Is this depression, or am I just tired?

It's time to make an appointment to do some mental maintenance. I'm angry. I'm grumpy. I'm sad. I'm crying too easily. I'm more irritable than usual. I'm tired and I feel like every step is kind of like walking through knee high mud. I don't even want to write. I am unclear on where my irritation with people-- specifically family-- is justified vs where it's just me being irrational. I feel taken for granted, but am I really? Maybe I'm the one taking everyone else for granted. I don't know and I hate Mondays. I hate dropping my Critter off at daycare. I hate saying goodbye to Sunshine and Kiddo. How is it that I feel both overwhelmed and disconnected at the same time. This sucks. I want to crawl back into bed.

Wishing I could play ostrich today....

I've been on the verge of it for days, maybe even a couple of weeks now, but today it happened. I can't stop crying. Well, I can, I'm sure. And I will, I'm sure. I have to reign it in because I have to go to work.

It might've started with PMS and that raw, hypersensitive feeling. Then again, maybe it's just an ongoing thing and I crash when I've just finally wound myself too tightly. I don't know how other people do it. How do people stay constantly moving and keep their shit together? Then again, FB profiles are hardly to be trusted indicators of how a person really feels. We're all our own PR reps. If I stop and attempt relaxation, I feel like I'm letting someone down or forgetting something. So, I can't really relax. I start my days when Critter wakes up, which is thankfully not usually any earlier than 6am these days. From there, it's pretty much non-stop in one way or another-- largely making sure there is plenty of prepared healthy food on hand in addition to other household chores (which are pretty much half-assed) and chasing a toddler around-- until I get home from work around 10:30, make the kids' lunches for the next day, and crawl into bed.

It sucks. If everything gets done around the house, I feel like I'm letting my son and/or step daughter down because I haven't focused as much on them. If I focus on them, I leave more work for my husband to do when he gets home and also has to figure out how to navigate all the responsibilities in the evening. I have to admit, though. Unlike me, he is able to set it all aside and chill the fuck out. I can't, and it's hurting everything. It's hurting me. It's hurting us. I feel like things won't get done unless I do them, and with regard to food and housework, they mostly won't because I'm the only one with daytime hours available to actually get stuff done. But, it should be ok that things don't get done, right? Stuff'll still be there tomorrow, but I can't let it go. I don't want the kids raised on convenience food and TV; and I don't want the kids raised on a family divided by work schedules or gender stereotypes or anything else within our control. I don't want to be an evil stepmother. I don't want to be a wet blanket wife. I don't want to be a dull mother. And right now I feel like I'm all of these things, for various reasons. Fucking hobgoblins.

And then, there's today. I was already on the edge of having a meltdown, so I should have known better, but nope. I did it anyway. Let me start with this: I pride myself, professionally, on understanding that people are victims of their own brain chemistry as well as their experiences; and I believe people who want help-- however horrifying their thoughts or potential behaviors might be-- should get compassionate help. That said, I've been avoiding following any story in the news for the past year since Critter was born because it's far too depressing and I can't handle the extra reminders of how fucked up the world can be. While I love my job, I get quite enough of that at work. For some reason today, I decided to attempt reading an article from "This American Life" about a 16 year old who wanted help. He wanted help. He didn't want to hurt anyone. He was a pedophile. Again, I pride myself on my compassion and understanding.  So, I opened up the article, read the first paragraph, and I haven't stopped crying since. I'm sure the article got easier to stomach, but the description of what the boy saw that gave him his own epiphany is now haunting my thoughts. I want to scrub my brain clean of the image described and I can't.

I know there is more good than evil in the world, but the evil is so striking and so atrocious and so insidious and calculating... it leaves me feeling some version of helpless and hopeless and utterly enraged. This is where we see that the other side of my compassion coin is my belief that death is sometimes the only way to prevent some people from continuing to hurt others. While it's tempting to succumb to my own rage and hate, with insanely violent and torturous thoughts of my own toward perpetrators of this nature, my compassion doesn't allow me to believe in death or pain as punishment. Rationally, I know more pain doesn't help anyone, so I would like to believe in death as a last resort to bring an end to suffering. I just hope with every fiber of my being that my compassion is not tested in this way. I hope my Critter, my Kiddo, and all the Monsters, and Teenies, and Littles I'm blessed to know all live charmed lives, safe from the overflowing torment of others.

Passing go with tears today. Wish I could play ostrich for the day, but I have to get to work. Time to pick myself up, dust myself off, and try to do some good. Maybe I'll take a day off tomorrow to play ostrich and paint my dang toenails.

lots of drafts in the line up

So I just published them all. I didn't just write all of that. Just saying.

At some point, Critter and Kiddo, you're bound to mistake a great romance for a great romantic love. In fact, you'll probably do it several times because romance is exciting and it is fun and it makes you feel like you're flying. Love, however, is far more profound and powerful. Love is beauty. Romance is glamour. Love is a structure that makes for fulfilling work and requires maintenance. Romance is the decor, and decor is fun. Decor brings a sparkle and a shine to the structure. So, take this to heart: decor is important-- very important-- but even when the decor changes, and even when the ground shakes, in love the structure should remain in tact.

cognitive dissonance

I am part of the problem. I am the system. I am a big red stamp on a small snapshot of experience. For years, I've stood on my soapbox talking about how awful the system is that labels and medicates children without taking time to build solid professional rapport and understanding, without having time to have an appropriate and functional level of understanding of a child and their experience. Now, I work as a part of that system. Granted, I tend to defer to whatever diagnosis has already been put in the system for people--children and adults, alike-- and I avoid diagnosing children whenever possible; but for several months now, I have been taking part in what I believe to be a systemic flaw and a huge disservice to the people I'm charged with helping: diagnosing them based on a single assessment, the equivalent of a snapshot of their life. For the first time, I am ashamed of doing a part of my job. I am ashamed of this requirement to diagnose seemingly for no better reason than it's "always been that way." I want to know who to write, who to talk to, who to hash this out with so that my opinion on the matter has at least been heard. The system won't change unless we change it, right? I remember talking to my first internship supervisor about the system needing to be flipped on its head with less emphasis on medication and more on counseling... or at least equal emphasis.

Sigh. So many challenges in this system, and this is just a part of it. Love my job. Love the people I get to work with-- both colleagues and clients. Sometimes, it just kind of sucks when you remember that you're wading through some bureaucratic shit stew.

Oh well. Still going to do my best to remember to be a part of the change I want to see, rather than just a cranky cog in the system.

Dear Critter, 

I still think about death a lot. I think about it and I feel like I also don't write you nearly enough. I think about it and I realize that if I were to die at this stage in your life, you'd never know your mother and I'd want your sister to have words from my heart too. You might always have unanswered questions. You might always feel robbed of something, and I hope you never have to feel that way. Maybe writing you will help.

As soon as we found out you were on your way, my days no longer belonged to me. My life has since only belonged to you. What is left of my days, weeks, years, and probable decades is all yours; which isn't to say that you are my only reason for living. I know from experience that that's way too much unnecessary pressure. You just bring a brighter light to all the other reasons to live. You make everything shiny and new again, and I want to live life to the fullest in the hopes that you, too, will grow up enjoying and loving life. I want you to grow up knowing that there's a lot of shit in the world, and that beautiful gardens can grow out of it. 

It's funny. Every time I try to write you and your sister I get tongue tied. I want so much for your happiness, but I also know that there's no knowing real joy without knowing sadness, no growth without some pain, no learning without mistakes. As mentioned before, I just hope life doesn't give you guys an unfair share of pain... and if it does, I hope you find your way to minimize it, living and loving and feeling joy in spite of it all. 

I also hope you grow to understand the privileges you've been born with in an imbalanced social system. I hope understanding your privilege--which isn't to say you don't also work hard for who you are and what you have--softens your heart and solidifies your resolve to advocate and sacrifice for the greater good. The greater good can't grow if all individuals only look out for their small pocket of personal comfort and welfare. 

There's just so much to say.... So much to share.... So much to hope.... So much to show you.... And also so much from which I'd like to protect you. There's far more good-- or at least good intentions-- in the world than bad or evil, but that's easy to forget. 

I love you so crazy much, my little Critter. In a million years I could never express how much. I love you, your sister, your dad. Each love is different, and I'm so grateful for it all.

Love,
Mama

Dear Kiddo,

I think a lot about my role as a step parent to you. I've tried to wade into the role cautiously; in part, mirroring your dad's caution in how he invites and expects others to be in your life. I respect him greatly for that, and it ties in with my own reasons for caution. In short, I had a practice run as a step parent a few years ago when I trusted someone waaaaaaaaaay too fast, and that person turned out to have quite a bad habit of deception, among other things. I was reckless not only with my own heart, but as a consequence, the hearts of his children. He was careless and self centered, a deceiver and a manipulator, an insecure and frightened man armed with a powerful elixir of half-truths and lies. He was very hurt and he was broken. And, I fell for the theater of it all, believing it was real. I just couldn't fathom that someone would lie when the hearts of their children were involved.

But, I digress. That's way too much information, and clearly something I still feel guilty about. The point is, I recklessly opened my heart and my eagerness for family, children, and companionship once before this journey began with your dad and you, and everyone got burned. The kids may not think much of me (except one, with , but I continue to think the world of them. So, if it has ever felt or feels like I am distant, please know that it's not because I don't love you. It's out of respect for your dad, your mom, and for you. I don't want to be the "evil stepmother." I don't want to be overbearing. I don't want anyone to think I'm trying to be your mom because you already have one that loves you so deeply. Or your friend for that matter-- as you have plenty of those too. I am altogether something different. We have something altogether different. I am your stepmom. You are my stepdaughter, and I am so completely grateful to be a part of your life. No matter what happens, my love for you as an individual stands alone. It is not contingent upon how your dad and I are doing, nor does it change now that your little brother is here. I am invested in you, and I care deeply about your journey and how your life unfolds.

I love you tons. I love our family tons. Life is good passing go with you and I think I need to write more to you. I need to write to you as much as I think about you. In my mind, you get just as many of my soapbox rants as Critter, but I have yet to torment you with my endless ramblings. I'll work on that.

Love,
me