Hello,

My name is Jen, and eventually I will lose my mind.*

You see, along with an overwhelming history of mental and behavioral disorders on my family tree, there’s also a large helping of Alzheimer’s disease and dementia.

I have much to look forward to. Between the mental disorders and the dementia, there’s a good chance that, eventually, my mind will implode*

I worry about it. The future, that is. Of course, I worry about a lot of things. It’s the nature of the beast. But this, this quite possibly waking up one day and realizing I don’t -can’t- remember who is laying next to me….this is one that occurs to me often.

Oh, I realize that one of Alzheimer’s twisted blessings is that, eventually, my mind will be so far gone, I won’t even remember that I forgot.

I imagine that, at that point, it won’t be such a torture to me. No, it’s more the in-between time that concerns me. The time where I know.

When I know I should recognize the person across the table, but I can’t remember their name.

When I know there’s something I’m supposed to do right now, because this is the time of day I always do it, but I haven’t the foggiest idea what it is.

When I know that I need to get from point A to point B, the same as I’ve done for years, but I can’t remember how to get there.

That’s the part that worries me. The knowing that I don’t know.

*Dramatics may have been included in this post, for your reading pleasure

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Events of these past few weeks have dredged up memories from less stable times like a month ago.

And while digging for nylons that didn’t have major runs in them, I found my duct-tape covered Binder of Angst. Where I wrote page after page of depressing poetry between the ages of 13 and embarrassingly-old-for-that-sort-of-thing.

I’ve been fairly open about my struggles with depression and anxiety, I think.

Those that have known me since way back when can probably tell you that I’ve had these “issues” since at least adolescence. Example? Excerpt from angst-filled poem written when I was all of 14.

Losing control
Out of my mind
Selling my soul
One piece at a time

I don’t live
I just exist
What kind of life is this?

Clearly not the mind of a well child.  Of course, I couldn’t really see it at the time. My head was clouded, both by mental demons and by religious convictions. I was convinced that I, too, could be normal. If I just read my Bible every day, and prayed a little harder.

There’s a song that I learned as a child that actually runs through my head every time I see the phrases. It went (in part), “Read your Bible and Pray ever day, Pray ever day, Pray every day. Read your Bible and Pray every day, and you’ll grow, grow, grow!”  But I digress. I think.

I wish I could look back at that and shake my head, and say, “Gosh, am I ever glad I outgrew that!”

But I can’t.

Because I haven’t outgrown it yet. Not the hopelessness that catches up to me more often than I’d like to admit, nor the tendency to write angst-riddled, poorly constructed poetry.

The main difference is that at least now I admit and embrace my lack of skills, rather than convincing myself that I will someday be rich and famous. Don’t laugh, 14 year old girls tend to have rich imaginations, you know.

I realized the other night that I’m much farther from moving on from that stage than I thought.

After a week spent picking fights with the husband, bankers and the dog, I lay there in my darkened bedroom, possibly because none of my family/friends could stand being in the same room as I, contemplating how physical pain is closely linked to mental pain. I realized that clearly there are times where I am still just a scared, pissed-off little girl.

I wish there were a better conclusion to this post. I wish I could say, “And so I realized that, in order to fix everything, I merely need to start doing XYZ! And then life will revert to rainbows and snuggly puppy hugs! Yay!”

But. Alas, no such clarity was bestowed upon me.

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There’s been a lot of navel-gazing happening here. That and frantic feelings of being overwhelmed.
And now, I’m sick.
Most likely because I allowed myself to get too stressed out, and run down. And now I’m paying for it.
So tonight, after homework and housework and so on, I’m going to take a little bit of time to relax, to take care of myself.

Feel free to join me (well, in your own tub…)

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“But it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”
-Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carrol
I have a love-hate relationship with yesterdays. Sometimes I want to return to them, or at least a whitewashed handful of them. Other times I’m glad I can’t remember many details of those yesterdays. And occasionally, I seek out the details.

It bothers me, that there are these big gaps in what I remember, with no reason or explanation. No serious head injuries or big traumatic events that I’ve ever heard about, not even a hint of. So why these holes? What’s missing?

It wouldn’t bother me so much if I thought it was just lousy memory, but I don’t have these same gaps from about 17-18 and on. Maybe a little earlier.
But before that age, there are just little random bits and pieces. Not the stories people talk about, either. Those I don’t usually remember.

I’ve had therapists/counselors that want to approach these blank spots. But I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m leery of the idea of putting myself in a situation where someone might be able to guide me to remembering something filtered by their opinion of that event. It’s hard to explain what I’m trying to say.
I guess that I don’t want to leave myself open to suggestions?

On the other hand, it feels weird to feel like I’m missing something. Like I should *know* this stuff, and it’s kinda almost there, but not within reach.

I think that Alice had it wrong, yesterday is of use, specifically because we were different then. Yesterday is how we learn who we are, and what makes us…us.

I don’t know why I can’t remember these gaps. Is my memory really that poor? Is there some sort of physical reason? If it’s that my mind won’t allow me to (for whatever reason, trauma, stress or part of my mental health issues…), then maybe now that I’m a (slightly) more confident person, maybe now I could have those back? Good, bad or mundane, they are part of who I am now.

Yesterday…..I was a different person then.

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I prefer to pretend that things are all right. That they are peachy keen and hunky dory.
But they’re not always.

It’s like there is this cable with all this weight hanging on it. These weights range in size and importance. Everything from laundry, to financial solvency, parenting, homework, relationship issues, tests, mental health issues, the kids’ health, the kids’ behavior, the fate of mankind as we know it (yes, I KNOW that sounds ridiculous, but yes, I actually stress about big picture things on top of my own stuff.) And if you pay attention, you might notice that the cable is fraying. And you might worry about that, too, but most likely you’ll reassure yourself that it doesn’t look too bad and put it out of your head.

Until one day it gives way, and everything falls to the ground around you, seemingly in a heap and broken. And you have no idea how to fix it. Or if it’s even worth fixing. And maybe it’s not, so you start to consider other options.

Well, consider isn’t really the right word, because you’ve had those thoughts before. Many times. And you’ve struggled to turn them off and shove them away, but there’s no real way to make them stop completely. So you learn to cope. Instead of shoving them away, you list reasons why those thoughts and plans are a horrible idea. And it works.

Until the cable snaps and everything around you is broken beyond repair (or so you think), then you have no reasons left, and what’s to stop you?

And that was where I was at yesterday. My cable snapped, and everything let go. And I lost my damn mind for a bit. It’s not something I’m proud of. And I’m not looking for sympathy or hugs(hence the closed comments), but one of my things here has been being honest about my mental illnesses, in the hopes that someone else will see themselves, and know they aren’t alone. I felt that I couldn’t continue to claim honesty and transparency, if I wasn’t fully honest and transparent.

And yes, I made an appointment with my therapist today.

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“Everyone, at some point in their lives, wakes up in the middle of the night with the feeling that they are all alone in the world, and that nobody loves them now and that nobody will ever love them, and that they will never have a decent night’s sleep again and will spend their lives wandering blearily around a loveless landscape, hoping desperately that their circumstances will improve, but suspecting, in their heart of hearts, that they will remain unloved forever.
The best thing to do in these circumstances is to wake somebody else up, so that they can feel this way, too.”
— Lemony Snicket (Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can’t Avoid)

Today was one of those days. Well, most days are like that. Even though I know that, logically, it’s a bunch of bullshit, I can’t always shake it from my head. Isn’t mental illness just grand?

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The mission this week is to let it all out. Get everything that’s driving you nuts off of your chest. And that’s why I debated participating this week.

On one hand, this should be a really easy post. Because, honestly? There are a ton of things that annoy me.
On the other hand, how many times a day can you think/say/type “This suuuucks” before you begin to annoy even yourself?

But, since I’m getting sick of the same post being up at the top, and since I apparently have a complete block going on, mentally speaking, here is my list of obnoxious things.*

1) The amount of homework I have to do is ridiculous. Between that and housework? Well, I think I figured out *why* I’ve had the same post up for nearly a week.

2) The Department of Veteran’s Affairs. Still annoying, still coming up with new reasons not to pay TheMan. Still inefficient, at best. At worst? Clearly a tool of the devil.

3) Germs. Look, I? Am busy. While both kids were down for the count last weekend** and needing lots of snuggles, care and tissues, among other things, I also had homework, housework, and tests that needed studying for. But I managed. Now, my throat is sore. And all I have to say is, Back. The Hell. Off.

4) There are not enough hours in a day. Self-explanatory.

5) Things keep breaking. If you’ll reference #2, right now is *really* not the best time for the Jeep to start acting odd, or the electronics to die, or the fridge to start whining. But has this stopped *any* of them? No.

6) It’s also really annoying to have to ask for help. It’s annoying to be dealing with the state/county “economic counselors” in order to be able to cover the kids’ medical bills. It’s annoying to have to ask my parents for a loan. It’s really freaking annoying that I felt the need to stick a little (hopefully not too jarringly out of place) donate button in the side bar. And it’s annoying that I felt like I had to erase, re-write, erase, re-write etc etc that last sentence, because, yes, it is something that’s driving me nuts, but still *I* put it there. And I don’t want anyone to think that I’m pointing it out to make them feel guilty.

So yes. Am done. Summary: Mostly annoyed by lack of cash, and lack of time.
So what are you annoyed by? Let me know in the comments, or click the button at the top to participate with your own post!
Love and such,
Jen Thepsychobabble

*The following items may contain a wee bit of hyperbole. Maybe
**Look for Weekend from Hell to appear in a different post.

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Dear Beautiful Girl with Angst Issues,

I remember being a teenager, high school, and teh crazie that lived inside me. I remember feeling very disconnected. Like I was an observer, and not a participant, in what surrounded me.

It was disturbing, to see, hear and feel yourself doing something, while one part of you was going, “What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?” and the other part of you was screaming back, “Fuck yes, I am crazy! And I DON’T CARE who knows it!”

It was disturbing to see, hear and feel yourself doing something that you didn’t really believe in wholeheartedly, just because you craved that thin veneer of normality in your life.

I still haven’t found true normalcy. I’ve merely set my sights on “happy” instead.

The things I did and said while in the grip of teh crazie…..I still don’t know or understand why. I still struggle with some of them, when shit hits the fan. And I still don’t know or understand why.

Why is teh crazie so prominent in some of us, so hidden in others and, in some, not at all present?

I grew up in the same house as my sister did, at the same time, with the same rules (more or less)….yet her brand of teh crazie is far more of a socially acceptable crazie than mine ever was. Her’s is more of an adorable quirkiness, while I was/am the one you put on suicide watch every so often.

I would bet money that you, Beautiful Girl with Angst Issues, have wondered and felt the same. I have no answers for you.

I have very little to offer, to be truthful. No answers, no magic bullets, no solution.

Only solidarity, friendship….a heart that understands how you can want to, and not want to, break things, scream, cry, slice, bleed, run, hide………all while craving a “normal” life, though it’s completely un-angst-y to cop to it.

And I want to reach out to you. To simultaneously shake you silly, and hold you close.

But. It’s hard for me to do so. Because even now, this far removed from that particularly craptastic time in life, I still have trouble dealing with the left-over baggage. It left it’s mark on me, in a socially awkward, distrustful type of way. So I’m not very good at this.

Consider this my way of offering a hand, a safe place……I love you, Beautiful Girl with Angst Issues…………..

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I feel….odd. Have felt that way for weeks now. I can’t shake it. TheMan thinks it’s this no(or almost no)-carb diet the local doctor persuaded me to try out. I’m not convinced. I will happily blame the fact that I was willing to kill TheMan for his crackers the other night on this cursed diet, though.

It’s like someone strapped concrete blocks to my ankles, and threw me into the water. Not deep enough to drown, only chest high, so that I can’t move very fast.

So that I feel like I’m working against this pressure that’s resisting my efforts, with every step I take.

Oh, there have been moments where I thought I had reached shore. Where I was all “Woohoo, yeah! Life is pretty good, really!”

But holding onto that attitude, lately, is like trying to grab a handful of Jello.
Sure, it’s possible. But it’s likely that instead of a pretty Jello salad, with whipped topping, you’re going to wind up with a handful of crushed mush.
And crushed mush does NOT give you the same content and happy feeling as a pretty Jello salad with whipped topping.

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Have spent the last day or so curled up on the couch. I think I may be dying. Clearly, this is a “Man Sick” and not an average illness.

Am going to drag myself to the shower and rinse the germs off now. Then, it’s off to the grocery store, since apparently all the little ones, furred and non-furred, expect to be fed. Have they no compassion?

Then…a return to my beloved indent on the couch.

Last night, Miss Question was very concerned. She goes to bed later than her brother. She fetched a blanket, a glass of water, and started Alice in Wonderland for me (my least hated Disney movie, lol)
She really is a very nurturing little girl.

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