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You Gotta Know When to Hold ‘Em, Know When to Fold ‘Em


Photo by Hop-Frog

It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve posted about how I’m feeling. (Quick recap: birth control pills made me crazy and depressed.) The answer is complicated. I stopped taking the first pill I was on and after a few days I started to feel somewhat like my old self. I even taught a coupon class one night and it was really fun. I started taking a new pill – the one I was on five plus years ago before I had Joshua. For a few days I felt ok, mostly back to normal, but after about a week, I started feeling sick again. The nausea and headaches started, and along came lack of appetite and being unable to eat certain things. It really did feel like I was about eight or nine weeks pregnant! (I am not, I promise you.) Then Wednesday in the late afternoon, it started happening again. The depression covered me like a blanket made of steel. I couldn’t get out from under it, no matter how hard I tried to push it aside. I sobbed while I made my kids peanut butter sandwiches for dinner, and after my husband got home, went up to our bedroom to be alone.

And there alone in my bed I made a decision. I just cannot take the pill anymore. I can’t even think about going back to that dark place I was in. Maybe I can try again in a few months, but right now I need to be able to get back to me. I will just deal with my crazy hormones without adding any in to make them crazier. I just want to feel normal again, and not be afraid of what tomorrow is going to hold because of some medication I am taking. Because after how bad I felt Wednesday night, I just can’t do that to myself anymore. It’s not worth it.

So, there ya go. I give. I am crying “uncle”. I just hope I can put myself back right. It may require me going to CVS and buying six 12-packs of Mountain Dew, but I’m prepared to make the sacrifice if I have to.

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Survivitude

O hai, I’m still here. Thank you for all your kind comments and prayers yesterday. They really meant a lot to me. Especially those who let me know I’m not alone.

I hate to be a Debbie Downer, and those of you who read often (you rock!) know that I’m usually very upbeat. But I’ve truly not been myself these days. And I’m trying to figure out how to deal with that, and be as much of me as I can be, but also be authentic with you. So, thanks for traveling down this (hopefully short) road with me.

Yesterday was a good day. My mommy came over and took care of me. She brought me lunch, bon bons, and an InStyle Magazine. I sure am glad we never cut the cord! She took Joshua out for a few hours so I got to take a nap when Sophie napped. Then my sweet brother & sister-in-law brought us dinner. I can’t tell you how much it helped not to have to prepare meals. For some reason, even making a pb&j sandwich is still very daunting.

I called my doctor, I got a new prescription, and hopefully all will go well with that. We shall see. If not, I’m content at this point to get off the Pill altogether and just deal with my terrible cycle. At least that was an enemy I was familiar with.

Thank you for hanging in there with me. I love you for it! And I have a special treat for you. I’m back to my old self over at Sarcastic Mom today. I wrote a guest post for her a couple of weeks ago, and it’s posted today. So for some classic old-time-Jenny-fun, go check it out! Then, you will understand why I’m letting Sophie tear up packing peanuts all over my floor right now.

Oh, and if that’s doesn’t do it for ya, check out our “greatest hits” page. Some of my all-time favorites from our archives. I promise you’ll enjoy.

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Wicked Afternoon

The battle against my hormones, or the ones I’ve been putting in my body anyway, is raging on. It’s the last week of my cycle, (you know what THAT means) so I’m not taking them anymore. And based on the past couple of horrible days I’ve had, and your kind comments on my earlier post, I’m not going to take them anymore.

Because the afternoons, oh, the afternoons are killing me.

I’ll start out a day okay, make it through lunch, and then after I put Sophie down for her nap around 2:00, when I should be so relieved to have a small break, it starts.

Anxiety. Insecurity. Negativity.

By about 4:30 or 5:00 I’m totally buried beneath its weight. The thought of cooking dinner seizes me with fear. It seems too overwhelming, and even contemplating it makes me feel…I can’t describe it. Doomed, almost. Which seems crazy. And is.

Everything the kids need me to do for them is almost physically painful. Turning on a tv show, filling a sippy cup, wiping a snotty nose. It feels almost as if they are trying to hurt me by making me do things for them.

Joshua wants to know what’s wrong with me. I just tell him I don’t feel good, because I don’t know the answer. But it’s something…something I hope will pass out of my system very quickly.

When my husband gets home I retreat again to the bedroom. Where no one needs me, I can start to calm down. Here, little eyes won’t tear up if I start to sob over not being able to find the remote control. As wicked afternoon turns to wicked evening, here I can try to pull it together, and hope.

Hope that tomorrow afternoon will be kinder.

In the middle of writing this, I read my friend Elizabeth’s blog, and was reminded, thankfully, that my bedroom is not the only place I can run when I am feeling this way. I may not understand what I am going through, but God does. And He can see the end of it. Hallelujah.

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and LEARN FROM ME, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. Matthew 11:28, 29

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