Just another 24hr ordeal

Stephen King said it best, 'We stopped believing in monsters under the bed when we realised they we're inside of us.' I apologise if I didn't get that 100% accurate but you get the gist of what I'm saying.
Earlier today I said it was a tough day. Yeah, well, it became a bad day. Very quickly. To the point I bundled the kids in the car and drove aimlessly for twenty minutes, simply to try and get number two to sleep, number one not bored and a change of scenery for all of us.
I was that mad when I left home I could have relished being an Indy 500 driver about then, being able to put my foot down and fang it until my rage was spent. But alas, I'm not. So instead I was satisfied with merely driving. I could have cried, I could have screamed. But I had the kids with me. So I just brewed, pondering my thoughts as I drove.

The most reoccurring theme was how mad I was at myself. Which brings me to my next item to share. In no way do I claim to be a victim. I don't blame the weather, the economy or my neighbours barking dog for the way I am. The blame, ladies and gentlemen, rests squarely on my own shoulders. What I struggle with, especially when I hit these low times, is that there is a good portion of it that I cannot change. I will always have mental health issues to some degree and it's this little tidbit of glaringly obvious knowledge that infuriates me the most. Surely at some point I've served my sentence. Surely at some point I've suffered enough. Surely, surely, I must be rewarded with some sort of normalcy at some point in my life.

But as hubby so rightly put it this afternoon, 'you're a mother'. Yep, exactly. See how we seem to always end up back at square one?

But that's it. I know being a mother is the catalyst for all my issues coming to the forefront. What I want to know is how do I change? Every time I think I have it figured out the game plan changes and I'm left midfield without support. There has to be a way to deal to this way of life.

Just, where the hell is the person who can tell me what that is?

Mother under fire

Weekends with no money. Grrrr. Nothing worse than being stuck in the house all bloody week. Go for a walk I hear you say. Done that. What I need is a change of scenery, some travel to somewhere different. But again, no money.

Kids are scratchy, number two won't sleep. Number one won't behave. The simplest task like loading the dishwasher becomes a three stage mission.

Positives. Well I managed to get out for a session at the gym this morning. Only problem is when I had finished I found myself wanting to carry on enjoying my own company. I didn't want to go home just yet to the chaos I knew would be unfolding. And sure enough it was. Both kids came running to me to cling on for dear life when I came in the door. I know it should make me happy that they miss me, and on some level it does, but what irritates the shit out of me is that they are so damned dependant on me.

Prior to kids I was (well I still am really) the type of person who enjoys some time alone. Hubby would go hunting and I'd relish the chance to have a whole day to do what I wanted, at my own pace and how I liked without criticism or being rushed. Now. Well now I'm lucky if I get to go to the loo without interruption. Part of motherhood, I know. But some days it just drives me mad.

Even as I write this number two is grizzling from his bedroom, refusing to go to sleep for the umpteenth time. Ugh. Some days I can't wait for them to grow up even though I know they already are, way too fast.

I have a short temper today too. That doesn't help any. One little thing and I'm off the handle, yelling and swearing at the kids. Mummy monster is back. No. It doesn't make me proud that I do it. Hubby says 'why can't you just not do it?'. I wish it was that simple. I can see it coming, I know my temper is growing. But I honest to God can't control it. I literally snap like twig under pressure. I hate it. I hate knowing I do it and I hate being helpless to control it.
How do I avoid it? By avoiding stress. But guess what goes hand in hand with stress - motherhood. I am a mother, a nurse, a financial controller, a cleaner, a maid and a personal shopper. And every now and again I'm expected to do at least three of those things simultaneously. And I can't. No-one can. Yet every mother is expected to try. It's just how we handle that pressure that makes us different. And unfortunately for me I wasn't geared to handle that pressure. My genetics literally don't allow it.

I'm sitting here trying to type this out while hubby is in the garage working on his car. And where are the kids? At my feet. Why? Because where Mum is, they are. All a part of turning their world upside down and shifting country. They cling onto what they know.

Lucky for me, huh? Don't get me wrong. I love my kids so much I can't even put it into words. I would do anything to ensure they are safe and happy. Yet I still need time for me. I need time to recharge my batteries. Being a parent is the hardest job in the world because you never get a holiday. Somehow though it still doesn't stop you from showing up day after day.

Today just feels like a Monday, that's all.

So, last post I shared a bit about what happened to make me the person I am today. Today I'll share a bit more about me and who I am today.

Currently I'm a stay at home Mum to two boys aged 1yr and almost 3yrs. Three months ago our family moved to Australia from New Zealand. It was the turning point in our lives and a decision hubby and I had been working on for about six months.
Since arriving here there's been the usual trials and tribulations of friendships and social circles with everybody adjusting to our arrival. We were lucky enough to have several couples we already knew over here so it wasn't quite a step into the complete unknown.

I have been looking for work part-time but so far there hasn't been a lot that fits into our requirements. My husband works the afternoon shift, starting at 1pm and getting home anywhere between 11pm and 4am the next morning on the really late nights. So needless to say a night job is out of the question for me.

It's not too much of an issue though as we aren't desperate for me to work. It's really just an added bonus if I do pick something up. Plus, with the expected stresses of relocating to a new country I think working might not be the best thing for me right now. Our oldest son is struggling with not having his best friend or his grandparents around anymore. He's been quite homesick of late and I've about run out of ideas on how to help him settle in other then bear with him while he rides it out.

Overall though, we know we made the best decision for us. In NZ we lived in Christchurch and of you're current with world news you'll know we had a spate of rather nasty earthquakes a few years ago. Our oldest boy was a three week old baby when the first 7.8 hit at four-thirty in the morning. As scary as it was I was bloody thankful that it was a Saturday morning, otherwise hubby would have been at work.
While we grew used to the quakes and their respective aftershocks, what did continue to grate away at us was that over two years later we were still waiting to get final confirmation of when our house would be repaired. We were given an indication that it wouldn't happen until 2014. Four years after the first quake. Although we weren't one of the worst damaged houses by far it was still stressful and depressing living in a house with cracks and cosmetic damage everywhere you looked. All our home renovation suddenly hit the backburner since we kind of had to wait and see what the repairers would do first. We couldn't just carry on in case we covered over any signs of damage and the house needed another assessment. We were literally living in limbo.

So, we made the choice to sell up, pay our debts and start again in a place where the average rent/mortgage isn't half your annual income. We were at the stage where each week I'd divide what we had left after fixed bills were paid between groceries and necessities such as clothes, dentist etc. It was getting to be beyond a joke.

I had discovered shortly before we moved though that my passion for writing had been reignited. I read the Fifty Shades trilogy and as much as I enjoyed it, I got to the end and was left thinking 'I could write a story better than that'. So, I am. I've written a novella and I'm half way through a full length novel at present. It's a past time that I enjoy and it's an outlet for me at the end of the day.
I've also returned to the gym for the first time in 10yrs in an effort to rid myself of those post-baby wobbly bits. Yet something else I should have done a while ago as the exercise is not only good for me physically, but it's good for me mentally. I'm literally happier when I leave the gym than I was when I went in.

Today is one of two a week where both the kids are at preschool. Undoubtedly it's a good day since I have room to breathe. I can walk through the house without having to sidestep a child or drag one along that's clinging to my leg. It's QUIET.
So, I'm off now to monopolise on this time and smash out a few thousand words on my novel.

I apologise if my posts are disjointed or missing something. When you're starting out telling people about you there's kind of a lot to say. I'll add a post as something comes to me or as I feel I need to vent. Some will be positive and some will be darker.

If there's anything you want to know, any questions you have then please let me know in the comments.

Until next time.....

Introducing...

I take two pills a day. Two. Plus I've been told that since this is at least my third episode of severe depression I more than likely won't ever come off them.
I'm thankful that I wasn't born in the early 1900's otherwise I would have been shipped off to an asylum by now and drugged into some dribbling stupor.
Okay, so I've never done anything newsworthy it was so horrible, but even so I can be a monster and that is what scares me. I'm Mummy Monster. No kid deserves such an up and down personality as their mother and I dread the day when I'm going to have to explain to them that Mummy isn't mentally stable. Thank god I don't have to do it now when my oldest is almost three otherwise I don't think I'd be able to answer the more than likely 'why?' I'd get in response.

How did it all start out? How did I discover that this monster lived inside me?

I remember it clearly. I was fourteen/fifteen and my mother had left me a cheque to drop at the local council for a bill that was due that day. All I had to do was walk about three kilometres into our small town centre and drop it off at the counter. But I didn't. The first thought that brought dread to the idea of doing this, was that when I got to the council I'd have to talk to someone. A stranger. And what if I didn't know where to go when I got there? What if I had to ask for directions? Surely then I'd be laughed at and ridiculed for not knowing where to take the cheque? But even worse was the second thought. To even get that far I'd have to walk down the main street first. Oh, hell no. What if somebody who hated me saw me and heckled me? And I had no doubt they would. Had you seen me lately? I was such an ugly try-hard. Somebody trying too much to fit in when they had no place doing so.
Yeah. So as you can guess I never went and as mad as Mum was that she incurred a late payment fee, what could she do other than book me in with the Doc? See, I thought that feeling this way was a normal part of the highs and lows of being a teenager. Well, it's not. It even has a name. Social Phobia.

Enter round one of medication - Prozac. Hell, I even remember the yellow box it came in. Did it help? I think so. But the few friends I had told me it made me moody and hard to be around. So I stopped taking it. Looking back now I'm sure it was just the depression that made me those things, not the medication.

I battled my way through life for several years before I hit rock bottom again. This time early in my working career. Didn't help that my first bosses attitude was that even if you were bleeding on the floor he'd expect you to show at work. His words, not mine.
This time it wasn't as much about the social phobia but equally about a feeling of complete uselessness. I medicated, I came through and again I came off them.

Round three was a year after I was married. By now I had changed jobs three times, returning to my second place of work with the last shift. I'd also had a health problem, my spleen grew a cyst that made the organ about four times what it should be. It was removed. I made the wedding invitations while I was couch ridden after surgery. A year on we had our honeymoon and I remember vividly the claustrophobic feeling I got when we went to a seminar. I knew I didn't want to be there at the start but thought it was simply because I felt off colour. But when the exit doors shut for the show I panicked. The only way I could stop myself hyperventilating or running from the room was to take my shoes off and cross my legs on the seat. I remember hubby looking at me like I was crazy. Christ, I was.
Over the next few months I realised the feeling was associated with situations I felt not so much out of control of, but overly aware of. By the time we were thinking of having our first baby, some two years later it was at the point I couldn't sit in the middle of a row at the movies, or at the far end of the table in the boardroom. As soon as I was shut into a situation where I knew excusing myself would be obvious I panicked. I knew I was past the point of helping myself without med's when one particular meeting with the company's Financial Controller, I had to excuse myself to get a glass of water before he shut the boardroom door. I didn't. I went straight to the ladies and sat on the toilet for a few minutes to let the feeling of lava in my veins and spontaneous sweating pass. Little did I know that I had just experienced Anxiety 101.

Round four went to pregnancy. Shortly after my first bubs I returned to work full-time (case of having to). Around a year into it I was back at the bottom of the heap only this time the anxiety wasn't so strong. I had another symptom. Uncontrollable rage. Like incredible hulk kind of stuff. One minute I could be folding washing, chatting away to my son and the next, something would cause me to snap and I would be stomping, yelling, screaming even. Not cool. Not cool at all. I was told it was probably post-partum and that it'd even itself out but nup, I could tell this was more. So I went back on meds, this time Fluoxetine which is the same as what I had taken previously. I tried to wean myself off - three times. But each time I would have a moment of absolute bottoming out that scared the shit out of me.
So needless to say I stayed on them throughout my second pregnancy with the blessing of my Doc. The stress I would give myself and bubs by stopping them would be worse than any possible side-effects.

Thirteen months later and I'm on two a day. Yep. I'm a nutcase alright. That, I can live with. What still worries me is the fact I continue to have days where I don't cope and all hell breaks lose. I just want to feel what normal is.

One such crappy day I decided to create this blog. See if venting my non-existent spleen by typing out my worries, frustrations and goals helps me. For now, I'm doing this purely to help myself find peace. But ultimately I would love it, that if by opening up, by being candid about the stuff people usually shove behind closed doors, I could help somebody out there. Somebody who, like I did for so many years, thinks they're the only one.