I don't even know where to begin. I feel like I'm watching someone else's life unfold in 10 different directions. Things used to be so manageable even when the stress level was completely maxed out. Now, I don't know which way to go first. Ever see one of those gizmos on the spokes of a child's bike? Those colorful little beads on the spokes that go out from the center as the bike goes faster, then rise and fall away from the center the slower the bike goes? To say I am at a crossroads would be an understatement. That would imply there are only 4 directions to choose from. I feel like those beads on the tire going up and down and to and from the center on all those spokes. Just along for the ride.
Thursday night, my 9 year-old daughter told me she wanted to make one of those glass bottle trees. She mentioned we would be able to finish one pretty fast because of all the beer daddy drinks. She says, "Dad drinks 4 to 6 beers like every night. He starts when he walks in the door before you get home. He says he does that because he is under a lot of stress, but there are pills for stress, right mom? It's not a good idea to drink all that, is it mom?" Talk about being speechless. A few weeks ago, she made a comment that we can only go somewhere for dinner after work if mommy drives because daddy's had beers already, and how she gets mad if mommy doesn't feel like driving daddy around. It's about an hour's drive each way to and from work. I don't always feel like getting right behind the wheel again, especially to play designated driver. The second half of this incident is even more interesting.
I get a phone call at work on Saturday afternoon from my husband. He asks me why I told our daughter that daddy drinks because he's stressed and that's not good. She told him mommy said there's pills for stress and drinking that much is not good. Their conversation happened when the two of them went to dinner on Friday night while I stayed home and rested. Forgot to mention I had to go back into surgury on Monday, but that's another story. So I'm sitting at work, listening to my husband retell the conversation and I'm correcting him telling him about the conversation daughter and I had the previous night. About a week before this, daughter asked me if I'd ever divorce daddy. Of course I say no, but now everything is falling into place. Daughter is worried and anxious, and is trying to fix everything before it falls apart. First of all, this is a huge sign that we need help. Secondly, as I sit at my desk, I'm realizing I have to have a serious conversation with my husband about his alcohol intake. I'm realizing this is going to get ugly. Honestly, a large part of my anxiety the day he had to pick me up from work came from the strong possibility that he may not have been able to come get me because he had already started drinking. Thankfully, he hadn't.
I trust him, but I can't rely on him. Some would say these are one in the same, but I disagree. For as long as I can remember, I have been the emotional rock. I have always been the consistancy in the craziness. I've always been able to compartmentalize things rationally and realistically...until now. What happens when the rock begins to crumble? What happens when I'm the one who has to raise the white flag? I used to be able to cry. I can't anymore. I just push everything away into the back of my mind, which isn't any healthier than him using alcohol to combat stress and anxiety. I'm fooling myself if I think I can do this for much longer. The problem is, I am a great caregiver. Not so great in the care receiving department. Husband is not so great at the caregiving, but great at receiving it, main reason why I had to go back to surgery. Either way, it's screwed up.
A coworker of mine was talking about anxious people, and how they project their anxiety onto others, that others are the problem and not them. He mentioned several key elements that really got my attention. I'm basically married to anxiety. Calm, cool, collected, even-keeled me is married to the exact opposite. It was shortly after this conversation that my husband called with the above details. After the phone call from husband, I found myself standing there in my office, staring out the window trying my best to stave off a panic attack, wishing for just that moment to be somewhere else, anywhere but where I was, and have to do anything other than what I had to when I got home that night. It's Sunday afternoon as I type this. We have yet to finish the conversation that started yesterday evening. One would not find me so even-keeled as of late. I don't even recognize myself.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Now What?
In recovering from surgery, I was blindsided by something I never expected. My surgery went as expected without any complications. I was actually very surprised at how well everything went and how little pain I felt. No, it wasn't pain that caused me to wake up in a panic a few times throughout that night in the hospital. I was having flashbacks. Every nauseating second of what seemed so real shook me physically and mentally. I had already been having similar nightmares since my ER trip.
Almost 5 years ago, an aggressive custody battle over my sons began. My ex-husband tried every trick in the book to gain custody. He regularly called children's services in two states over the course of the battle. They consistently found nothing, but it began to wear on me. Being called out of class to do random drug tests really didn't help either. My boys wanted to live with their dad. I couldn't tell them all the reasons why I knew without a doubt that this was not a good idea at all. My boys began to resent me and my husband. They became angry. Counseling was not cutting it. They were adamant they wanted to live with their dad. So, here I had two children old enough to tell the court their wishes, constant visits from the state, and some court appearances regarding various complaints and/or grievances from my ex (child support adjustments and other demands). I did the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I let my boys go live with their dad. It crushed me. I literally felt my heart break. Why would I do such a crazy thing? Why would a mother still living and breathing let her children go? Ever read The Wisdom of Solomon? My faith in God was the only thing that kept me going. This whole mess took place while I was finishing up in nursing school by the way. How I did not need matresses for wallpaper, I don't know. This was also the same timeframe that the nightmares first started.
Towards the end of the marriage, he would not take no for an answer. The last 6 months of 1999 were complete Hell on earth. Because I relented, I didn't think it was rape. Because I gave in out of desperation, I didn't think it was rape. Because there were occasions during that time where it was consensual, I was very confused and doubted what I knew was really going on. He would repeatedly poke me in the back right between my shoulder blades with his index finger saying, "I'm not letting you go to sleep until you give me some." Other times he would grope me. I would push his hands away and tell him to stop. He didn't listen or care. He kept on. After he was served with divorce papers on my birthday in 2000, he called to arrange visitation with the boys. During the conversation, one of his comments were,"You know I never raped you." What do you say to something like that? I quickly changed the subject. In hindsight, why would he feel the need to make such a comment unless he knew exactly what he was doing?
Now, back to the days leading up to letting my boys go in 2008. The stress of everything came out in my dreams. Nightmares of those last 6 months repeated themselves on a regular basis. I finally went to a women's place that offered crisis counseling. I met with a counselor and asked her if what had happened was rape or not. I already knew the answer and felt quite stupid for even asking, but was alone in my deduction until that day. She said, "Yes, that is absolutely rape." I broke down into a pile of emotion. I sobbed as she sat right next to me holding my hand. I couldn't speak, only sob. Her silence was comforting and strong. She knew exactly what to do, which was just be there. After some time in her office, I gathered myself enough to talk a little more. I never went back. All I needed was validation and confirmation. I could handle the rest, and I did for a few years...until August 11th.
As I mentioned, the flashbacks after surgery were a total shock, but considering the previous trauma mixed with the location and type of surgery I had, I am not at all surprised at the ensueing events. I felt amazing right after my surgery. Almost zero anxiety. The twinges were almost nonexistent by then. It all changed overnight. I'm right back where I started, but I know it will be ok. It's a minor setback. I know I need help. I'm not a fool. Kind of like that saying, "A lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client." Similarly, "A nurse who manages her own mental health has a fool for a patient." Yeah, I just made that up. Now, the search begins. I know Prolonged Exposure Therapy is what I need. I know what to expect. I just need to find someone especially great at what they do because I'm picky like that.
As a side note, my boys still live with their dad. We are closer now than we ever would've been had they stayed with me. They love my husband and call him "Dad". By the time they realized "what a tool" their dad really was (their words not mine), they had already forged tight friendships and wanted to finish high school there. They asked me, "Mom, why didn't you tell us what a jerk dad was?" I responded with that not being something a parent should do. I had hoped that the relationship with his sons would be healthy. All the boys learned was the classic story of what it's like to be a pawn in a game. It's sad. It's not what I would ever wish for anyone, even out of spite. My boys even appologized for wanting to live with their dad. When they come here for summer and school breaks, they see things differently. With a swelling heart full of pride, I told them, "Well, that's just one appology I can't accept." I never had to make one disparaging remark about the situation. They got it, all by themselves.
Almost 5 years ago, an aggressive custody battle over my sons began. My ex-husband tried every trick in the book to gain custody. He regularly called children's services in two states over the course of the battle. They consistently found nothing, but it began to wear on me. Being called out of class to do random drug tests really didn't help either. My boys wanted to live with their dad. I couldn't tell them all the reasons why I knew without a doubt that this was not a good idea at all. My boys began to resent me and my husband. They became angry. Counseling was not cutting it. They were adamant they wanted to live with their dad. So, here I had two children old enough to tell the court their wishes, constant visits from the state, and some court appearances regarding various complaints and/or grievances from my ex (child support adjustments and other demands). I did the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I let my boys go live with their dad. It crushed me. I literally felt my heart break. Why would I do such a crazy thing? Why would a mother still living and breathing let her children go? Ever read The Wisdom of Solomon? My faith in God was the only thing that kept me going. This whole mess took place while I was finishing up in nursing school by the way. How I did not need matresses for wallpaper, I don't know. This was also the same timeframe that the nightmares first started.
Towards the end of the marriage, he would not take no for an answer. The last 6 months of 1999 were complete Hell on earth. Because I relented, I didn't think it was rape. Because I gave in out of desperation, I didn't think it was rape. Because there were occasions during that time where it was consensual, I was very confused and doubted what I knew was really going on. He would repeatedly poke me in the back right between my shoulder blades with his index finger saying, "I'm not letting you go to sleep until you give me some." Other times he would grope me. I would push his hands away and tell him to stop. He didn't listen or care. He kept on. After he was served with divorce papers on my birthday in 2000, he called to arrange visitation with the boys. During the conversation, one of his comments were,"You know I never raped you." What do you say to something like that? I quickly changed the subject. In hindsight, why would he feel the need to make such a comment unless he knew exactly what he was doing?
Now, back to the days leading up to letting my boys go in 2008. The stress of everything came out in my dreams. Nightmares of those last 6 months repeated themselves on a regular basis. I finally went to a women's place that offered crisis counseling. I met with a counselor and asked her if what had happened was rape or not. I already knew the answer and felt quite stupid for even asking, but was alone in my deduction until that day. She said, "Yes, that is absolutely rape." I broke down into a pile of emotion. I sobbed as she sat right next to me holding my hand. I couldn't speak, only sob. Her silence was comforting and strong. She knew exactly what to do, which was just be there. After some time in her office, I gathered myself enough to talk a little more. I never went back. All I needed was validation and confirmation. I could handle the rest, and I did for a few years...until August 11th.
As I mentioned, the flashbacks after surgery were a total shock, but considering the previous trauma mixed with the location and type of surgery I had, I am not at all surprised at the ensueing events. I felt amazing right after my surgery. Almost zero anxiety. The twinges were almost nonexistent by then. It all changed overnight. I'm right back where I started, but I know it will be ok. It's a minor setback. I know I need help. I'm not a fool. Kind of like that saying, "A lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client." Similarly, "A nurse who manages her own mental health has a fool for a patient." Yeah, I just made that up. Now, the search begins. I know Prolonged Exposure Therapy is what I need. I know what to expect. I just need to find someone especially great at what they do because I'm picky like that.
As a side note, my boys still live with their dad. We are closer now than we ever would've been had they stayed with me. They love my husband and call him "Dad". By the time they realized "what a tool" their dad really was (their words not mine), they had already forged tight friendships and wanted to finish high school there. They asked me, "Mom, why didn't you tell us what a jerk dad was?" I responded with that not being something a parent should do. I had hoped that the relationship with his sons would be healthy. All the boys learned was the classic story of what it's like to be a pawn in a game. It's sad. It's not what I would ever wish for anyone, even out of spite. My boys even appologized for wanting to live with their dad. When they come here for summer and school breaks, they see things differently. With a swelling heart full of pride, I told them, "Well, that's just one appology I can't accept." I never had to make one disparaging remark about the situation. They got it, all by themselves.
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