Articulation
March 10, 2007
I’m trying really hard to articulate what I’m feeling to Daren, and to you. It helps to write it out and your comments and emails (thank you) are really helping me look at this from all angles. Daren took me out last night and when we got to the Keg, it was a 30 minute wait. We sat in the bar and I concentrated hard on not throwing up the martini I was drinking.
I knew that I was falling apart right in front of him and that he was looking at me harder than he had in some time. I’ve always been the stable wife, stable mother, stable friend…and now I was falling into this pit of gravel and hitting every rock on the way down.
Sitting in the bar was torture. I wanted so badly to scream, to cry, to puke, to just freak right out. It was like I had a tornado in my belly and my stomach was in complete knots. I knew that he was looking at me with great concentration, and with frustration in not knowing what to do with this person he married but didn’t know. He even said that at one point during dinner. The tears fell silently as I stared back, with no explanation.
I felt as though I needed to finally say to him, to everyone, that I am not going to continue this facade any more. I come from a strong line of crazy and although 100% of people I know and love tell me I. AM. NOT. MY. MOTHER., I am starting to wonder if I’ve had this grip on sanity for so long that my knuckles are white and cramped and I need to just let go, to fall, and hope hope hope that Daren is there to catch me.
I tried to explain it like that and it was met with more looks of desperation, of bewilderment, of pity.
About 10 minutes before our dinner arrived, he asked me the one question I didn’t want to answer: “What have you eaten today?”
I avoided the question by saying I didn’t want to argue, but the truth was, I hadn’t eaten anything. Unless 5 cups of coffee and 3 bottles of water count, which hello?, they do not. He eventually got the truth out of me and was NOT. HAPPY.
Our dinner arrived, mine being a cilantro baked halibut with green beans, and his being something of the red meat variety that was barely dead. It made me sick to watch his plate. Not that I have ever begrudged anyone for enjoying a good steak, but the whole thought of food had me reeling.
I had 11 bites of my food and gave up. The tornado was still spinning, in my head and stomach and I couldn’t continue. The kind waiter (bless his heart), asked me several times if there was something wrong with it and I finally said, “I swear on my life, it’s delicious, but please…take it.” He backed off after that.
We had planned on going to see 300, but I was exhausted, both physically and mentally so we instead cruised Chapters for an hour before heading home.
I will say this: my husband may not know what to do about this, but he is trying so hard to understand, and knows how much I need to be held and loved and listened to. And I made sure I told him just that.
Thank God I married him.
This morning I had to get up and take Cindy to work, and I bought jeans at the store she works at. I was happy to see I could fit into my pre-preggo-with-Thomas size, and spent the money to get them. I was going to take Thomas to get his hair cut but being out of breath all the time and my heart pounding hard scares me, so we came home. Daren will be home soon and maybe he can take Thomas.
Since I know you’re going to ask, I have promised Daren I would call the doctor on Monday. So that’s where the logistics of this thing are.
Where am I?
Standing in a dark room, trying to find the door.
March 10th, 2007 at 1:08 pm
Karen, I’m so glad that you have such a good support who sticks by you for better, for worse, and for all the shades in between. You will get through this. Hopefully sooner than later. My prayers are with you.
March 10th, 2007 at 1:16 pm
Just keep talking, Karen, keep letting it out. Pour it out so it doesn’t drag you down. Daren will listen, your doctor will listen, I will listen. Put it in your Hello Kitty notebook under your bed if you don’t want anyone else to see.
March 10th, 2007 at 2:14 pm
I am SOOOO glad you’re going to the doc.
Chin up babe. It’ll all work out.
March 10th, 2007 at 2:18 pm
Karen,
You’re right. You are tired because you think you’ve been having to hang on. Maybe you’ve had to…maybe you haven’t. But now you’re just too tired to know.
You need a rest. It sounds like your husband will be there to catch you. Talking is great, but you need a break.
I’m sure you don’t want to hear this and especially from someone you don’t know, but you are obviously an amazing person.
Find yourself a place, check yourself in and let yourself fall apart in a safe environment. You have a tremendously strong core if you’re able to talk about it this much. But you need to know you can let go and that the world won’t fall apart. It’s okay not to be in control all the time.
Allow help to come into your life. We’re all here of course, but that doesn’t seem to be helping.
Please take care of yourself!!! I send you hugs.
March 10th, 2007 at 2:44 pm
I can’t tell if your pictures are just a creative way of saying, “yes, I know I’m doing this … here’s where I stand” or “look at me, I’ve lost more weight”.
If I were you I guess it’d be both.
The joy of slimming - the total control (and not) - and yet, the sickness … the reeling … the stomach knots … the heart palpitations.
Please keep on posting so we can write and encourage and tell you that YEA! We are SO HAPPY you are going to the doctor.
March 10th, 2007 at 3:31 pm
Wow.
Keep posting. Keep talking to your husband. I’ve been in that room and my husband was literally my line back to the door. He never forced me to come back through and I finally made it out into the other room…the one with light and sound and food I could eat and enjoy.
It sounds to me as if our experiences are similar, however you don’t know me from Adam. So I will offer one thing only. Something that I learned, painfully.
Trust your husband, even if you don’t trust yourself. Trust him, listen to him. If you have to, just put yourself in his hands and let go.
March 10th, 2007 at 4:09 pm
Ok so you have sort of come undone. But you are brave enough to post about it to talk about it. You are not hiding, you are putting it out there and once you have, well you just gotta follow up. I am glad you are going to talk with your doctor.
Thinkin’ on ya….
March 10th, 2007 at 4:13 pm
Yeah, you are NOT your mom and you don’t have to be her either. Thank goodness for our more modern understanding of brain chemistry. I know you and Daren and the doc can get it sorted. You will be okay.
March 10th, 2007 at 7:45 pm
Just lurking, tablefor5 sent me over.
I had something very similar and was diagnosed with severe anxiety and then it left me. After many counseling sessions. You are trying to be too strong and take some control over your life. It is not working. You need to go see your Dr. and have your thyroid checked as well. Take care of yourself, your kids need you and so does your hubby. Hell, YOU need you. Good Luck, sending some good vibes out your way.
March 10th, 2007 at 8:37 pm
I’ve stood in a dark room and searched for the door many times. Every woman has different reasons (genetics, postpartum, chemical imbalances, whatever)that got her into that dark room but you won’t be there forever, I promise. I wish you could see how many people are standing next to you and hoping you well, wanting to help.
I am.
March 10th, 2007 at 9:23 pm
I just want to say that I am here, and I know that you are strong and that you are NOT your mother. You have people around you who love you and support you and will hold your hand and hold you up if necessary. There’s a way out of the dark room, and I know you will find it. I believe in you.
March 11th, 2007 at 9:23 am
there is no shame in going to a doctor, sweetie. you and daren are doing the right thing.
give him and yourself an extra huge hug for me.
love,
amanda
March 11th, 2007 at 9:33 am
Karen, I love you. I’ve always admired you and looked up to you. I want you to know that that hasn’t changed, and it won’t. I look up to you and admire you more now after you’ve said all this. You’re helping yourself, and you’re helping others.
There isn’t any shame in getting help from those you love and even a doctor. We love you and will always be here for you, no matter if you’re stable or falling into a pit of gravel.
And you are definately NOT your mother.
March 11th, 2007 at 10:14 am
you know i’m here for you….whatever you need
March 11th, 2007 at 12:07 pm
thinking of you. I’m glad you’re calling the doctor tomorrow.
Wish I could do something besides listen.
You are NOT your mother. Of that I am certain. Thank you for being honest with us, that takes a lot of courage!
March 11th, 2007 at 12:59 pm
Karen, You know I am here for you. Please call me and I will go to the doctors with you if you want. Don’t worry about the kids because my sweetie, Andrew will look after them.
I love you and you are an amazing person and friend. LEAN ON ME!!!
Cindy
March 11th, 2007 at 1:28 pm
Unraveling is like pulling a small string on a sweater only to have the whole thing start to come apart. The good news is you can always knit one, pearl two back to health. Glad to hear you have strong support, you are talking about it, and headed to the doc.
All the best…
March 11th, 2007 at 8:00 pm
I didn’t call the doctor when I should have. I didn’t listen to my husband, nor to the friends who e-mailed and said *talk to someone.* And I spent far too long in darkness, and only came out far too recently.
You’re doing good, lady. You’re doing what you should be doing.
xoxo
March 11th, 2007 at 8:39 pm
Do me a favor. Go pick something up, something big, maybe a garbage can or a stack of Costco size toilet paper. Now turn around, set it down right behind you. Yup, right there, touching your heels. Now keep it there and every time you try to scoot farther back into the corner, more out of reach from your dear husband and friends, let it nudge you back out. You can do this. Be sad, be angry, but don’t be alone.
Fierce waves of support going out your way, sweet one.
March 11th, 2007 at 10:30 pm
Chin up, many mothers have been there. I’m just so glad that you found a doctor to talk to, and have opened up on your blog. Blogging is probably the best therapy out there, and you have all of us supporting you. You’re going to come out of this just fine.
March 12th, 2007 at 9:02 am
Hey Karen, I’m sure glad you’re not in that dark place totally alone (though I’ll bet it feels that way at moments!) Gentle thoughts!
March 12th, 2007 at 9:04 am
Oh Karen, I’m starting to be afraid, too. I can never say I know, because I don’t know, but I’m afraid that I won’t say the right things. Please know I’m here. Please know. Because I couldn’t bear to see you hurt. I want to be strong for you, so very badly. But sometimes it’s good to just “be”. I’ll “be” with you, okay?
March 12th, 2007 at 10:12 am
You are most DEFINITELY not your mother. You recognize the dark room and are seeking help out of it. Rock on TB, Rock on. You will survive. No one deserves it more.