmas songs at the party yesterday. Every year my aunt insists that we sing. My daughter moves people to tears with her singing. She wants to spend the summer singing and performing on tour. She is auditioning to do that next month. When my cousin heard that, she was bummed out because she wanted Angel to sing at her wedding this summer. Angel just sang at my brother’s wedding a few months back. Angel and I have very similar voices, except that hers is well trained and mine is not. I used to be the one asked to sing at weddings, now it is her. When did she become better than me??? She used to ask me for advice and now she tells me what to do. I listen to her because she is right, but can’t help but feel hurt that I am no longer wanted. I am happy that she has had so many opportunities that I didn’t.

Sometimes it is hard for me to accept this whole aging thing. 

The darkest days of the darkest years

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Isn’t it funny that Christmas comes during the darkest days of the year, the time of the year that we so desperately seek out light. That was all that I wanted those darkest years, to be able to see a ray of light, a glimmer of hope. But all glimmer of light was gone. I had lost my hope. I fell into a time of deep despair. I was angry with God.

Those are the years that I don’t talk about to even the closest of new friends. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. The darkest years happened when I was in middle school. My autistic brother Matt became increasingly violent. So much so that he was not allowed to go to school with other kids. He had to have a teacher come out to our house. When Matt got “kicked out” of school, my mom took my brothers and I out of school too. My parents had us 4 children in less than 5 years, with me being the oldest. I was homeschooled between 8th and 10th grade. While my classmates attended prom and homecoming, I was at home in isolation.

Through the darkest years, my dad totally checked out emotionally and became very depressed. My mom became desperate to find a cure for autism, taking Matt out of state to a hospital that did extreme allergy testing. She thought that if he avoided certain foods and allergens, it would curb some of his violent outbursts. When they came back everything changed for us.

Matt was allergic to everything. My parents got rid of their wood furnace and put purifiers throughout the house. My mom took down her bedroom curtains because they had formaldehyde in them. She used old sheets and blankets as curtains. If the local farmers were spraying their fields with pesticides, she would call them screaming if she didn’t get notified first and Matt would have to wear his charcoal mask. If they did call her to notify us, we had to pack up our car within a half an hour and head up north for a couple of days until things gassed out or it rained. My parents had to park their cars at the bottom of the driveway so exhaust fumes would not come in the house. If my dad snow blowed the driveway, he was not allowed into the house with his snow gear on and had to shower immediately. I wasn’t allowed to wear perfume, hairspray, or nail polish. Those were just a few of the changes that were made in attempts to control Matt’s violent behavior.

It was very hard that year at Christmas. My mom said that Matt was allergic to Christmas trees, even the fake ones. It was at that time that we no longer had a Christmas tree in the house. No decorations. No lights. Nothing. Even my grandma was instructed not to put up a Christmas tree. Instead she put little bows on the wall in the shape of a Christmas tree. It was horrible. Matt had meltdown, after meltdown, after meltdown. Day after day he attacked me. He kicked me, punched me, scratched me, hit me. Ironically, taking away all of the things away from Matt (and the rest of us) did nothing to tame his aggression. It seemed to hurt us more than it helped us.

But how could I be angry at my mom for trying everything she could think of trying? How could I be mad at my brother who wasn’t bright enough to read or write? I fell deeper and deeper into despair like a small flower buried under the cold deep snow.

Judged

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I always thought that I was a really good judge of character. Don’t we all? I have heard people admit that they are selfish, lazy, unorganized, vain, but I don’t recall anyone ever saying to me that they are a bad judge of character. Why is that?  Do we want to see the best (or worst) in people despite contrary evidence? I have been struggling with this concept lately. I think most people are embarrassed to admit that they were wrong about someone’s character when their hearts were broken or money was stolen.

I met Jake a couple of years back when he still was a boy. The first time I saw him, he was walking his dog by our house. At the time, I thought maybe he would be a good friend for my son. One day I just happened to be looking out the window when Jake walked by. I just let my dog out and was looking towards the road when I saw Jake’s dog drag him over the meet my dog. In the process, Jake got clotheslined on our mailbox. The dog further dragged him into the ditch. Jake laid wounded on the grass with blood coming out of his neck. I freaked out. I sent my oldest daughter out to get him while I panicked. Eventually I bandaged up some of his wounds and gave him a warm washcloth to put on his scraped and bloody neck. I tracked down his muddy mutt and loaded them into my car to give them a ride home. Welcome to the neighborhood!

A few days later, Jake’s mom sent me a note thanking me for taking care of her son. I still have it which is remarkable because I throw everything out. Over the years, Jake and my son became very good friends. I always liked Jake. He was courteous, quiet, happy, friendly, and kind. He always thanked me when I gave him a ride to school. He was the kind of kid that I wanted my son to hang out with.

Then this summer, things changed. Jake grew into a troubled teen. He was no longer happy. He stopped thanking me for rides. He went to the gas station and stole a pack of cigarettes. His parents made him return them and apologize to the owners. He was grounded for over a month from everything. Then one cool rainy night, he ran away which I blogged about previously. He vanished for almost 48 hours, then went back to school like none of it ever happened. He was present, but not quite there.

A few days after Jake went back to school, his mom texted me with concern. She said that a teacher asked the students to draw a picture of what they were doing for the weekend. Jake drew a picture of himself alone in the corner of his room with his knees folded and his head down in despair.

Then a few weeks later, a note came home from school stating that a student talked about bringing a gun to school. Apparently, a boy had created a hit list with 6 names on it and stated that he was going to bring 7 bullets to school. It was Jake. Jake said that he didn’t mean it, but he was sent away for a couple of weeks for treatment.

Last week I saw Jake walking his dog when I went on a long run. I asked him how he was doing. He smiled and replied that he was doing good. I just have to wonder if his smile was sinister or sincere. I always liked Jake and thought he was a good person. I still want to believe that despite all of the contrary evidence. How could I be so wrong?? In my mind, he is still the sweet and caring boy that I first met years ago. Not the troubled teen that he has become. I have been having a really hard time with this. I feel unsettled, I want to trust him again but can’t. I feel thankful that the troubles with my teens are trivial in comparison. I worry about his family. I pray that Jake can find the friendly and happy boy he once was.

The dark unfeeling cardboard box

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When I was a young child, I never really liked school a lot. Sure, there were some bad teachers, some good, and some everywhere in between. But it really wasn’t that. It was never that. It had more to do with Matt, my autistic brother. Being less than 2 years younger than me, I could never get away. The school really didn’t know what to do with Matt. He was the first autistic child to come through the school district. When he couldn’t function in a regular classroom, they cut the library in half to make it a special ed room.

For a long period of time, Matt was nonverbal. Oh, he did scream and cry but he did not talk. He was uncontrollable. His teacher at school set up a naughty box for him between the library and special ed room. Almost every time we had library, my brother was in the box screaming and flailing around. The box seemed high at the time because I was so little. When my class lined up to look at books, the kids could peer into the box. Most of the time the kids laughed and I hated them. I put my feelings in a big box that seemed even bigger than the box that Matt was in. Many times I would rather be trapped in that empty box devoid of feelings, life, and light than to face the pain of the real world.

For a long time I floated around in my own little world. How could I make friends with my classmates? How could I like the kids that called my brother a retard? I went deeper and deeper into that box. I stopped eating. I didn’t talk to anyone. I started failing my classes. The only thing that touched my heart was music. I had this focal point that I would always stare at so I didn’t start crying in that class. I was so lost. My mom was very concerned, she had the school counselor talk to me. She was a wonderful person who tried to help me make friends and talk about feelings.

My mom wasn’t in much better shape herself. Mother daughter outings with the extended family ended up with my mom sharing with the family how much she hated autism and all of the things that Matt did or didn’t do. The family just wanted relaxation and fun. They were uncomfortable that my mom was crying and needed their support. They stared at me all the time. When I was alone with family, they peppered me with questions about if my mom was ok and how was Matt. I didn’t feel like anyone cared about me. Most of the time they were just trying to help without being very helpful.

One day Matt started talking again. He told stories of how his teacher in the grade school was abusive towards him. She shoved him under her desk and sat down at her desk squeezing him in there. He also said that the teacher would place him face down on the floor and sit on him making it hard to breathe. My mom asked me if this could be true, she was very upset.

After everything that happened, my mom tried to keep my younger brothers sheltered from going to school with Matt. She sent my brothers to parochial schools and schools that were out of our district. I wonder if that had anything to do with me not responding well to being in school with Matt. Did I save my younger brothers some pain? I hope so.

Little to no provocation 

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I can feel the gentle, slow downward descent of my mood. My heart in utter despair. I cry with little or no provocation. I haven’t slept for 3 days. It takes forever to fall asleep. I wake in the middle of the night, lying awake for hours. I awake again at the crack of dawn exhausted. I’m not hungry. I can’t eat without acid reflux. I worry about the things I can’t control. I pace the floor. Any attempts to rest or nap leave me frustratingly wide awake. I wouldn’t wish the hormonal fluctuations of a middle aged woman on anyone. 

It was harder this week cleaning out my grandma’s house. The memories some of the items brought back were almost too painful to bear. When I try to reach out to my grandma for comfort, she is not there. What I wouldn’t give to hear her voice again or to even smell the scent of her perfume on her clothes. All I smell is dust and decay. Emptiness. Nothingness. 

It is incredibly stupid to cry over the meaningless little items that I lost. I can mourn over the stupid little stove, but can’t cry over the friends and family that autism cost me and my family? The childhood family vacations with the whole family that never happened? I can’t even remember one time that we went out to eat together as a family. I have to continue to pray for strength to make it through this process of opening myself up to and dealing with unresolved issues. 

I will make it through. I will be ok.