Motherhood, Madness, God and Me

It was said kindly and it's true. Nobody can make me feel differently, except me. It lays heavy on my heart and has done all afternoon. I can't do it. I have tried. I have tried 'health visitor-ing' myself. I repeat scriptures over and over. I say to myself and my inner child that I am loved, lovable, precious and good enough. I have prayed for strength. I have prayed for peace. I've waited. I've tried my hardest to leave my pain, my shame, my failings at the foot of the cross. I listen to other Christians who repeat over and over I must trust God. That this will be OK, no brilliant, in the end. I say it over and over. Yet my heart is heavy. Not metaphorically either. It feels like a stone crushing my chest, restricting my breathing sometimes. It hurts. I know that none of you can pick me up and make this go away, even if you wanted to. Listening to me, holding me, it helps. It doesn't fix it though. I can't change my attitude towards myself. I do...

I know I will come in in an hour and say I am fine. You will either say that I'm not, write a prescription and send me away assuring me that I will be OK. One day. Or you may believe me if I'm convincing. Or maybe today you will finally give up and accept defeat. We both know that it's a dance we do every week, fortnight or month. I remain immensely grateful that you are kind and that you do fight for me. I can't find the words though. Not really. Sometimes if you ask the right questions you might get an insight. I don't know how to make the words come out. That I am totally out of control and can't stop myself and I'm terrified and terribly ashamed. I don't know how to say that it has been incredibly difficult this morning not to neck all my pills and take myself off somewhere to sleep. That Susanna and I have talked how I am able to step away and make a choice, that I did yesterday and have, so far, done this morning. This is why I am so very ash...

In my meeting today, still looking for any positive, Susanna reassured me that I am still the good person I used to be. The good mother. We spoke about how I have everything I wanted. My dream of having children. How I loved them being babies. How I enjoyed them. How now I don't. I can't. We spoke about how I have written to my children. How I want them to remember me as a good, kind person and not who I am now. What I put in my letters, I said, was because I never want them to feel how I do. I spoke about how I try to "counsel" myself and say I am good enough, and good enough is fine, and my kids are fine and will grow up fine. I am sick and I can't do what I used to and that's OK. It's OK not to enjoy parenting. It's hard and kids are annoying at times. That's OK. But I don't believe it. It doesn't sound truth for me. Fake it till you make it. Parent yourself how you parented your babies. Say to yourself all those things you write ...

Suicide Sensitive When I died my head hurt. The world was spinning round, Everything was white, I could still hear sound. When I died I felt peace, Everything seemed still, No regret, not sorry, No more days to fill. When I died a fire, Grew inside my head, White hot explosions, Soon I would be dead. When I died I felt like, Life was slipping away, It seemed to take a while, When I died that day. Except I didn't die, I woke to lights of blue, Cold, wet and frightened, Not knowing what to do. I cried because I lived, Worse was yet to come, Surviving your death, Isn't that much fun. That quietness over, Peace shattered again, Relentless questions, All the whys and whens. Dying hurts a bit, Surviving hurts more, Stares, tears and shame, More than was before. Dying isn't easy, But better I feel, Than living in a mind, That will refuse to heal.

What does it feel like? What is dying like? Do you see your life, Flash before your eyes? Does it hurt to die? Is like sleeping? Do you walk to light? Or fall to darkness? Do you know you're dead? Do you float above? Out of your body, Watching overhead. Do you feel at peace? Do you feel regret? Can you change your mind, If you choose to live? Do you see the Lord? Does he hold your hand? Does he welcome you, Home to rest in peace? Do you go to hell, Falling fast and hard. Perhaps you didn't love, Jesus after all. Do you just decay, Body in the ground, Eaten by the worms, Flowers growing round.

Why do you love me? What is it in me? Why do you love me,? What is it you see? Why do you love me? So not let me leave? What have I given you? That might make you grieve? Do you remember The times that we smiled? Is it those times that, Our laughter was wild? Is it because I, Showed my love to you? Is it because of, The things that I do? What are these things that, One day you will share, Things I have done and The ways I have cared? Is it your memory? Which may fade, But it is the things, On which friendship is made? Why if you love me? Do I feel so alone? If I am so loved, Is it with pain I groan? Why is it silent, When for help I ask? Why is loving me, Such a huge task? If loving me is hard? So hard as you say, Do you prevent me, From escaping this way? Why when your words, Show you find me a chore, Do you walk far away, To be friends no more. Why when you say, You love me still? My heart remains broken, Now too broken to fill. The whisper...

People will speak of surprise. She seemed so well. She looked so happy. She had so much to live for. Why didn't she ask for help? How could she leave her children? Is it really a surprise? Loosing my mind. Loosing my job. My parenting investigated. My body pumped full of poison. The loss of my community. My friends. Alienated, blocked, ignored by those I thought loved me. I did not want to leave my children. To be honest they bought me an extra year. They deserve better. They will get it without me in the way. I did ask for help. Several times. Help isn't there. Removing freedom doesn't save people. It just makes it harder to ask for help. Nobody has been able to lift me from this pit. Asking for help involves switchboards, receptionists, knowing that nothing will improve the physical pain, knowing that when you get through they will wonder why you bothered phoning if you really want to die. For me this is not a surprise. This is not an impulse. This is being too t...

How do you get better? How do you recover? Do you suddenly wake with hope? Do you feel differently? Do you just notice after it has happened? What is recovery? Is recovery real?  How long does recovery take? Is it even possible? How will I know what recovery looks like? Why does it take so long? So long I gave up hope. What do I need to do now? To end this nightmare forever. I don't know how much longer I can bear this. How can I continue? To face another day. It feels like this will never end. They say it happens slowly. That recovery is possible for me. Do they really know that? Can it really be true? Is recovery possible? Is there a flicker of hope? Or is it just a fairy tale that's not truth? Each day that passes by, Hope slips further away. I feel this is life forever. The tunnel light seems dimmer. No hope, no light, just darkness forever more. I cannot see past this. The pain overwhelms me. I'm deep in a pit of despair. Recovery is a ...

I wasn't prepared to feel this way. I wasn't prepared to feel close to tears when my child came home from your care. I wasn't prepared to pretend to smile at his work and songs and joy whilst burying the physical ache in my chest. I wasn't expecting to feel this exhausted and this alone. I wasn't expecting that yet another professional questioning your judgements and decision making to make me feel more conflicted then ever. I wasn't expecting to still feel so heartbroken after all this time. To miss the you. To miss the hard work. To miss me. I wasn't expecting this to happen at all though. So I guess it shouldn't be a surprise. I don't know what happens now.

I saw a meme on Facebook today. It said "you need to love me a little louder today" Sometimes, when you hate yourself. When you cannot think of any nice thing about you. When you cannot find a single lovable thing about you. You need to be told. Of course, others love isn't going to fix your self esteem in the long term. Good therapy will eventually, slowly, restore faith in yourself, or give it for the first time. That is very important. Long term change and improvement will come from knowing yourself and being comfortable with who you are and that you have an intrinsic worth not based on other's opinion. However, this doesn't happen overnight. It takes months, years even. A little "loud" love might just be enough of a plaster to stop somebody bleeding out. To do this work, the person needs to be alive and have enough hope that love is possible. If someone breaks a leg, for a while they need driving around. It's not forever. Time, treatment in ...

Sometimes getting out of bed is so hard. Like really, really hard. The thought of facing people and pretending you are full of Easter joy when inside your heart is certainly not focused on the gift of the resurrection but instead on how much people hurt you. How continued rejection and lack of encouragement overwhelm you and you fall foul of your sinful heart again and again and again. Please pray for me. I don't need likes or replies, I need prayer. I need to stop hoping in people. Even Christians. I need to empty my heart of the illusion I should matter to anyone else. I need to be satisfied with the love of God only. I need an Easter miracle. Or to remember I've already had one. Please pray for me.

Happy Birthday to me. If only it were that easy.  It has been lovely. I am really grateful for my husband and children. I had the usual random gift from my children (something they would want for themselves. Today a giant cuddly toy), lots of bits from my husband who put a lot of pressure on himself to create a perfect day for me. We went out together. Then we baked and did some craft. Then my family arrived. It's so hard. On your birthday you are supposed to be around your family. People who have been at your birthdays all your life. For me that's not so easy. My mother. Remembering my grandmother is deaf but forgetting I am not, she began to comment on how very miserable and stroppy I am. I heard. My husband confronted her, no apology, not even denial, just that she hadn't meant me to hear. Mother 1 strikes a birthday blow. Mother 2, my surrogate. My friend who filled the void for me.  No contact. No text. No FB post (not expected as she has blocked me). Nothing. I s...

I won't name. I wish I could but I shouldn't. I visited my GP today. I was expecting the usual sympathetic and kind but fairly unproductive 10 minute appointment. My appointments always start the same. Dr: So, how are you? Me: Fine Dr: You are still stuck.       You poor, poor thing.       This is so bloody awful and unfair.                Should we try a week of this?       You are a worry.       I am going to get you help today. His manner is sweet and often desperate. He's a prisoner of bureaucracy. Of funding cuts. I never feel seeing him is a waste of my time, even if nothing new comes out of it. I do worry it is a waste of his and feel guilty every time he books a repeat appointment. He has chased second opinions, questioned diagnoses, supported my husband, stayed late. He's made me tea several times. ...

There is a place in this world that only you can fill; and when you do not take this place it will always remain empty from the beginning to the end. You are not for nothing in this world! You are a building stone of the universe! It depends on you! You must be there!   PAUL KLEE {1939 } My counsellor shared these words with me today. I've decided to share them as it is World Poetry Day. A me shaped hole. I've often heard of the God shaped hole in a person's life. I'm sure some of my Christian associates believe this is true about me. I've not thought of a me shaped hole. I've pictured the world without me, but never as a gap. I've thought about being a missing mum. That was a mum shaped hole, not a me shaped hole. You are not for nothing in this world. I'm not sure I have left any mark on the world. My counsellor is so gentle. She very sensitively asked me to consider what my expectations of dying were. It was strange to hear such harsh soundi...

Oh how I wish I could have celebrated today better. Oh how I long to feel happy. Feel content. Tonight I have tried. I've searched for pictures to sum up my happiness. Looking for memories. Looking for those things that make me smile. My son's first smile. My daughter on a bouncy castle. My son with a potty on his head. My children kissing me.  They do make me smile. Fond smiles. Smiles don't mean happiness though. Happiness is situational. Depression removes it. Spending international day of happiness a year into a suicidal depression is not funny. I was happy once.

I can't say the words out loud. I can usually type them, and if the right question is asked they tumble out of my mouth quickly once I've started. I can't just say "help me" or "I'm scared". Even when asked it is difficult to get started. The past few days I have been texting the samaritans. It's quicker than emailing but easier for me than phoning and also more private for me too. It takes around an hour for a reply, sometimes less. This is useful for me as my most helpful strategy is delaying action. The straight forward question threw me last night. Even by text I had not actually used the words. I had explained how I had planned. How pointless and hopeless I was feeling. A few hours in I received a simple reply. Do you want to end your life? Not "have you had thoughts of harming yourself?" or "do you have a plan to harm yourself?  I'm not sure that it was that plainly asked ever before. I struggled to answer. The ques...

What will you remember? Will you remember story time. Cuddled up and funny voices. Will you remember sneaking into our bed and falling back to sleep. Will you remember singing songs when you were small. Doing all the actions? Will you remember me singing you to sleep whilst rubbing your back? Will you remember licking the bowl after baking. Dancing around the lounge. Will you remember walking home from school and talking about your day. Will you remember my smile at parents evenings, dance shows, the day you rode your bike? Will you remember being pushed high on the swings until you giggled? Will you remember nights when you were sick and we'd sleep on the sofa? Mummy holding you in hospital. Will you rather remember the times I shouted. The times I could do nothing but walk away. The times I joined in your chaos rather than calming it. Will you remember the times I missed. That I worked through your chicken pox. That I was in hospital for your 3rd operation? That you would wake...

I read and shared a post about automatic thoughts today. Learned responses, internal monologue that type of thing. Unconsciously you learn about yourself from others. Over time this builds into automatic self assessments. I have been exploring how when people pass minor but careless comments they can mirror and provide evidence for what you have been told before. I learned very early that I had to be good. If I was good people would like me, I would be safe. My mum would be safe. I was taught I was a mistake. Unplanned and an inconvenience. I learned that I owed my family for keeping me. I learned that I had to cope. Nobody around me could and I had to. So when I cannot help people I feel I have failed. I feel I cannot pay people back for loving me. I am in their debt because I shouldn't be here. If I am not seen as quiet, well mannered, clever and kind I panic. In my head this means the world may fall apart. If I am not good then I will be punished. As a Christian I know ...

It's been two months since I attended church, but much longer since I have felt close and cared for by God. My prayer life is limited. Still just about intact. My ability to open the bible diminished. I don't know how to get it back. To feel His love and feel him holding me. Often people say our experience of God is through those around us. When you are isolated you have little time to experience God that way, or the experience instead is loneliness and abandonment. Even the kids didn't go today. My son still regularly prays, for me, for others, for the small things in his life but I am aware I am a poor example to them. My anxiety is preventing me returning to church. I have considered sneaking into bible study and then leaving ASAP. No time to connect, chat, answer questions. No awkward reunions or silences with those who would rather not be in my company. For now I hope God forgives me that all we could manage this Sunday was Veggietales on the TV whilst I lay ru...

I am still exhausted. My motivation poor although I can manage what I need to do, meetings at school, school runs, Christmas fairs and school plays. I don't really want to see anyone. There's a few people, my cousin, my old friend, but pretty much everyone else I dread putting the face on. Not having to continuously convince myself not to hang or drown myself has improved things. I guess I'd kind have hoped that the depression would also lift as suddenly. It hasn't. I would gladly spend all day under the covers and I completely honest that's where most of Monday will be spent. For a break from my head. My thoughts. For a few minutes I forget how shamed I feel. How low my self esteem is. How anxious I am and how much I worry what others think of me. Where I don't look around and see the piled of post and toys and washing that lead me to feel lazy and useless. So much of Christmas has always been around the church. Craft evenings, children's services, s...