I'm sorry for the lack of posts lately. I'm feeling frustrated. I can't think of anything to write about and when I do, I can't make it seem interesting like anyone would actually want to read about it.
The truth is, my life is not that interesting. Shocking, I know. But the other truth is that I am afraid. I'm afraid to divulge too much information on my blog about myself and my family. It's scary.
Don't get me wrong, there are things that I want to share here. I want to share the intimate details of my PPD with you all. It was through another mom blogger that I realized I had PPD myself and I would love to pay it forward by writing about my struggles here, but...I'm scared.
And I know I've promised in the past that I'd be writing about our debt load but once again, I'm scared. It's embarrassing to put that out there for the world to see. We've been so selfish and irresponsible with our money. Plus, my mom knows about and reads this blog. (Hi Mom!)
I'm going to try and put in a real effort again. I'm going to go back and look at what I was writing about when I was writing more often. Maybe that will help me.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
The Road to Recovery
I pulled into the hospital parking lot. I was expecting the hospital to be much bigger than it was. I found a parking spot, purchased a ticket and went through the doors that said Main Entrance. The first thing I saw was a big desk with a sign that read Information. "Good," I thought to myself, "I can ask there where I'm supposed to go." When I reached the information desk there was no one sitting at it. Disappointed, I looked around to see the sign for Patient Registration. I walked in and sat down. There was a box on a table across from the waiting area with a sign that requested that I put my health card in it. I wasn't too sure about that, but I reached into my purse to pull out my health card.
Before I could get out my health card, a woman approached me. She was small with a dark complexion, dark eyes and dark hair. She wore glasses. She smiled at me and asked if I needed to register. I said yes and she asked me to follow her. I followed her to a little cubicle big enough for a small desk with a computer, a computer chair and two chairs facing the desk. It took me a second to decide which chair to sit in, but I finally sat down in the chair closest to the entrance to the cubicle. The woman and I made small talk. We chatted about the weather; it was raining heavily. I made some sort of remark that I don't remember to which she responded "You don't wear glasses." I remember thinking to myself, "How do you know I don't wear contacts?" She asked me regular questions like my telephone numbers, address, next of kin and emergency contact. Then she got up from her desk and brought me a blue card attached with a paper clip to a sheet of paper. She told me to come with her and she'd show me where to go. She took me through a short, narrow hall and on the other side was a wider, longer hall. She pointed to the end of the hall and told me to get on the blue elevator. I hesitated. "There will be signs for two north when I get off the elevator?" I asked. "Yes, there must be signs," she replied. I wasn't very confident with that answer, but I said thank you and went on my way.
I walked down the long hall toward the blue elevator. There were three of them at the end of the hall and one was already open. I stepped on and pushed the button for the second floor. The elevator door began to close and just as it was almost completely, shut, it quickly opened again. I looked out to see who had pushed the button to get on, but there was no one there. The door began to shut again, but once more, it stopped just as it was about to close and reopened. It did this one more time as I gripped the handle on the wall inside the elevator. I am terribly claustrophobic and the thought of being trapped in an elevator scares the shit out of me. Finally the door closed all the way and it began to move. It made a dinging noise as it arrived on the second floor and the door opened.
I stepped off the elevator and looked around. I saw the sign pointing towards 2 North and I walked in that direction, through a set of doors to a unit with a very large desk in the middle and hallways on both sides leading to many doors. There was a woman standing on the same side of the desk as me fiddling with some Christmas decorations. I stood there for a minute unsure if I was in the right place. Finally I took a step toward the woman and said, "Hello," to her. She turned and smiled at me. "Are you here to see Dr. Emelianova?" she asked. I said yes and expressed relief that I was in the right place. She took the sheet of paper with the blue card attached to it and motioned towards a small doorway with a sign that said Waiting Room on it. "You can have a seat," she said.
I went into the waiting room and looked around. There were about ten chairs in the small room. There was also a massive flat screen television attached to the wall. I was surprised that the room was so small. I took a seat in one of the comfier looking chairs and I kind of settled in. I was used to waiting around for doctors. I took out my phone to update my twitter.
Not long after I sat down a woman appeared through the doorway. She said hello to me and introduced herself as Dr. Emelianova. I shook her hand and stood up. She asked me to follow her to her office and I did. She led me quickly down the hall to her office. Her office wasn't far, but she walked so fast that I lagged behind.
The appointment went well. I like the doctor. She's easy to talk to. She took asked me about my history of depression and we went all through it. She took a lot of notes. We didn't get to finish everything in the allotted time so we booked another appointment for next week. I'm looking forward to it and I'm looking forward to getting better.
Before I could get out my health card, a woman approached me. She was small with a dark complexion, dark eyes and dark hair. She wore glasses. She smiled at me and asked if I needed to register. I said yes and she asked me to follow her. I followed her to a little cubicle big enough for a small desk with a computer, a computer chair and two chairs facing the desk. It took me a second to decide which chair to sit in, but I finally sat down in the chair closest to the entrance to the cubicle. The woman and I made small talk. We chatted about the weather; it was raining heavily. I made some sort of remark that I don't remember to which she responded "You don't wear glasses." I remember thinking to myself, "How do you know I don't wear contacts?" She asked me regular questions like my telephone numbers, address, next of kin and emergency contact. Then she got up from her desk and brought me a blue card attached with a paper clip to a sheet of paper. She told me to come with her and she'd show me where to go. She took me through a short, narrow hall and on the other side was a wider, longer hall. She pointed to the end of the hall and told me to get on the blue elevator. I hesitated. "There will be signs for two north when I get off the elevator?" I asked. "Yes, there must be signs," she replied. I wasn't very confident with that answer, but I said thank you and went on my way.
I walked down the long hall toward the blue elevator. There were three of them at the end of the hall and one was already open. I stepped on and pushed the button for the second floor. The elevator door began to close and just as it was almost completely, shut, it quickly opened again. I looked out to see who had pushed the button to get on, but there was no one there. The door began to shut again, but once more, it stopped just as it was about to close and reopened. It did this one more time as I gripped the handle on the wall inside the elevator. I am terribly claustrophobic and the thought of being trapped in an elevator scares the shit out of me. Finally the door closed all the way and it began to move. It made a dinging noise as it arrived on the second floor and the door opened.
I stepped off the elevator and looked around. I saw the sign pointing towards 2 North and I walked in that direction, through a set of doors to a unit with a very large desk in the middle and hallways on both sides leading to many doors. There was a woman standing on the same side of the desk as me fiddling with some Christmas decorations. I stood there for a minute unsure if I was in the right place. Finally I took a step toward the woman and said, "Hello," to her. She turned and smiled at me. "Are you here to see Dr. Emelianova?" she asked. I said yes and expressed relief that I was in the right place. She took the sheet of paper with the blue card attached to it and motioned towards a small doorway with a sign that said Waiting Room on it. "You can have a seat," she said.
I went into the waiting room and looked around. There were about ten chairs in the small room. There was also a massive flat screen television attached to the wall. I was surprised that the room was so small. I took a seat in one of the comfier looking chairs and I kind of settled in. I was used to waiting around for doctors. I took out my phone to update my twitter.
Not long after I sat down a woman appeared through the doorway. She said hello to me and introduced herself as Dr. Emelianova. I shook her hand and stood up. She asked me to follow her to her office and I did. She led me quickly down the hall to her office. Her office wasn't far, but she walked so fast that I lagged behind.
The appointment went well. I like the doctor. She's easy to talk to. She took asked me about my history of depression and we went all through it. She took a lot of notes. We didn't get to finish everything in the allotted time so we booked another appointment for next week. I'm looking forward to it and I'm looking forward to getting better.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
I am not a man
*telephone rings*
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, can I please speak to Devon?
Me: Speaking.
Caller: Oh, hi Devon, it's [name withheld] from [company withheld]. How are you?
Me: I'm good thanks. How are you?
Caller: I'm good, but I think I should be speaking to a man.
Me: Uhhh...nope. This is Devon.
Caller: Oh, uh...okay. So I'm calling about your interview.
Pause for some backstory: I had an "interview" for a company which I later found out to be a door to door sales pyramid scheme. I didn't go, and I didn't bother to call and cancel. I know, I'm a rebel like that.
Me: Oh, right, I'm sorry...[about to go into why I didn't show up]
Caller: That's okay! Is he there?
Me: Uhh...no...this is me, Devon.
Caller: Oh uh okay. Then why did you say sorry?
Me: Because I didn't show up for my interview...[starting to get really annoyed now]
Caller: Oh yea no, that's no problem...uhhh...
Me: *click*
Me: Hello?
Caller: Hi, can I please speak to Devon?
Me: Speaking.
Caller: Oh, hi Devon, it's [name withheld] from [company withheld]. How are you?
Me: I'm good thanks. How are you?
Caller: I'm good, but I think I should be speaking to a man.
Me: Uhhh...nope. This is Devon.
Caller: Oh, uh...okay. So I'm calling about your interview.
Pause for some backstory: I had an "interview" for a company which I later found out to be a door to door sales pyramid scheme. I didn't go, and I didn't bother to call and cancel. I know, I'm a rebel like that.
Me: Oh, right, I'm sorry...[about to go into why I didn't show up]
Caller: That's okay! Is he there?
Me: Uhh...no...this is me, Devon.
Caller: Oh uh okay. Then why did you say sorry?
Me: Because I didn't show up for my interview...[starting to get really annoyed now]
Caller: Oh yea no, that's no problem...uhhh...
Me: *click*
Thursday, November 11, 2010
I am not worthy
That's the way I feel a lot about Pierce. I feel like I am not worthy of him. I feel like he deserves a mom that's better than me. He is such an amazing boy. What did I do to deserve him? I don't know...probably nothing.
It's hard to feel this way and I don't know if my PPD contributes to it or if this is something that all mothers feel at one point in time or another. Or maybe I'm just crazy which, if you knew me, you'd agree is entirely possible.
That's another hard thing about having PPD. I don't know which feelings or thoughts considered "normal" and which are the disease talking. All I know is that I feel like he deserves more than me. Like I can never be enough for him. Like I'm not doing a good enough job as his mother.
But I do believe that we were meant for each other. Somewhere, somehow the Universe has it all planned out for us. Maybe he's here to make me a better person. Maybe I'm here to make him a better person?
I learn from him each day. About me. About him. About life. And maybe that's all the plan is after all.
It's hard to feel this way and I don't know if my PPD contributes to it or if this is something that all mothers feel at one point in time or another. Or maybe I'm just crazy which, if you knew me, you'd agree is entirely possible.
That's another hard thing about having PPD. I don't know which feelings or thoughts considered "normal" and which are the disease talking. All I know is that I feel like he deserves more than me. Like I can never be enough for him. Like I'm not doing a good enough job as his mother.
But I do believe that we were meant for each other. Somewhere, somehow the Universe has it all planned out for us. Maybe he's here to make me a better person. Maybe I'm here to make him a better person?
I learn from him each day. About me. About him. About life. And maybe that's all the plan is after all.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Sharing My Voice
Today I am over at The Nut House sharing my post about coming out with PPD. The Nut House is a blog run by Lisa, she refers to herself as Hazel Nut and her husband, Wall Nut. She has five children: Honey Nut, Wee Nut, Little Nut Nut, E Nut and Wing Nut. I love the creativity with the aliases she uses! I really wish I was that creative. This is coming from someone whose blog is called "Who I Am" really original, you can tell I put a lot of though into it. I actually did put a lot of thought into it, but if I had known that "Who I Am" was such a popular blog name, I would've chosen something different. But that is another blog post altogether and I am getting completely off track.
Today I'm featured at The Nut House. You can go read it here. I have to admit I was a little surprised when she introduced me as, "PPD Survivor Devon." I don't know that I'd refer to myself as a survivor. I mean, I suppose I am surviving, but some days it's just barely. And I am FAR from recovery. The word "survivor" kind of makes me sound like I'm an expert, and I don't want to give the wrong impression here, I am not an expert on much of anything, much less PPD. Anyway, I'll let the post speak for itself, go check it out and while you're there check out the rest of Lisa's site, too! There's some great reading as well as some great info on her blog!
Today I'm featured at The Nut House. You can go read it here. I have to admit I was a little surprised when she introduced me as, "PPD Survivor Devon." I don't know that I'd refer to myself as a survivor. I mean, I suppose I am surviving, but some days it's just barely. And I am FAR from recovery. The word "survivor" kind of makes me sound like I'm an expert, and I don't want to give the wrong impression here, I am not an expert on much of anything, much less PPD. Anyway, I'll let the post speak for itself, go check it out and while you're there check out the rest of Lisa's site, too! There's some great reading as well as some great info on her blog!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
I can't believe I haven't done this yet!
So just before Kristin left we came up with the great idea to do a traveling pants type of thing, but with a scarf, which means it's completely different and there is no copyright infringement. (Here that, lawyers? None! If I say it, that makes it so.) We thought it would be a fun thing to blog about so we started a blog, http://thetravelingscarf.blogspot.com/.
If you read our About Us page you'll get all the background information on it and right now there are only 6 posts on the whole blog so it should be pretty easy for you to catch up on what's going on, if you want to.
Kristin and I hope you enjoy it!
If you read our About Us page you'll get all the background information on it and right now there are only 6 posts on the whole blog so it should be pretty easy for you to catch up on what's going on, if you want to.
Kristin and I hope you enjoy it!
Friday, November 5, 2010
I'm not going to lie...
...not having Kristin around sucks. Even when we text each other all day long, it's just not the same. But I think I am doing better without her around. Today is a week since she left and I can't believe it's only been that long. It seems like a lifetime.
On Wednesday night I had a bit of a breakdown. Andrew said he was going to go to his parent's house to work the next day (he works from home but finds it easier to go somewhere quiet to work, like the library or his parent's house) and I started to panic. Any other day it would've been fine because I would've texted Kristin when I got up and we'd make a plan to hang out later that day. But I knew I couldn't do that. If I wanted to get out of the house it was going to have to be by myself, and I rarely go out by myself unless I have some specific errand to run. I also had a bunch of housework that needed to get done and I was feeling overwhelmed.
I texted Kristin and told her what was going on and luckily she stepped right in and took over. She calmed me down by telling me to make a plan by deciding what needed to be done and scheduling it. (I never actually wrote down a schedule for the day, but don't tell her that, okay?) Then she followed it up by texting me all throughout the day asking what I was doing, giving me ideas of what I could do next and cheering me on.
I know this sounds like she was holding my hand through housework and she was. I'm not going to deny it. Sometimes my anxiety gets the better of me and I freak out over things that others wouldn't. I've had anxiety all my life so PPA is not new to me, but each little anxious moment I have is as real as the first one I ever had. And sometimes I do need a little hand-holding and cheering on as I do laundry to push me to continue doing it and show me that I CAN do this without my husband home, and without my BFF here. Because some days all of this can seem a little daunting.
But yesterday, I kicked my house's ass. And I've got my boxing gloves on to do it again today.
On Wednesday night I had a bit of a breakdown. Andrew said he was going to go to his parent's house to work the next day (he works from home but finds it easier to go somewhere quiet to work, like the library or his parent's house) and I started to panic. Any other day it would've been fine because I would've texted Kristin when I got up and we'd make a plan to hang out later that day. But I knew I couldn't do that. If I wanted to get out of the house it was going to have to be by myself, and I rarely go out by myself unless I have some specific errand to run. I also had a bunch of housework that needed to get done and I was feeling overwhelmed.
I texted Kristin and told her what was going on and luckily she stepped right in and took over. She calmed me down by telling me to make a plan by deciding what needed to be done and scheduling it. (I never actually wrote down a schedule for the day, but don't tell her that, okay?) Then she followed it up by texting me all throughout the day asking what I was doing, giving me ideas of what I could do next and cheering me on.
I know this sounds like she was holding my hand through housework and she was. I'm not going to deny it. Sometimes my anxiety gets the better of me and I freak out over things that others wouldn't. I've had anxiety all my life so PPA is not new to me, but each little anxious moment I have is as real as the first one I ever had. And sometimes I do need a little hand-holding and cheering on as I do laundry to push me to continue doing it and show me that I CAN do this without my husband home, and without my BFF here. Because some days all of this can seem a little daunting.
But yesterday, I kicked my house's ass. And I've got my boxing gloves on to do it again today.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)