Blah.
Five and a half months in and I don't know if I've made that much progress.
Some days, I feel like I'm finally back to 'normal' - whatever that is. But often, I feel like anxiety is lurking just below the surface, and I know that if I wasn't on medication, I'd be a mess right now. I know that. It keeps me from falling over the edge, no matter how close I get.
My very recent Wellington trip made me realize that. I flew with my five-month-old boy and my five-year-old. That went surprisingly well. What I wasn't prepared for was for my cruisy baby to be really unsettled at night, with 2 of the nights waking every single hour! I felt like a zombie. I'd get up in the morning, feeling like I had been run over by a bus, but after breakfast started feeling okay and more energetic. Then afternoon would come and I felt as if I had hit a brick wall. I just wanted to sleep! As evening approached, I felt that oh-so-familiar sense of dread creeping up on me. It had been a while, but I recognized it straight away. I am thankful for my medication. Things would have unraveled very quickly without it.
Life is so back and forth these days that I don't even know if I'm coming or going. I don't know if I'm doing relatively well, considering things, or if I'm barely managing. I just don't know.
The thing is, whether it's just the mental state I'm in or the medication, I just don't feel like myself. I don't feel the low lows. But I also don't feel the highs either. I don't feel much. I don't know what it looks like from the outside, but I feel like a robot going through the motions. I don't get all that excited. I feel boring. I don't feel like particularly good company. I feel groggy and I can't seem to shake the fog out of my head. Not only do I not feel like myself on the inside, but the side effect of the medication has meant gaining a lot of weight. It's so far from my normal. I cringe when I look in the mirror. I know I shouldn't give myself a hard time. My mental state needs to be the priority right now. But I can't help counting down to when I can consider coming off it. Last time I was on this stuff, I was running about 8 km three times a week, and I didn't lose a single kilogram until I came off. It's incredibly disheartening and really not very motivating to get into my exercise. I've done it on and off over the months, but it's so hard to stick to when I get absolutely 0 results - just the reward of not gaining more. I wish I could feel better about my body. About everything.
I'm trying to enjoy my kids. I am enjoying my kids. Snippets at a time. I wish I could be more present. The kids are wanting my attention. Wanting my time. Especially my five-year-old. I feel like I'm constantly letting her down. Always giving excuses why I'm "just busy doing....."
I find myself craving quality time with her. I miss her. It's the holidays but she'll be back at school soon. The three kids keep me so busy in different ways. Miss B wants intellectual stimulation. Little Miss D wants to climb on me and lick my face. Baby Boy needs feeding, settling, and nappy changes. Gone are the days when it was just her and I. I'm more than grateful for my children, but carving out quality time with each of them is hard. Especially hard when I feel so blah.
I tell myself that I'm trying to make time, but am I? I wonder sometimes whether I preoccupy myself with other less anxiety-inducing things to try keep things under control. Today, Miss B wanted to do something with me, and while the voice in my head said no no no (probably because my rowdy nearly 3-year-old was going to be joining us), I got the paint out anyway and started setting up. I'll be super careful to keep the toddler from smearing paint everywhere, I thought. As I was about to step outside with the tray of freshly squirted paint, I had a little stumble and before I knew it, the tray was on the carpet.
Face down.
My first thought was, I'm glad my husband isn't home.
Eek!
When I first decided to get the paint, I was so nervous about where the paint would end up, with the toddler being involved, and it ended up being me who made the mess (the big, big mess!).
By some miracle it came out fine!
It got me thinking though, that no matter how hard we try to control things (or people) in our lives, we still mess up. Or things just don't go our way. Sometimes it's because we try so hard that we actually end up tripping ourselves up even before anyone else can set a foot wrong. Hard as life can be at the moment, I still feel bursts of joy when I turn my face towards Jesus. Even on the dreariest of days, my heart leaps when I consider his love for me, broken as I am. How can someone so perfect and wonderful feel so much love for me? What have I done to deserve it? Does it matter? He died for me and he has set me free. When I'm really struggling, I think on that simple fact. I believe it. I believe in Him. I believe in his goodness. In his peace. In his love.
It's what keeps me going.
Some days, I feel like I'm finally back to 'normal' - whatever that is. But often, I feel like anxiety is lurking just below the surface, and I know that if I wasn't on medication, I'd be a mess right now. I know that. It keeps me from falling over the edge, no matter how close I get.
My very recent Wellington trip made me realize that. I flew with my five-month-old boy and my five-year-old. That went surprisingly well. What I wasn't prepared for was for my cruisy baby to be really unsettled at night, with 2 of the nights waking every single hour! I felt like a zombie. I'd get up in the morning, feeling like I had been run over by a bus, but after breakfast started feeling okay and more energetic. Then afternoon would come and I felt as if I had hit a brick wall. I just wanted to sleep! As evening approached, I felt that oh-so-familiar sense of dread creeping up on me. It had been a while, but I recognized it straight away. I am thankful for my medication. Things would have unraveled very quickly without it.
Life is so back and forth these days that I don't even know if I'm coming or going. I don't know if I'm doing relatively well, considering things, or if I'm barely managing. I just don't know.
The thing is, whether it's just the mental state I'm in or the medication, I just don't feel like myself. I don't feel the low lows. But I also don't feel the highs either. I don't feel much. I don't know what it looks like from the outside, but I feel like a robot going through the motions. I don't get all that excited. I feel boring. I don't feel like particularly good company. I feel groggy and I can't seem to shake the fog out of my head. Not only do I not feel like myself on the inside, but the side effect of the medication has meant gaining a lot of weight. It's so far from my normal. I cringe when I look in the mirror. I know I shouldn't give myself a hard time. My mental state needs to be the priority right now. But I can't help counting down to when I can consider coming off it. Last time I was on this stuff, I was running about 8 km three times a week, and I didn't lose a single kilogram until I came off. It's incredibly disheartening and really not very motivating to get into my exercise. I've done it on and off over the months, but it's so hard to stick to when I get absolutely 0 results - just the reward of not gaining more. I wish I could feel better about my body. About everything.
I'm trying to enjoy my kids. I am enjoying my kids. Snippets at a time. I wish I could be more present. The kids are wanting my attention. Wanting my time. Especially my five-year-old. I feel like I'm constantly letting her down. Always giving excuses why I'm "just busy doing....."
I find myself craving quality time with her. I miss her. It's the holidays but she'll be back at school soon. The three kids keep me so busy in different ways. Miss B wants intellectual stimulation. Little Miss D wants to climb on me and lick my face. Baby Boy needs feeding, settling, and nappy changes. Gone are the days when it was just her and I. I'm more than grateful for my children, but carving out quality time with each of them is hard. Especially hard when I feel so blah.
I tell myself that I'm trying to make time, but am I? I wonder sometimes whether I preoccupy myself with other less anxiety-inducing things to try keep things under control. Today, Miss B wanted to do something with me, and while the voice in my head said no no no (probably because my rowdy nearly 3-year-old was going to be joining us), I got the paint out anyway and started setting up. I'll be super careful to keep the toddler from smearing paint everywhere, I thought. As I was about to step outside with the tray of freshly squirted paint, I had a little stumble and before I knew it, the tray was on the carpet.
Face down.
My first thought was, I'm glad my husband isn't home.
Eek!
When I first decided to get the paint, I was so nervous about where the paint would end up, with the toddler being involved, and it ended up being me who made the mess (the big, big mess!).
By some miracle it came out fine!
It got me thinking though, that no matter how hard we try to control things (or people) in our lives, we still mess up. Or things just don't go our way. Sometimes it's because we try so hard that we actually end up tripping ourselves up even before anyone else can set a foot wrong. Hard as life can be at the moment, I still feel bursts of joy when I turn my face towards Jesus. Even on the dreariest of days, my heart leaps when I consider his love for me, broken as I am. How can someone so perfect and wonderful feel so much love for me? What have I done to deserve it? Does it matter? He died for me and he has set me free. When I'm really struggling, I think on that simple fact. I believe it. I believe in Him. I believe in his goodness. In his peace. In his love.
It's what keeps me going.
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