Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Welcome to Crazytown, Population: Me

Well. Where to begin. Let's try some bullets.
  • Working out with a personal trainer suuuucks but it's getting the job done. I'm pretty much sore and aching all the time, but I've lost a few pounds in the last 2 weeks, so I'm encouraged. At this rate, I'll have the baby weight and IVF weight off by Christmas 2016.
  • Going back to therapy is a bittersweet thing, because I need it but I also hate that I need it. I'm experiencing some massive anxiety coupled with on-again, off-again depression. Motherfucking yay. I don't know where some of it comes from, other than my poor genetic lot in life and the fact that my family is full of The Certifiable Crazy. We've got bipolars, schizoaffectives, and straight-up depressed. And that's not counting all the personality disorders! It's like a goddamned DSM-IV-TR bonanza! I'm not too keen on being put on crazy pills, but if that's what my therapist ultimately recommends while we keep talking it out, or if I reach a point where I think it's necessary, then so be it. I just want to feel better. Crying for no reason and feeling like my head will explode from panic is not cool.
  • And as for the stuff that I do know is fueling it? There's a whole lot of history with my Certifiably Crazy™ parents, that includes some really shitty, dark stuff. I am chock full of abandonment, trust, and self-esteem issues thanks to their crackerjack parenting. It's 100% of the reason I became an academic-over-achiever-perfectionist, and why I become psychologically paralyzed if I can't do something perfectly and can't handle compliments. Nothing weird about that. Anyway, I had pretty successfully learned to manage those issues through therapy years ago, and then the whole infertility beast reared its ugly head and brought it all back to the forefront in a new and introspective way. That's not an entirely bad thing, because it forced me to think very long and hard about how I will parent my child(ren) and break the cycle of Crazy that pervades my family. But now that Jackson is here, and I know with every fiber of my being that I would do anything for him, right up to and including taking a real or proverbial bullet to ensure he is safe and happy and fulfilled in his life, it stirs up a lot of shit about my parents and how they wouldn't do much at all to ensure the same for me. Not then, and not now. It hurts. And it sucks. It hurts and it sucks to know how little I was loved. The contrast of that feeling with the love I feel in my little family -- KB, Jackson, Katie the Dog, and me -- just puts that hurt under a magnifying glass and burns it up until it scars. So, that's lurking underneath every feeling of insecurity about being a good parent, every anxiety about keeping Jackson safe and alive and happy, every worry that my shit will become his shit if I don't deal with it effectively. So. Good times.
  • While I wait to hear about a part-time job offer in the next month or so, I'm taking on ambitious house projects. Most are small -- replacing the fugly front door of our house, doing some gardening -- but the biggie is clearing out the basement and turning half of it into a playroom for Jackson. It's already partially finished, so I just need to keep decluttering (or, in a stroke of genius, I've decided I could just pile the clutter to the ceiling and throw a couple of banana peels on top, then call the producers of Hoarders and get my basement cleaned for free). Then I have to clean the floor and window sills (how many winters' worth of dead bugs are on that sunny graveyard sill?). And then put down some cheapie carpet. Voila! Playroom. I figure I can find a little kid-sized table and some bookshelves from garage sales or used furniture stores and repaint them, to keep this on the cheap. And while I'm at it, I'll reorganize the utility half of the basement, where laundry and pantry shit ends up sprawled everywhere without the confines of an orderly shelving system to contain it. It's exactly like me to take on some huge project when I'm hitting crisis mode, and then to alternately let it take my mind off of things and also stoke the embers of the Crazy fire. Because in the process of starting this project, I've begun to realize how much I hate our house. BOOM. Bomb dropped on ya. Yep, I hate our house and I want to move in the middle of the shittiest housing market, like, EVAH. We'll have to save for a year or two (or twenty?) to make up the shortfall between what we owe and what we can make if we sell and another down payment, hope that the housing market stabilizes and possibly (even if only slightly) improves our home's value, and will try to pump up our home's value as much as possible by making the most sensible improvements: basement repurposing and organization, new roof, new driveway, new front door and minor landscaping for curb appeal. This is already a long-ass post, so I'll let it suffice to say that I want a house that doesn't have creaky wooden floors but still has character, and has enough room for us to consider a second baby. BOOM. Another bomb. I'll write about that another time. 

5 comments:

Rebecca said...

I have to say I understand about everything but the life experience of course are different. I have no baby yet. Still trying. I cry for no reason, thank you hormones. Borderline personality disorder and bipolar NOS. Gotta love our families that ignored us and how much they damaged us. I too often wonder why kind of parent I will be. It scary to think that far ahead. I know I too want to be better than my parents were. As for your projects, keeping busy might keep you sane but how about scheduling tasks in small increments first so you can celebrate the small goals?

hope4joy said...

Wow. JB that is a lot of BOOMS to throw on us. The house thing I get. I didn't like our old house and am so grateful that we moved before I even got pregnant.

As far as the 2nd baby,I am intrigued and can't wait for the post.

Now to the parent issues. I also am full of them, well mostly daddy issues. It is amazing to me that anyone could not give all they have to a child. It is crazy that from the moment that I found out about this baby h/she became my number 1 priority. No questions asked. It blows my mind that all parents, including mine, can feel differently.

I think just being aware of the changes you want and how you choose to parent will make a big difference.

bunny said...

There's a lot to think about here. I feel like IF made me hyper-aware of all the ways my upbringing sucked, though I suspect it was nothing compared to yours...Pregnancy has made me care less about it--being happy seems to have that effect. I'm more willing to forgive, or at least ignore. But I've been thinking parenting will bring it all up again.

I'm hoping the extra intense emotional stuff is just a kind of dam bursting thing. That as you move forward, the flow will slow down and you won't need the crazy pills. Not because I have anything against crazy pills, but they bring their own problems or complexities anyway.

Anyhow, sounds like you're doing everything you can, in the midst of a shit load of really hard stuff.

Trinity said...

You, my friend, are on a serious mission of name-taking and ass-kicking on BOTH the physical and emotional fronts, and that is some hard fucking work. Regardless of how long either takes or how raw either make you feel, both are really important and worthy things. I got yo' back as much as a gal can from behind a computer screen many states away. ;)

WRT family history and how they impact parenting...amen. I agree with Bunny's thought that infertility (and the question if you'd ever become a parent as you've wanted so badly) really makes you examine your own childhood microscopically. (That AND all the batshit crazy fucks that you share some DNA with have ZERO parenting capacity yet seem to have ZERO probs squatting out babies.)

And if it comes down to meds...you are an intelligent and rational person. You will do what is right for you.

P.S. My fave blog for DIY home projects is younghouselove.com :)

Roccie said...

I am so excited to have a crazy friend. Welcome.

It is pretty hard to put into words what you will do for your child. I mean, as IFers we all know in theory that we would do anything. But when that little bug is finally here and in our lives, it just makes words feel useless. And it just gets stronger and stronger with each passing month.

I think you should be really proud of yourself for preserving such a loving heart. It is really easy to let it shrivel and turn sour. It breaks my heart to think of seared scars. I am sorry it all went like that. Then this one-two punch of IF to resurface it. Rip off.

I was kicking around therapy too. Where the hell do you find the time. But I miss my crazy meds. I think my husband does too. I am proud of you in a lot of areas today. Take care of Momma so momma can rule the world.