Why oh why?

So yesterday Mother told me she wanted to send me that email to “vent” because I’m “mad at her.” I still haven’t gotten it, despite numerous attempts to resend it. We’ve had 3 decent conversations since then, so why are you sending an email to vent?? Venting is normally done in anger and haste, yet this is so prolonged that it’s no longer hasty or angry. Why is she pushing sending such a hateful email? It has to be bad for her to call me and say, “please don’t be mad at me.” Those calls normally precede crazy, insane accusations or other hate-filled speech.

I just don’t understand.

And you thought I was insane. . .

But we all know I’m not

So tonight we had the ward’s Night in Bethlehem. We all dressed up, and the cultural hall really looked like the shoppes of Bethlehem. Each person received a baggie of gold coins, and food was abundant. It was gorgeous and so spiritual. We read the Christmas story aloud, and then a few sisters sang Christmas songs. I felt the spirit so strongly. I should’ve left quickly.

But I thought I’d help clean up while my husband changed the baby. That was my detriment.

Two fights break out– one YW smacks the other across the face and shoves her into the wall. Another sister is ready to kill the activities chair, because she believes that her non-member family left early due to offense from the activities chair.  This is the same woman who has borne her testimony proclaiming her indiscretions which are so egregarious that I hesitate to type them, as it would remove any sort of anonymity.

My husband helped calm down the woman, while I helped with the YW situation. I’m good at this. I can mediate teenage conflicts with the best of them. And then the mothers try to jump in. Why?? It’s so insane.

I’ll never understand why people can’t treat others the way they want to be treated. If we all did that, I really think peace would exist on the earth. That’s the reason these two fights started. One of the mother’s that wanted to jump in, is the same woman asking us to believe her incredulous story that is continually contradicted by the local newspaper and police blotters. Yet she’s trying to trash one of the YW.

I’ll never understand.

Some levity around here. . .

These were emailed to me the other day, and I thought they’d be great to lighten this blog up a bit. . .

So it’s true. . .

I do have post-partum depression (PPD). After yesterday’s crying episodes and horrid mood swings, I decided to make a doctor appt pronto. So after work today I went to see my friendly Physician Assistant. She’s sweet, and I like her. The doctor is great, but he’s a man and I kinda didn’t wanna talk about this with him. I’d rather her.

So I printed off some PPD assessments, and I filled them out. I figured it would give her a better idea of the situation without me having to say it. Just in case anyone who might need them, you can find them here and here (this one opens a PDF file, but it is the one my PA said they use to diagnose PPD in their office).

So I have it. Letting it go for months wasn’t the best idea, but we’ve got Prozac and hopefully that will balance out my seratonin levels. We’ll see. I’m not a big one for medicines, but if it stops the scary “Suicide will end all of this” thoughts, then I’m game. I would never hurt my child or my husband. I love them dearly and I know they love me dearly. I know that if I were to hurt myself it would irreparably hurt them, so we deal. Medicine here I come.

On other notes, I was quite proud of myself. I was able to tell my sister that she upset me last night. She was like, “I didn’t intend to. . .” I told her I knew that, but I still cried for hours. Between her neurotic behaviors and my depression, we are quite the pair.

I miss having good friends around me. I had so many good friends in Manhattan, and I just don’t have that here. I’m not even sure I’m going to find it here. The people are just different–very rednecked, back-country, coal-country. That’s not a bad thing. I grew up here, so that’s a part of me. But I also got out and saw the world. I realize that there’s alot more to life than spotting deer with flashlights on a Friday night, or cow-tipping on Saturdays.  Now the trick is to find like-minded people with similar schedules to me. It’s hard.

But it’s looking up. Or at least I think so. If nothing else, Aunt Flo should be leaving soon which will make life a lot easier.

Hard to love life. . .

I know this blog must seem depressing as hell. It’s my life. It’s my outlet. If you want to read it, so be it, but it’s not written for the audience. It’s written because I need a place to let it all, lest it all stays bottled up inside.

So I just got back from visiting teaching. Had a good time. I love my companion; she’s great. The sisters we teach are sweet, and real people. None of them know my struggles. My companion knows of some of the RS struggles I’ve had. She’s the Stake RS President and I’m the ward RS President.

I’ve grown to love the calling and hate it immensely all at once. I used to be social. I used to love ward activities, where I could have fun with the other members. Now I dread them. The activities committee is weak at best, so everyone is literally picking up the slack at the last minute, and things are not well run. I don’t feel like I have any friends— no one who cares about me, as a person. They only care to come to me to complain about something for RS. People I thought were my friends, truly aren’t. It’s simply a business relationship.

I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what chemical I’m emitting, or what has changed, because it definitely wasn’t this way in NY. In fact, most of the time people couldn’t tell you for the life of them what my calling was. Normally it was so insignificant that it didn’t matter. But now that I’m RS President, it’s the spotlight. I feel more under the magnifying glass than ever.

And I don’t measure up. Truly I don’t care about that. I could care less what the Joneses are doing in their home. I could care less if my clothes measure up with Sister So-and-So’s. I could care less if my daughter has all 10 of the hottest toys of the season. None of that matters.

What matters is my relationship with my Savior, and how I am serving Him. I’ve been asked to serve in this calling, so I do. I’m going all out trying to make nice little Christmas things for 65 sisters. They won’t all get done before Christmas, but I’m trying. I’m trying to visit each sister in her home, and get to know her personally. I’m trying to let her feel the Lord’s love through me.

Yet I’ve never felt more alone in my life. I’ve never felt like there is anyone to comfort me. I have a fabulously wonderful husband, and a gorgeous child. I don’t know what else I am looking for. Even my sister has greatly disappointed me this week. It sucks, but it’s life. I guess I just thought that it should be better. Maybe if I lower my standards, maybe I’ll be happy. Someday.

Basic Math

So I wasn’t too good at math in school, but I can tell you this:

1 screaming child + 1 overtired Daddy + 1 tired, crampy Mommy = Migraine of epic proportions

Life happens. . .

So Wednesday I was supposed to go to the Dr and find out whether I indeed-y have PPD or not. Tuesday night hubby and I figured out that our bank account was overdrawn like crazy. The idea of spending another $10 for a co-pay when we’re going to have checks bouncing all over the galaxy just didn’t sound good. So I didn’t go to the Dr.

That same day, Little Doodlebug got really sick. Like 102 degree fever sick. So to the Dr we went. Luckily they took credit and we figured out she has an ear infection. Sucks to be her. She’s been miserable for the past few days. She’s not really eating or drinking. She’s not comfortable lying down. Last night I had to sleep with her in a rocking chair for a few hours because it was the *only* place she was not whining. Normally she’ll sleep in the bed with us without a problem, but not the past night or two.

So I’ve not had much sleep, I’m still minorly depressed, and oh yeah– I just got a visit from Aunt Flo. My first since August 2005. Let me tell ya, I almost threw her out, but now she’s here for a while. . .

Life is grand. . .

Yesterday and today were grand. Getting out of the house for a few hours of work can definitely clear the mind and help me refocus. I love that Doodlebug misses me when I leave her in the nursery, but loves to play with the other kids and teachers there. It’s really nice for her to interact with someone other than me, or Dear Husband.

Yet today got hard. Screaming nearly constantly for a while. Fever. Constant runny nose. She’s either a little sick or she’s cracking teeth. It’s hard, because she only wants to be held–all day long. It’s amazing the things I can accomplish while holding her. Who knew I could heave a log into the wood burning furnace with a child on my hip?

Tomorrow we see a doctor to talk about post partum depression. We’ll see what she has to say about it. Just today there was an AP article talking about how first time moms have a higher risk of depression related illnesses. It’s astounding how many have had to be hospitalized within 20 days of childbirth. The signs of PPD are:

In particular, Sit said, women who’ve had past depression are at increased risk. Symptoms to watch for include: a loss of interest in the baby or in other once-pleasurable activities; feeling down or depressed; changes in sleep patterns; thoughts of wanting to die; new onset of anxiety or thoughts of wanting to harm one’s self or others.

“Be ready to seek treatment sooner rather than later,” Sit advised, adding there are both medical and non-medical options for the treatment of psychiatric disorders, and there are medications thought to be safe for breast-feeding mothers.

I’m not a big advocate for medicine in general because I think much of our society is way over medicated, but if there is something that will help me balance out these mood swings and still nurse Doodlebug, I’m game. Hopefully tomorrow will be the second step on the road to recovery.

Sunday should be a day of rest, no?

I wake up to my daughter, Doodlebug, trying to find my nipple. She’s pawing at my shirt, trying to get her early morning meal. My husband awakes, jumps out of bed like a Tigger in motion. He’s on his way to an early Bishopric meeting. I’m left to care for Doodlebug.

Church starts at 9:30, and I barely make it. I only went out of obligation–I told my secretary I would print out the forms she needed today. After stopping two times due to Doodebug’s bloody-murder screaming, I pull into the driveway. Life doesn’t end when she doesn’t have a toy, but she sure thinks it does.

We’re sitting in church, trying to worship. During the first song, Dear Husband leans over and informs me that our friends (a family of 5) will be coming to dinner tonight. We didn’t plan on this. Heck, I didn’t even go grocery shopping this week, since Doodlebug was screaming then too. We’ve got the obligatory LDS food storage, well, at least 2 or 3 months of it, but I couldn’t figure out what to make to appease my husband’s food issues and our friends uber-picky kids.

Stress is building, but I’m trying to feel the Spirit. I’m trying to enjoy the experience of church. The past few months it’s been hard though. I’m a newlywed, new mom, new Relief Society President in a small ward with a whole lot of perfect people. Or at least everyone thinks everyone else is perfect.

Maybe that’s why no one calls or visits– it’s the risk of showing that you’re not perfect, and well, we can’t have that, can we?

I lost it today in church though. After numerous complaints about new visiting teaching assignments, and the destruction of 4 hours of my work on a board I made to help the sisters, I’d had it. What happened to going to church to worship? How can you worship when you have all of this chaos, commotion and crap going on? I know my thoughts were nothing godlike at that moment.

So I retreated to the car to bawl. And bawl I did. For two hours. I left church early, told my sister (my counselor) to excuse me because “I wasn’t feeling well.”

I wonder how many others weren’t feeling well today.