I spent the entire weekend battling, reprimanding, consoling, and trying not to strangle Ryan. On one hand, the last two days have flown by in the blink of an eye. But on the other hand, the last two days have been the longest 48 hours I have ever experienced. Like I said on Facebook and Twitter – it’s as if every single bad day Ryan has ever had was condensed and subsequently unleashed into a 48-hour period.
I have no idea what set Ryan off. Well, I do (frustration at the multi-player version of Agar.io), but I don’t know what crawled under his skin or inside his head and set him off at such an EXTREME level. I joked on Instagram about Mercury being in retrograde – as it turns out, it is; and a couple of other special-needs parents I know have had similar weekends, so maybe there’s something to that.
All I know is this: Ryan has spent the majority of the weekend crying, sobbing, or outright primal rage screaming. Doors have been slammed, toys have been thrown, his iPad has been smacked/thrown/dropped (only twice – it’s been in my possession, not his, for most of this weekend), and very little rest, sleep, or quiet has been had for either of us. Today he had himself worked up to the point that he was dry-heaving, and by this afternoon he was red-eyed, puffy-faced, and hoarse from so much crying and screaming.
This could simply be my frayed nerves talking, but I’m –thisclose– to calling our doctor’s office and begging them to please for the love of all deities fucking medicate him into sedated submission.
In the past week Odin has nearly tripled his body weight (7.5 ounces last Thursday; 1 lb. 3 oz. yesterday) and I swear his legs have doubled in length. And he is utterly adorable. He started following us around the other day; as of this morning he not only squeaks but also meows. Swoon. ♥
Yesterday was a really bad day. Emotionally, that is. I spent 75% of the day in bed. I spent the other 25% sobbing, or barely holding it together. I have no idea what brought on such misery. All I know is it took copious amounts of both Ativan and Valium to keep me barely grasping at the edge. Going to bed last night was a relief, except that when you spend most of the day in bed and then turn around and go to bed around 10:00pm, chances are you’re going to pop up “for the day” before 3am – which is exactly what I did.
I’m struggling. I’m really struggling. I think my anxiety has taken a turn for the better, with the exception of some marital woes, for lack of a better, less cliche term, that set me off. But Daniel and I are aware of the issues and are trying very hard to work at them, because we love each other very much and have put so much into ourselves, each other, and this amazing family we’ve created. But things definitely can’t continue the way they’ve been. Daniel lets his anxiety and insecurities get the better of him, and I have spent the better part of the last two years being his emotional punching bag. I’m tired of the anxiety, the tension, the forced smiles and attempts at polite conversation, the walking on eggshells. Most of all I’m just tired of the anxiety and sadness I experience so often. I recently issued an ultimatum, and we’re both hopeful that between our commitment to each other as well as the help of a counselor, we’ll get through things. We’re also working on addressing the root of Dan’s anxiety and irritation – the unexplained physical pain that too many doctors are writing off as Fibromyalgia, yet refusing to really treat even if we go ahead with that diagnosis (which we’re not entirely sure is the correct one).
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Taking a turn in terms of managing my anxiety more efficiently. But instead, I’ve sunk into a pretty bad depression. As Angela put it, I’m circling the drain. I’m too depressed to want to do anything, yet not wanting to do anything makes me even more depressed. I have to force my cheerfulness. It’s an exhausting effort to just get through the first couple hours of the day. By 4pm I find myself counting down the hours until I can go to sleep. And then I wish I wouldn’t wake up. I don’t mean that in a suicidal way – just in a “I don’t want to have to face consciousness right now” kind of way.
I think a combination of things have led me to this point – most notably, two emergency surgeries in a two year period, the second one coming around just 11 weeks after an unplanned, yet not quite as much of an emergency (more of an “urgent” one). Add in financial woes, family woes, other medical woes… and bam, you’ve got a sobbing pathetic mess on your hands.
And to top it all off, the baby bunny? Upon closer inspection the wound wasn’t just a mere flesh wound that would mend on its own after a few days of confinement, rest, and healing ointment – the poor bunny had a deep gash in its side that exposed muscle and ligaments. I broke down when I realized the extent of the injury, and Dan very kindly and quickly ended the rabbit’s suffering. Then I cried for the relief that dying gave the poor bunny.
An unexpected part of country living is all of the animals that have made their way into our home. In addition to the cats, and the occasional toad we’ll bring in just for a few minutes of oohing and ahhing over, there’s the bunny rabbit. The baby bunny rabbit, mind you. Alyssa and Ryan found it today while they were with several other kids, and the collective story, which held up after several cross-examining questions, is that the kids were interested in what the bunny was up to, and when they followed him, he bolted and got caught up in some sharp underbrush. Alyssa caught him for us to look at – as far as we can tell it’s just a flesh wound. So I carefully cleaned it out, soaked the area with Vetericyn (a antibiotic/wound cleansing ointment for animals), and we have him in a covered food cooler in our bathtub. Hopefully a day or two of rest in a warm, quiet, safe enclosure with as-needed wound tending and fresh produce will have him healed up and hopping on his way in no time.
(And if not, Dan and I are unfortunately somewhat versed in DIY humane euthanasia.)
Occasionally I’ll look through my blog archives, going as far back as pre-kid days. I used to blog so much more, but then I also wrote about the minutiae of life a lot more often. Nowadays I tend to skip the little things, and even gloss over the big things. I know that part of evolving as a blogger/adult is a change in voice, but I still miss the frequency in which I used to blog.
I’m currently typing this on my laptop, and instead of lounging on the couch or in our recliner I’m sitting at the kitchen table. This last surgery has really knocked me on my ass in more ways than one – and one thing I quickly realized is just how shot my abdominal muscles are. So many surgeries (eight) in six years, plus pregnancies (with just a 12 month break in between) and a c-section and being morbidly obese for so many years (12+) have really killed any core strength I once had. It seems like I no sooner have a surgery, recover from it, get the clearance to go back to normal life, and then BAM, something creeps up again.
So anyway, I’m at the kitchen table because I want to work on strengthening my core muscles in order to support my poor spine and to improve overall strength and posture, and part of doing that means sitting up straight in a supportive chair like a proper adult. And I even added to that by borrowing Ryan’s stability disc. He used it at school last year as a sensory object to help him remain calm and focused in the classroom. He brought it home at the end of the school year, and about a month ago I realized that a stability disc would be perfect for me, since it’s a continuous muscle-strengthening exercise tool – and we already had one in the house! Yay! If you’re interested in strengthening your back and/or core muscles, consider purchasing a stability disc – apparently all you need to do is sit on them for a half hour to an hour at a time, without letting your back rest against the back of your chair, and that’s all it takes to kick your muscles into gear. Unless, of course, you don’t mind possibly toppling off your chair. In my case, I definitely want to strengthen my back and especially my abdominal muscles, so on the disc each day I shall be!
I really wanted to write more than this, but I just finished up kindly telling an ignorant twit what an ignorant twit she is for letting her unfixed male cat outside. Let me tell you, it took a lot of mental strength to refrain from raining obscenities down upon her, but I did. Part of trying to further a cause (in this case, trying to educate and inform people on the importance of spaying and neutering in order to cut down on the cat population) is realizing that some people simply won’t budge from their ignorant standpoints. Still, when you’ve personally held sick and dying cats and kittens, it’s hard to remain level-headed.
And on that note, our current cat count is now up to eight. But my mom expressed interest in taking Aslan because of how much he bonded with her new FIV+ rescue, Quinn; and Amanda is contemplating taking Odin (the name Dan gave the black kitten Alyssa brought home yesterday evening), so who knows… maybe we’ll get back down to “just” six!