Fatboy Slim Reflections

"We've come a long long way together,
Through the hard times and the good,
I have to celebrate you baby,
I have to praise you like I should"
-- Fatboy Slim "Praise You" released 1998, from the album "You've Come a Long Way, Baby"

I know that it's been awhile since I've posted, despite all of my promises and intentions of posting more. I've been in a rocky place mentally & emotionally, so I haven't felt like writing much. Although that in itself is a lie because I keep thinking of nothing BUT writing. I just can't seem to drive myself to do so, which in turn makes me upset that I'm not writing more... It's the most vicious cycle and I hate it.

When I sat down tonight, I had full intentions of turning on Sims 4 and making my puppets dance.

What's that? You want to eat? Maybe you should finish studying cooking first!

 But then I got the above song by Fatboy Slim stuck in my head. And things just kind of starting rumbling and rattling around in my brain, and I felt the actual urge to write a blog post.

A few days ago, at a very low point in the week, I posted on Facebook that I was having a rough day and that PPD was kicking my ass. Up until then, I think I've posted maybe once about my PPD issues and it was most of the same people saying how "brave" I am for talking about it and how they're always there for me to chat with/to/at. The thing about my version of PPA/PPD is that I really do not want to burden other people with my problems. I know that they're my problems, and I don't really feel like dumping them on other people.

 "But we're friends!" they say "That's what we're here for!"

Sure. That's true. And when you've cultivated online friendships (a lot of them, in my case) it gets even easier to chat with them because you're hiding behind the anonymity of the Internet. But honestly, at some point, they're all going to get fed up with me complaining and/or sadding (is that even a word? Can I turn an emotion into a verb?) about the same thing all the time. And that's where my PPA/PPD kicks in. I'd love to talk out my problems before they turn into me being a lump of sadness. But the little part of me, the part that is clinging to the Zoloft, is telling me that it's not fair to expect people to listen all the time.

And I kind of believe it.

I've been a lump of sadness for too long, and where I would love to say that I'm going to do better and I'm going to change myself... I can't really guarantee that. Once I start putting definitives down, then I'm just setting myself up for disappointment and failure. That sounds harsh, I know, but honestly I think I know how my brain works. This happens every time I set out to lose weight. I'm sick of disappointing myself because I always assume that I'm disappointing others at the same time.

February 1st, I start a new session of 21 Day Fix. I'm going to adhere to the food plan this time instead of cheating pretty much daily. I'm going to push myself in the workouts. I'm going to start writing again. I'm going to start praising myself for what I have done each day - maybe that can be my February writing goal, to write a post daily (even if it's just a little short one) - and accepting that I am flawed, but that's okay.

Paige, we've come a long long way together. Through the hard times and the good. We have to celebrate us, baby. We have to praise us like we should.

Reflection

As we near the end of the year, there's a lot to sit back and think about. It's usually the time when everyone thinks about what they're going to do differently next year, what their resolutions will be, and what were the highest points of their previous year.

Highlights - by order of appearance
1. House being completed before baby was born.
2. Baby being born.
3. Turning 30.
4. Getting mostly settled, mostly organized, and mostly level.
5. Being able to spend time with my children.

Lowlights - by order of appearance
1. Yet another major abdominal surgery due to a stubborn little baby being breech, followed by 10 days of absolute agony because of a lovely gastro bug I picked up either while in surgery or in the hospital in general.
2. The terrible feeling of not being in control of myself - aka post-partum depression.
3. Mr. M getting so sick for such a tiny human.
4. Money. By god, money is the root of all our absolute shitty fights.
5. Realizing how few close friends I have, and how hard it is to make more.

What are my resolutions for next year? To be better in general. A better mother, a better wife, a better person to myself. If nothing else, I just want to be content.

I did one round of 21 day fix from December 1 - 22. I lost 3 lbs and 19.5 inches, which is a huge motivation for me to do more. I want to be able to keep up with my kids this summer, even if Mr. M is going to have extremely limited outside time because of his antibiotics.

Another thing I'm reflecting on is me. Who am I? Who do I want to be? At 30 years old, I feel like I should have the answers to these questions, and I really don't.

So small goal will be to figure out my place. I'll be home for at least another year, possibly more, depending on when Mr. M's surgery is and how we fare financially. But I'd like to find my place beyond that. Determine who Paige is underneath the layers of blond hair, boobs, and Frappucino's. And hopefully once I get down to the base level, I can build it up stronger and better than before.

Ups and Downs and In-Betweens

I don't know if you realise this, but making new friends as an adult is HARD. Especially once you're into your 30s. Interests have changed and/or blossomed, and it's a little less likely to find a friend that you just click with despite having nothing in common. Throw in some kids and a marriage or a long term relationship, and that makes everything so much more difficult.

One of my online mom friends has been campaigning to set me up on a mom-date with one of her friends who moved out here. She had mentioned this woman several times before, but it was only after I was having a really bummy day that she took the initiative and sent this woman my information. And I'm grateful because I feel like we definitely could be friends going forward.

The hardest part for me is that I'm so much better online or via text. I'm so awkward in person, never quite knowing if I'm crossing a line with my sarcasm or cussing. When I am able to edit myself, that's almost better.

Now what does that tell you? That I'd prefer to edit or censor myself rather than be real? Maybe I really should try to get in with a psychologist/psychiatrist. Get them to Freud me up and figure out just what is so broken in my brain that I don't like being organic.

Am I even using that phrase correctly?

This week has been both good and bad. Mr. M is teething and we're all STILL sick from whatever plague it is that has taken us over. So he's been waking up at night again, Miss O needs more sleep but she just won't take it, and both T and I are coughing and sniffling and phlegming all over. It's just a great place, this house of sickness.

I had a really horrible realization this week, and I honestly don't know how to tell T about it. We were having our annual family pictures done on Wednesday, and they just weren't going as planned. Mr. M was hungry but there was nowhere around that was open for us to heat up his bottle. Plus he was tired so he just didn't want to eat somewhere new. Miss O was refusing to smile except when her cousin (our photographer is our sister-in-law) was in the pictures with her. T was just getting so frustrated about everything - and I mean EVERYTHING - and I was getting terribly embarrassed by how he was reacting.

We were in the car on our way home and he says to me "I hate pictures. Have I told you how much I hate pictures?" and I just kind of gave him a side-eyed look and say "Yes. Your hatred of pictures is noted, seeing as you tell me every single time that I mention pictures how much you hate them". And then it hit me. When is the last time he's said that he likes something? When is the last time he was excited about something that involved all of us? When did he last offer me a compliment or a nice comment in general? And all of these questions boiled down to - If he hates/doesn't like so much stuff in his life, when is it going to come to him hating/not liking me? When will I evoke the same feelings as pictures?

I mentioned this to the friend I was talking about above, and she just straight up said that T loves me. End of story. But I can't help having this tiny fear in the back of my head that it's only a matter of time. And that's terrifying to me.

What Now?

Apathetic. It's a word that I've always used to describe other people, like my brother, but never for me. I've always been kind of all over the emotional scale, highs and lows and rarely the in-betweens.

But for some reason, in my journey with depression and anxiety and all of those fun things, apathy has reared its head.

It's not that I'm apathetic towards everything. Far from it, in fact. I get excited about things, I get sad about things, I get really happy about things. But when it comes to thinking about myself, I just don't care. When did I last shower? Who knows, and who cares because it's not like I ever leave the house. Do I look like a hot mess? Probably, but no one will judge and if they do I just don't care.

I spent two solid days in thermals from Old Navy because oh well. Every time I looked in the mirror, in the loose and unflattering lounge wear, I just didn't care. My kids aren't going to tell me I smell; my husband isn't going to comment on it, just to be polite. And let's be honest - I see him for roughly an hour or two on weekdays. He leaves for work before we wake up, and gets home shortly before bedtime.

I know that I need to kick this apathy. My bestie has been great, suggesting things to help me kick my own ass. Hopefully tomorrow the kids and I will get out for a walk. Even just a short one. Something to get us out of the house, and kick me out of this funk.

I'm not going to hold my breath though.

Double Entry (Because the Last One Sucks)

I was out for coffee with a friend of mine yesterday, one who I haven't seen in "like, forever" and who is a strong voice and presence for the mental health community. She lives out in BC now and is working towards being a mental healthcare helper (that's what I'm calling it anyway).

The topic of depression did not come up organically in our conversation. But I knew that of all the people I have in my life, she would know the most about what I was going through with the PPD. The worst part about having post-partum depression instead of your "run of the mill" depression or anxiety is that you just don't know what is normal. When I'm feeling at my wits end with both kids crying at the same time, I don't know if that's the PPD kicking in and feeling overwhelmed, or if it's just a normal feeling because honestly two kids crying at the same time for completely different reasons is just a sucky situation to be in.

One of the things that came up is how post-partum depression is still kind of swept under the rug. It's ridiculous, but true. It is increasingly common to be diagnosed with it - that is, if the mother (or father, let's not throw that out either) actually goes to get diagnosed. I feel like a lot of women hide behind their old beliefs of "I'm fine" and "It's just baby blues" and "It's okay to be overwhelmed, parenting is hard". But it has taken celebrities like Hayden Panettiere being public about their struggles with it for it to be acknowledged.

Every doctor I dealt with during my pregnancy - my general practitioner and my obstetrician - made sure that I knew that there were resources available should I find myself suffering from PPD or PPA. So when I was going slightly out of my mind, and did the questionairre that they use to get an idea what they're dealing with, I made sure to tell both the GP and OB what was going on.

But why couldn't I talk with my friends about it? Why can't I still? There are a few friends that I feel comfortable telling them I'm having a rough day... but in general, I myself try to keep it under the rug. Am I embarrassed by the fact that I am on medication? Yes. Truthfully, I am. I don't like that I can't keep shit together by myself. It bothers me SO MUCH that I don't know if the meds are working or not some days. And that my attention span is gone, that I have no motivation to get myself in shape, and that I am this lazy fat blob that does nothing.

So treating the post-partum depression/anxiety is working, but it's making me depressed with my daily life instead. And I honestly don't know which one is worse.

Where Do We Go From Here

I've been struggling a lot lately. Trying to think of what to write, and then censoring myself to the point of deleting an entire post and walking away for the rest of the day. There's always a moment of wondering if you're sharing too much about your life, or not enough, or if you're even reaching anyone out there.

So sometimes, this blog might just seem like the diary that I need.

The struggle for me lately has been with my sense of self and, in all actuality, my sense of self-worth. We made the decision that I would stay home for the next couple years at least, and where that's actually a huge relief when it comes to outbound expenses (such as daycare, additional fuel, additional food, parking, etc) it's also left me a little bereft. If I'm not working to help support the family - and, subsequently, helping us get towards the next step of our "forever home" - then what can I do to pass the time? Yes, there's a house that needs keeping. But I can only do so many loads of laundry and scrub so many toilets before that becomes daunting in the tedium.

I mentioned wanting to go back to school, or take some online courses, but even that is futile. The classes that I would enjoy - and excel at - are pointless to gain any sort of applicable and quantifiable skills. I like working in an office environment, but there's no way getting an arts degree or the like would make finding employment after a 3 - 4 year hiatus easy. Yes, I have a diploma in Accounting from a local business college - but even that will be outdated soon just based on the programs that we learned.

With two kids, I don't have any time to myself. That's not true, actually, because I get time alone at night to do whatever I want to. But half of that time is spent with me thinking about what I should be doing and the other half is spent wondering what I could be doing instead. T and I spend hardly any time together, and that's because I just need time away to decompress. I don't think he quite understands just how much of myself I'm giving every day with the two kids, but there's no way that I can explain it without him thinking it's ridiculous.

I also just don't like him very much right now.

It's daunting to be married with children. Young children. It's exhausting because it's no longer just the one relationship that needs work. It's the spousal relationship, plus the relationship between the child/ren. I definitely know that my relationship with T is not in the greatest shape right now. But we don't have any time that we spend together away from the kids. We went out for our anniversary two weeks ago, and it was great. And it made me yearn for the easier times of just the two of us, where we could go see a movie when we wanted to or I could go to the gym without having to worry about setting up childcare. And then I felt bad for yearning for that. I love my children, I truly do, but sometimes I just don't want to be a mother. Sometimes, I just want to be one of those childless couples that has so much fucking money and all the time in the world to do whatever they want to.

Selfish, hey.

Struggles

Today is just one of those days. Mr. M woke up at 4am and where I was getting ready to roll out of bed to get up with him, T did so of his own accord which meant that I got to sleep in for a while longer. But that's where the good news ended.

Mr. M has been a fussy butt today, not finishing his bottles, whining about everything, typical baby stuff. Miss O decided to jump in on that fussy butt action, as she's currently coming down with a cold and could really use a nap but refuses to take one. Instead she's crying over everything and whining.

It has taken all of my power not to snap at the two of them because honestly, it was stacking up. I haven't had a chance to take a shower today, I had big plans of going for a walk or SOMETHING active... and here I am, watching Netflix in bed.

I'm thinking that I might start taking my meds in the morning instead of at night. I've been having issues falling asleep lately, and I'm wondering if the Zoloft has anything to do with it. So I figure I'll start taking it when I wake up and see how the days go then.

Side note - I'm going to fucking nut punch the monitor we have in Mr. M's room. Apparently our WiFi signal interferes with it so it blips and says "out of range" constantly if we're using the WiFi. It's incredibly annoying and pretty much defeats the entire purpose of us having a video monitor if it doesn't work.