Entry
#20
~ Ruminations of a
Housewife
I've
been thinking about anger again. Could the suicide urges
be due, in part, to self-anger and loathing? Why wouldn't
I be able to know that instinctively or am I wearing the
mask that hides me from myself at times? Can't help thinking
about a local trial in the news here. A little girl was
killed by a mom's boyfriend (he abused her physically
and verbally—final insult was throwing her against
the wall) and she stood by while he did it... made excuses
for him to her sister who also babysat, still loves him
and stayed with him after he was indicted when they were
ordered by the court to have no contact. I think it's
vile that someone is putting the blame on another person
for killing that little girl! God, I've been mad enough
to want to hurt someone before, but I've always been able
to go into another room or to the bathroom and restrain
myself. I've been afraid of losing control before, but
dear God, the consequences are awful to contemplate!!
Losing my self-control to anger is an unacceptable
response!! I'd rather lose myself than do that
or hurt someone or someone else I care about!! Do I
care enough about me???
After
I get mad or lose my temper, I do not always feel better.
Sometimes I need to express how I feel in order to let
it go—that's different. Is it different from the
loss of control I feel when I get mad sometimes? Like
the time I got mad about all the toys on my son's floor
and threw every single thing in the hall? (now that was
a LONG time ago) It made me feel better, but that was
temporary because it made my oldest cry hard, which made
me feel bad in return for making him so upset. What about
the times when I've been so frustrated with my children
that I haven't wanted to be a mom anymore and I've said
so? It makes the kids feel bad—makes them afraid
I'll abandon them. THAT IS NOT GOOD OR HONEST ANGER BECAUSE
IT IS SAID WITH HURTFUL INTENTIONS!! I have felt lower
than low when I've said that. Thank the Lord I haven't
said it often and I have apologized profusely to my children.
I've known that what I said was wrong. I had to make a
conscious decision not to say that ever again because
I haven't meant it, I've just been frustrated with what
was happening or not happening at that point. I guess
it's good to figure these things out, but it does not
make me feel like a very good person. I know it has hardened
my resolve to be a better mom.
I
think these feelings of frustration and anger come from
a series of things:
1)
Sometimes all I want is for people to leave me alone!
I don't want duties, responsibilities, anything. I don't
want to mediate kid disagreements; I don't want to smile
and pretend I'm okay when I'm really not; I just want
to be left alone!
2)
I was asking on a support board about suicide urges and
how long they take to go away. I don't have an urge or
compulsion at this moment, but I have a plan and a potentially
lethal means should I do it. I STILL would not leave a
note. God, that sounds cold. Dh would be SO pissed at
me forever, my family would not forgive me, I would be
hurting my children terribly and putting them at risk
emotionally, but sometimes I think it would be better
than this—sinkfuls of dishes, piles of dirty clothes,
and nothing better in sight. I feel pretty hopeless right
now. Wish I could cover up the deadness and coldness inside
of me. I'm having trouble breaking through it, but I also
know I have no choice but to keep going.
Under
Protest
I'm
tired, but feeling feisty. I love my doctor. He's been
great about everything, but I am getting tired of going
in to see him...to say nothing about the cost even with
insurance. I got a little wheezy last night and had a
hard time breathing at times. I called in this morning
and was told in no-nonsense terms that I needed to be
seen today! When he came into the examination room, I
told him I was there "under protest!" He did a doubletake,
but I think he figured out what I meant—so many visits
lately. Seems my asthma is acting up pretty bad and I
was prescribed an inhaler to use until I'm feeling better—probably
about a week. When he asked me if I've ever had trouble
with asthma before and I said yes, he got a frustrated
look on his face (the I-wish-I had-known-that-look). I
didn't think it was important because it had been about
six years since the last really bad attack. My allergist
has been following it and I check out okay on the breathing
tests usually. Geez... I'm thinking I already get a laundry
list of stuff when I'm here. I don't need to add to it
unnecessarily. However, he carried on, did a breathing
test, which I failed admirably, prescribed an albuterol
inhaler, and sent me on my way. The albuterol is making
me feel better. Not everything is in my head! I guess
doctors are okay. :-)
I've
got to talk to "A" about the persistently low moods of
the past week. I'm wondering how long it will take for
this increased dose of Prozac to kick in and kick the
suicide thoughts and urges out? I'm feeling very edgy
today—must be a combination of the albuterol and
therapy kicking up all kinds of thoughts and feelings
because I felt like I was living with a death wish today.
Thank GOD that is starting to pass a little. I certainly
can't go around thinking about dying all day when I want
to LIVE—just feeling like the reasons are thin today.
The
Aftermath
I'm
feeling better!!! Discussing my feelings with "A" is definitely
helpful especially since he is so nonjudgmental when it
comes to the suicidal urges I'm having trouble with right
now. I feel better than I have in a couple of days and
that is good!
He
made me work hard to put words to my thoughts and feelings
today. You know how it is when you say something to your
kids and they come back with "Why?" but, it isn't one
"Why", it's a series of "Why's?" That's what "A" did today.
I finally got to a word that has such negative connotations
for me: housewife. It's a word that makes me feel devalued.
I would not have been willing to use that word last week.
I never wanted to be a housewife even when I made the
decision that I wanted to be home with our children while
they are little. I know everyone cannot make it on one
income, we barely do. After going through infertility
and having trouble in some of my pregnancies, and then
special needs in my children, I've always felt that being
home with them is important. I never said I wanted to
be a housewife. Even when one does clean, children come
right behind you and undo it. It's a lost cause at times.
It's the way of life for moms. However, this issue has
caused quite a few problems between DH and me. He has
not always valued what I do, instead placing more value
on how clean the house looks or whether or not the dishes
are clean or all the clothes washed and put away. I'm
frustrated because I see my work description as being
something different and infinitely more important than
cleaning and washing. Yes, I think those things are important
and I attend to what needs to be done, but it's not always
on his timetable or according to his priorities. I wish
he could see mine better.
I
guess there are some good points to not knowing too much
about the therapy process. I'm trying very hard to be
honest and forthright even when I don't want to say what
needs to be said. I do anyway and damn the consequences
(it's time for me to be honest and I've got to start somewhere).
The therapy won't do me any good if I hide from myself.
I have no choice: I NEED and WANT to get better. It is
similar to stripping off layers of wallpaper and paint.
You think you've reached the bottom layer, but then you
find more. Wonder what I'll find at the bottom of my layers?
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