Saturday, October 31, 2009

Depression, Love, and Adventures In Babysitting

Well, I had a first last night.

No, not while babysitting my grandson. That was a first all by itself and went quite well.

What I'm talking about happened in my busy dreamworld in which I dreamed I was depressed. Like- the clinical depression that we sink into sometimes which prevents us from feeling anything, anything at all but a gray sort of despair which we cannot, no matter how much we want to, claw our way out of. Our claws, in fact, are gone, along with colors or feelings or hopes or dreams (except the nightmare kind) and we know for a fact that no one has ever loved us or will and that this is what hell is.

So that was my dream and then I woke up and went to pee and while sitting on the toilet I noticed the toilet paper roll needed changing out and so I went to do that and my roll thingee is made of three parts- two metal ends that fit together and a spring in the middle and of course, in my morning fog, one of the metal ends slipped between my legs into the pee water and settled down at the very bottom of the bowl and there was nothing for it but to start my day reaching my hand deep in pee water to retrieve it.

Well, it could have been worse and we all know it.

But still- one can't help but wonder at the advisability of actually getting up and starting a day when one has had depression dreams and has had to put her hands in pee water or, as sometimes happens, she steps in dog shit before she even gets to the bathroom.

I told Mr. Moon this morning that I am so tired of being me. Why do I have to wake up like this, day after day? Not the pee or shit part, that's just life. The depression/despair part? I'm sick of trying to figure it out. I want no more of that! I just don't want to be this way. Period. The end. Done.

We watched Gaslight last night on Lily and Jason's TV while alternating feeding, walking, bouncing, singing-to and changing our Owen. He was a good boy, mostly. He was crying when Mama and Daddy left and I had a bottle in his mouth before they were at the end of the street. Lily called to see if he had quit crying before the bottle was finished. He had. He is an equal-opportunity breast milk drinker, taking it from the bottle eagerly, but I don't think it agrees with his tummy the way it does when he takes it from the breast. He spit up numerous times and I gave him a bath, his beautiful naked body on the big foam pad in the tub and he answered my conversation with serious proclamations of his own and gave me a few smiles as I gently washed him with lavender baby wash. When I wrapped him up in the towel he was not so happy but after I'd dressed him, Mr. Moon took him and walked him around, bouncing him and singing to him about how they would soon be hunting and fishing together, how they would work in the garden together. This is funny because Mr. Moon never sings and also because when I sing to Owen, I talk about how we shall be feeding the chickens together and reading stories together and picking beans together. I had him out in the front yard at one point and was making up a song about how fast he's going to grow, how much I love him, and I actually started crying, thinking of how precious this time is- this infant time when the sound of a voice singing a song that makes no sense quiets him.

We didn't take him to the bar. We did put him in his stroller for a late night walk but he seemed happiest when we were going over bumpy parts or singing to him as we walked. That boy loves to be bounced almost to the point of abuse. He seems to enjoy the feeling of his body rushing through short space, up and down, up and down.

There were many bottles, there were many diapers, there were several phone calls from his parents. And we watched the movie, which I had never seen before, believe it or not. It was a good movie and Ingrid Berman was a jewel in it, her beautiful face registering fear and longing and defiance and and relief, those huge eyes making you believe it all. I thought about how much people have always feared mental illness. It used to mean the end of life as we know it and women were often "put away" or sent away, to insane asylums where real and truly mentally ill people were kept strapped and howling and because their husbands were their masters, they had no recourse but to go and perhaps spend the rest of their lives behind barred windows and high stone walls, probably no crazier than anyone else walking the planet merely because their husbands were tired of them. I wonder how many post-menopausal women were put away. Some days I wouldn't blame Mr. Moon for putting me away but he's so kind and he merely picks up my medication and brings it home and says, "Those are expensive pills!" and then he kisses me and says, "I love you."

And I love him too. I love him too. I loved watching him quiet Owen and sing him songs. I love watching the way he is becoming a grandfather. I love the way he told me last night, "Good job, Grandmama!" when I got Owen to sleep. I loved the way when Owen was still fussing but didn't want any more bottle and wouldn't take the pacifier and I said, "Do you know how much I want to give him my ninny?" he looked up and said, "I won't tell."
Okay. I did not give Owen my ninny but I love the fact that if I had, my husband would have understood and not ratted me out.

I didn't start out this morning to write about how much I love my husband but here I am. Again.
I've made him biscuits and deer sausage and two fried chicken eggs and now he's out in the yard doing something hunting-related I believe. And I don't feel quite as much despair. Not quite as mentally ill, certainly not clinically depressed. I suppose I can tolerate being me another day, at least. This is good.

My emotions are like the weather here now. One moment it is gray and drizzling and the next the sun is blasting through the naked branches of the pecans, blinding me. It's hot and humid one day and chilly the next. No predicting this shit, no way to know what is coming next, how long this phase will last. Like the old joke goes, "Don't like the weather? Wait ten minutes and it'll change." That's me. Hang on, hang on. Drink the coffee, make the biscuits, go feed the chickens. It'll change.

So many changes even in such a small life as the one I lead. And even the good ones like babies growing so swiftly can make me cry. And that's okay.

Happy Halloween. I believe I shall be the Crazy Chicken Lady this year and my costume will probably involve overalls. I hope I don't scare the trick-or-treaters if we get any.
I doubt I will since I will look the same as I do every other day of the year.
A mother, a wife, a grandmother, wearing funny old clothes, as crazy as any other woman, as sane as any other woman, passing out candy. Perhaps I shall have a martini in my hand. One never knows.

I wish you could stop by. You often do in my dreams. My good dreams.
Which is really what my life is, when you sum it all up. A very good dream with colors and hopes and a tiny baby boy and a daughter who comes home and wants to grab up her child from my chest, even though he is asleep and she is still in her beautiful red devil dress, who sighs and says, "We're home," after being away from her baby for three full hours! and Granddaddy and I kiss them all and come home to our place, where when I wake up I may be in despair, but when I wash my hands of pee water and drink my coffee I slip that desperation and know how glad I am to be here. Home. I am me and even if sometimes I don't think I can bear that any more, I know I can because I get to do this:

I get to hold Love on my chest right above my heart which is bursting when I hold him.
And if it means I have to have hard mornings every morning of my life to have this life, then so be it.
It's a good trade.
I wouldn't trade it.

27 comments:

  1. you are beautiful, Ms. Moon. i could kiss that face of yours.

    'well it could have been worse and we know it'

    i LOVE that line.

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  2. I wish there was something for me to do to help you. Should I come home so I can jump on you the minute you wake up each morning so you don't have time to think about depression? Naw, I don't think that would work too well.
    You are the woman you are and I'm sorry you have such rough toughies in life, but I certainly do love you the way you are, and I know so many others do too.

    P.S. I loved being home for the short time that I was yesterday with you. Your chickens are looking so good!

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  3. Isn't my mother beautiful? Well? Isn't she? Goddamn. Sometimes, Mama, you just take my breath away. Your words, your face, your foot-firm grace.
    For Christmas, I want a copy of that picture of you and Owen, big for my wall.

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  4. ms moon, happy halloween, yes, it is problem for us who are wearing thrifted clothes most people use as costumes and we use them as ordinary clothes, perhaps we should wear "very proper dress" in order to look different !! well just too expensive, so lets instead make party everyday in our costumes ! all the best from your crazy overalls friend up in the dark north !

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  5. Yes, yes, yes. I know just what you mean about all that, well almost. I have not baby joy or children of any sort to love me and make me happy. I'm so glad you do, and I love reaidng about your mama, grandmama and wife love, even if it makes me sad sometimes that I don't have such things.
    Today I am trying to just wake up and not hate myself and my life. Writing helps for sure. And coffee, and even cleaning up after the animals. A walk will be good.

    I drop things in the toilet constantly. Thankfully, it's usually after I've flushed. I leave the seat up because the cat is narcissist and thinks that is his own mirroring pool.

    Happy Halloween to you. You were my treat today. So glad to have found you in cyber space.

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  6. Maggie- My line is literally shit, compared especially to the last line in that poem you posted. But thank-you. And I would happily kiss your beautiful face!

    HoneyLuna- It was so nice to have you here. Even though I was napping part of the time, it was just so nice to know you were here, playing with the dogs, studying, trying on costume choices. And thank-you for standing watch as I cleaned out the chicken house. Where IS my pitchfork? I love you so much.
    And no, probably trying to cheer me up first thing in the morning would not be a great idea. But I would still love you.

    May- Oh. Hush now. I will figure out the picture thing. It came from my phone you know so I don't know how nicely it will blow up. I love you and if I am beautiful, it is because I look like YOU, my mini-me, my better-me, my May.

    Bibprofessor- I always love it when you stop by. Yes, whenever I dress up in "real" clothes I feel as if I'm in drag. Stay warm!

    Bethany- And you are a treat to me! All those things you mentioned help in the mornings. Oh yes, they do. And I love the part about your cat needing to stare at his own reflecting pool. The things our cats make us do! You and May should get together and compare stories. Or perhaps you and May and Sarcastic Bastard should start a joint Things My Cat Makes Me Do blog. That would be hysterical. You'd get millions of readers!

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  7. You are so beautiful and you don't even know it. Really. I wish I could come over and stand at your door with you with a martini in hand. And I'm with you -- I said, today, at my son's 8 am soccer game, "Sophie would be dead if it weren't for me. But I would be dead if it weren't for my husband." I guess it's all about balance, and it's just so damn easy to tip either way.

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  8. I'm hoping it's all hormonal and when your body adjusts to the drop in estrogen, your peaks and valleys will even out.
    Meanwhile, I'm back on HRT, after giving up on Remeron and my shrink.
    When I was on HRT before (from 2000 until early 2007) it did give me a sense of 'well being' that's hard to describe, but this was confirmed by 2 female shrinks - the one in 1999 and the one I saw this summer. So, I'm hoping to feel that way again. Or at least not so much like a zombie.

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  9. We all suffer and experience in different ways, so advice and personal insights are relatively meaningless.

    But I will say this about my own struggle: the low lows make the highs seem even higher. I think I can experience full joy because I can and do experience such sadness and depression (not the same thing of course). I can appreciate the good so much more richly, I can feel thankful - all this because some days are so painful it takes my breath away. It's the balance I get in this life, and I would choose it a million times over a more even acceptable all the time.

    And I think in this way we are not so different. Such pure joy that Owen is to you, there's a counterpoint.

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  10. Well, you look about sixteen in that picture, Ms Moon.

    I wish the depression would just lift and float away from you too.

    Someimes I wonder how much of it is learned habit? Did I read here depression was repressed anger? I know you've done endless hours of work on working through all the feelings you must have stored up for so long. But maybe it's the patterns we build up that are hardest to let go of. It feels like you've done all the work and you've actually made your life so good, but your needle is still jammed in the old groove, folling the same path its used to.

    The Love and the good are the real things you've made, the dream depression is just the skin that needs shedding.

    Did you talk to your doctor yet, check on the medication progress? I think that's an ongoing thing, not a finished decision, antidepressants.

    I got to hold a ten week old the other day. Oof. The snuggles!

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  11. another day has come and gone away...and all we wanna do is going home


    what can i say with my limited english amount of words? its not like i didnt apreciate the other posts of you which i read before..but this one ist totally wonderfull and now i understand why people from all over blogland are crazy, madly , deeply in love with you and your words...:-)

    wonderfull done mis moon..another day has come and gone away...

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  12. Elizabeth- Once, when Lily was about three, she came rushing into the room and proclaimed, "I have finally seen my beauty!" Sometimes I see my beauty. Don't we all?
    Wish you were here. That would tip things most gorgeously.

    Lucy- I think you are right- it's all about hormones. And I think that Owen's birth has affected mine.

    Ms. Nola- Yes. The lows make the highs so much higher. Or at least, all right. And I think there is not that much difference between us.

    Jo- I have not spoken to the doctor about things lately. I think I am just so grateful not to be where I was last year with the medication I'm on that I don't want to mess with things. I wish you could hold Owen. It is a religious experience. For me, at least.

    Danielle- Your English is far more than sufficient. And I am so appreciative of the English words you throw my way.

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  13. Ms. Moon, I feel a strong connection with your post. I've been humbled by the cycling that occurs with the hormonal changes - deep despair out of nowhere! Great joy and gratitude that bring tears to my eyes, then more inexplicable nosedives into numbness, which is scarier than sorrow. Tired, sleep deprived exhaustion clouds every thought. I think lack of sleep makes everything less bearable.
    However:
    You look might contented and whole there holding that baby. How come we can't hold on to those moments a little longer?

    Hope things even out soon, it truly isn't fair to be hijacked emotionally this late in the game, when we are tired of such things. Wishing you sweet dreams and peaceful days.

    ps I ate too much Halloween candy and really want to barf!

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  14. Mel- Ah yah. I haven't gotten into the Halloween candy yet but you can bet I will. I think hormones have more to do with mental health or illness than any of us can imagine.

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  15. That is a beautiful picture. I hope you wake up despair free, shit free and pee free.
    xxoo pf

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  16. Love that picture, Ms. Moon. You and Owen and your madonna necklace. Beautiful

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  17. Ms.Fleur- You'll hear me crowing if I do.

    Michelle- It's sort of a cool picture, isn't it? Especially considering I took it myself with my phone meaning I could not even focus on it at all. It's Owen Magic.

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  18. You are in my dreams, too. All my good ones.

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  19. I so want to comment properly but I'm perched on someone else's bed and should not even be on the internet. Just want to say you're in my dreams, too, and I think the ups would not be so great without the downs. Have had a very "down" day myself just now, and it sucks. Suckity sucks. You're lovely. xxx

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  20. I am so glad you were happy with Owen. I want to thank you again for watching him for us, it was fun to get dressed up and go somewhere for once. I love you very much.

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  21. You look so at peace with that boy on top of you, Ms. Moon.

    And Alex used to like being violently rocked like that.

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  22. I figured it out. Jessica Lange would play you. Except I think she is a good bit taller. Drew Barrymore as Ms. Moon the baby girl.

    You're really more of a Meryl Streep in all honesty. But the above actresses are you looks-wise.

    This has nothing to do with your post. But I have been pondering this and it suddenly came to me. Stream of consciousness is a wondrous thing.

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  23. SJ- That makes me happy.

    Mwa- You're lovely too and I hope that for you, like me, this next day is so much better.

    Lily- It is the joy of my heart. You're welcome.

    Aunt Becky- Owen's mama liked being rocked like that too.

    Glimmer- Wow. That is a completely random and wonderful comment. Who wouldn't want to be played by any of those beautiful women? Would this be the movie of my life? Haha!

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  24. I just wish I were having more good dreams! I think my blog entry tomorrow will be about the random & strange turn my dreams seem to be taking these days.

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  25. Ms. Moon,
    Owen is SO CUTE! I can't wait to meet him and hug him.

    You are not alone on the depressive mornings thing. The mornings are always a struggle for me, too. I usually feel better as the day goes on.

    I never know when my depression is coming or exactly why either. It is almost entirely unpredictable.

    You are not alone, and I love you.

    SB

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Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.