I Am Not Wonder Woman

Truly, I'm not.  And it's hard to admit.  I wish I was Wonder Woman.  I *want* to own that mantle.  It took me forever to accept the label when people first started using it.  And, I think, maybe I was for a while.  But, not anymore.  Now?  Now, I'm just broken.  I don't care that I haven't showered in days.  My alarm goes off, but I can't bring myself to get up.  My mind tells me I need to get up and go to work, but I can't manage to convince my body.  My poor husband, who is also overwhelmed with his own grief, and who doesn't get a pass on the holidays what with being a pastor, is now shouldering the burden of caring for a wife who is succumbing to her grief, and a 4-year-old who is struggling with things much too old for her, as well as the normal 4-year-old stuff.  He's Superman--at least to me (I dunno--maybe he doesn't want a mantle either?).  Still, somehow, he can drag himself out of bed to take care of church things--big church things like funerals, and small church things like a weekly bulletin.  Me?  I am forcing myself to type this in the hopes it will help me get my stuff together and get my butt back to work where I can earn money.  

It doesn't help that I feel guilty because I gave in to the need to fill the hole inside me by buying "stuff," thinking I was eligible for disability pay while I recovered from my surgery.  Nope.  GUILT!!  Phil takes Mira to daycare in the morning while I stay curled up under Patrick's frog blanket--my ever present friend since he died.  GUILT!!  To my credit, I made it to my mental health evaluation this week. They will have some counselor recommendations as well as any other services they think might help me next week, but in the meantime, I seem to just be sinking further down the grief hole.  When the counselor asked me if I could *briefly* describe why I was there, I told her the short answer was the death of my 10-month-old son in September, but the truth is, I have been swimming upstream since 2008 and just can't seem to catch a break.  Have there been moments of joy and fun?  Absolutely.  But, if I were to take one of those stress inventories, I imagine I would create a whole new high score.  I watched as the counselor maintained her outer professional facade, while her mind tried to figure out how I was still standing.  Even as we spoke, and I kept remembering other things to mention as we talked, even to me, it sounded like a joke.  Like, truly, no one could possibly have to deal with all that crap in a 6-year period.  Up until now, I had managed to avoid most of the addictions to which people succumb when they are finally overwhemeled (except food, of course, but that one is socially acceptable).  But, the spending thing scares me.  

I grew up without, so when I finally got access to a credit card, I went whole hog.  By the time Phil and I married, I was 24 and $60,000 in debt, only $25,000 of which was student loans.  We worked hard to get ourselves to a comfortable place--more than comfortable, really.  Even though we financed it, we were able to do four rounds of IVF.  Four!  But two medically-needy kids and lots of time away from work to care for them blew through what we had.  Friends, family, even people we don't know, have been extremely generous to us.  And we were making it.  We had enough to get by until my scheduled return to work.  Then, I let myself "comfort buy."  Please know--we're not currently in danger of losing our house.  We put things on a credit card with a high interest rate that we had intended to pay off without interest, and now have to pay the interest.  We're ok.  For now.  But if I can't reign this shopping thing back in--if I can't get my grief under control to the point where I can get back to work, we could get there.  And it scares me.

So, no, I am not Wonder Woman.  I am not *coping*.  I am broken and falling apart.  And you, my friends, my readers, my support people, you deserve to know that.  Or rather, I deserve to let you know that.  So, when you ask how I am, and I say "fine," know that I'm lying to you.  I am not fine.  In time, I may get there--I sure hope so.  But, I'm not wonder woman.  Not right now anyway.  Hopefully, with time, meds, and counseling, I will be again.  But, if I'm really lucky, life will get easier, and I won't have to be.

Getting the Rage Out

I previously blogged about my difficulty with tantrums when I was younger.  The truth is, I was a pretty emotional kid.  I cried pretty easily also had difficulty with rage and impulse control.  At least twice, I got angry at the taunting from the kid sitting in front of me and took my 3-inch-thick textbook and hit them on the top of their head with it.  (Needless to say, I am very lucky the world was not as litigious back then).  I finally managed to get my rage, and indeed most of my emotions, under control, but at a cost.  I pushed them all down and got lots of stomach and digestive issues as a result.

Even worse, I haven't ever really figured out how to get them back out.  They come out now and then when I'm completely overwhelmed, or too tired to stop them, but most of the time, they stay stuck way down.  So far, I've managed to do a pretty good job teaching Mira constructive ways to "get the angries out."  I just haven't been able to do it myself.

I've also been struggling recently with the discovery that I have a lot of rage and guilt inside of me.  I am angry that Patrick died and feel guilty for causing his problems.  Oddly, I'm not second-guessing our decisions with respect to hospice.  No, I'm second-guessing our decision to have him in the first place.  Was I being greedy?  Was my determination to have another child worth it?  Should I have just been happy with Mira and not tried so hard?  If I could have accepted that, he wouldn't have had such a difficult life.  This is not to say I wish I hadn't had him.  He has given me so much, and I would not trade the good memories for anything.  I just worry that he made the best of a bad situation and that he wishes he hadn't been here.  I wish I could talk to him and ask--make sure he's okay with everything.  Part of me believes that he signed up for it--that he knew how it was going to be going into it, but I worry that I only tell myself that to make it easier on myself.

Bigger than the guilt, though, is the rage, the anger that he is gone.  My head knows that being angry isn't going to change anything, but I still have this rage boiling inside of me that needs a way out.  I know this isn't fair.  I know I've been dealt a crappy hand.  Screaming, "It's not fair," and tossing breakable items will not change that, but trying to think my way out of having the emotions isn't working.  I've realized that pretending the rage isn't there isn't going to fix it.

I remember some years back seeing a morning news show talking someone in California started a business where people could buy plates and glasses and smash them.  I wish someone had a place like that around here; I would totally go.  I want to do something like this, but I need some place where I won't scare anyone.  I can't just grab some plates and smash them in my driveway without raising some eyebrows.  I thought about asking my friend if I could come to her woods and beat some trees with sticks to get it out.  I don't know.  I'm not really sure what to try.  I just know I need to do something.  I need to get this rage out of me so I can move forward and not do any more damage to myself by holding it in.  What say you readers--any suggestions?