Walking through the Haze.

I have been uber depressed lately. To the point of insanity, to voices in my head, voices that won't shut up without a real fight from the part of me that still is sane, that still wants beauty and meaning. It takes tremendous focus when the voices are jabbering away, after every move I make, every word I say, every thought I think. I always mess around that I am crazy, but this last week I realized I do dip into some serious depression at times. That's why I have not been writing; I have bee confused, floating, my head in la la land, but not the happy place.
I have come out of it a bit; my first weekend with my husband could not have come at a better time. We went out with friends to see Tom Russel, a cowboy singer, then came home and made love, slept in, (the boys were at moms), got up and went for a run together, picked up the boys and then drove out to a swim center for the afternoon. Somewhere in all of that we had some time alone and I got to talk to him for the first time ever about these times where I feel like I can't get out of my own head. The physical world fades and I am not really living anymore, not really feeling. My children seem fake, my responsibilities take a tremendous effort and all seem meaningless.
And yet this afternoon I am motivated to come here and write, for a couple of reasons: one, I remember that friends read this. And though I sometimes torture myself with all the info I write I here that is so personal, so inside, so not the person I feel I portray in "real life" (like I know I will feel after, if, I publish this post), I know that others connect to the words on here. There is nothing more satisfying to me than to get a note from someone saying, I feel that.
Second, I read an essay by Elie Wiesel this week about sharing our stories. That we must:"When we endure an experience, the experience cannot stay with me alone. It must be opened. It must become an offering. It must be deepened, and given, and shared."
And so my story lately is this (not, of course, to be compared to anything he went through): life has not turned out how I've planned. I have not turned out how I planned. Sometimes I scare the shit out of myself. But I keep on keeping on, wondering what the future holds-relief? growth? redemption? My husbands soft eyes and quiet embrace as I sit at the kitchen table, letting him know I may need his help if I dip into a haze in the future and can't pull out of it myself, is a comfort like no other.
This is all quite new and scary, as I am recognizing it for what it is: plain ole' dumb depression. Or maybe I am bored. Or hormonal. It doesn't help when I read a post on facebook of someone's grandpa who said, quote: "Only dumb people get depressed." Really not helping. But hilarious at the same time, so maybe it did help.
Here is a sampling of stuff I have been writing while walking through the haze.
Well, I can tell you what I have not been doing, and that's blogging. Oh for crying out loud. I just put the boys to bed, it's been quiet (finally) for about ten minutes, and now Noah is screaming his head off.
I really want to be one of those mothers who look back on this time and say Oh! the babies! How I miss their sweet preciousness! but right now I am really not feeling it.
Noah is fantastic when he is not crying. Also, four is the new two. Four has not been fun. Four year olds can be downright cruel they are so rude. If you're fat, they'll let you know. If they don't like the present you spent all afternoon and thirty dollars on, they'll let you know. If you have a mole on your face, they won't let you forget it. Then, when you try to be nice and let them get the pancake with whipped cream and a soda at IHOP instead of milk, they complain of a tummy ache and threaten to throw up in your car the whole ride home.
I dunno. I guess tonight has just been one of those nights, but let's face it, most nights are. I am trying to survive the best I can, the best I know how. I take care of myself, I work out, I get dressed. But the constantness of these little boys is dreadful. Maybe I just am still not ready to grow up.
The other night I watched a movie that was sad, so I got to cry a little, got to get in touch with that side of myself that is sad about things, and let some of it out (when Joey wasn't looking). After the movie I went into Ethan's room to tuck him in, and looking at his little face, hearing the air go in and out of his little mouth, like a bird's, made me a weeping mess. I feel like I have failed him, that I will fail him. I had such high hopes when I first found out I was pregnant, about how I was going to be as a mother and what I was not going to do and now I can't even remember what it was I wasn't going to do, but I am sure I have done it and then some. When I see him struggle, I blame my parenting (or for the really bad stuff, Joey's).
When I see his confidence dip, I blame me. When he's a whiny mess, me. When he's rude, me.
As far as expectations go, Noah is different. I don't have any with him and he seems to adjust rather well to whatever life is throwing at him. He is timid though. I blame myself, of course.
He's scared to death of the vacuum cleaner. Flashbacks, maybe? Of when he was the size of a rollypoly and they were vacuuming out my insides in the ER from the oozing appendix? Probably.
Isn't it lovely? Here's a little more. It just gets better:
Sometimes you feel like somebody just picked you up and is holding you by the ankles while all the change is falling outta your pockets, like your whole world is suddenly upside down and jolting back and forth and you just might throw up at any second. Suddenly, it's been seven years and you have two kids and a mortgage on a piece of shit house you bought the day before the market crashed and two dogs who sleep all day and occasionally still piddle on the floor or barf up an acidic hairball now and then and your marriage is as rocky and unpredictable as all those other peoples and you think, When did all this happen?
When did it go from being something incredible, something that filled your insides with so much freaking happiness you could barely sit still, to this?
Also, the baby thinks the dog bed is his personal play cushion, and is constantly covered in their black hair as if it were Halloween and I was trying to make him be a baby werewolf. Disgusting.
Thank God I am outta that funk. Jeez. That must of been a really bad day.
Which, as I am looking back at these now, I realize we all have. Today wasn't a bad day. I don't feel like a piece of poo today. I feel good. I got to hang out with friends and went to Whole Foods. I wore a little black dress I love with a cuff bracelet and long turquoise earrings from San Fransisco. I just finished a grilled cheese sandwhich that would lighten even the darkest of days and even though Noah is crying in his crib, I am not too irritated. Life goes on. Redemption is waiting.