I think I’ve wallowed long enough. I’ve felt defeated, hopeless, and overwhelmed a lot lately and I’ve given in to the temptation to just stubbornly feel sorry for myself — no matter how childish or irrational it is to behave that way. Thank you V.K., for the perspective (Prader-Willi honesty is making blog rounds lately).
Hope smiled at me all day to day. Every time I looked her way, she was smiling. Of course I smiled back, how could I not? She’s adorable. The more I smiled, the more she smiled — in fact, she was really hamming it up on multiple occasions with a new smile I haven’t seen before.
She was performing.
I haven’t been performing well enough for her lately, and I guess I’ve got to come to terms with the fact that sometimes I’m going to have to perform. I’m going to have to put on the brave face when it’s time to be brave, even if I feel weakened. I’m going to have to put on the tough advocate face, even if I feel overwhelmed. I’m going to have to put on the compassionate, understanding face even when things seem horribly unfair. I have to do these things because I’m the mom and it’s my job and, truthfully, it is a job I adore. But it’s more than just a grudging acceptance of responsibility, if it’s how I hope for my children to live their own lives it has to start with me.
Hope is happy, really happy actually. So is Grace for that matter. I don’t know how hard it will be to maintain that happiness, or for how long we’ll be able to do it with quite the same simplicity as we have now. When I think about the future I feel overwhelmed, and I worry and telling me not to do either is simply futile. But I know, in my head at least, that I can’t allow myself to become so paralyzed by my imaginary future that I miss out on the present.
So where does that leave me? The general consensus is that I need some combination of drugs and/or therapy. I’ll tell you right now, there’s no way I’m doing therapy. Sorry, folks, that ain’t happening. If I’m going to get out for mommy-only/adult-conversation -time once a week there sure as hell better be sushi and beer involved, or count me out. So that leaves the drugs. I’m not thrilled with this option either. I’ve taken antidepressants before, recently even, I’m not opposed to their use — but that was back when I had no reason to be depressed, yet was depressed. This time around, I kind of feel like I’ve got a reason to feel the way I do and I’d really rather figure this out on my own.
That said, I’ve done a piss-poor job of handling this on my own recently — I’ll own that. So I’ll call Dr. Feelgood in the morning and make an appointment, I’ll fill the prescription, I’ll even take the pill…regularly…without Tammy having to scruff me and shove it down my throat. I’m not 100% sold on the idea, but the world doesn’t revolve around me and I owe it to the people I care about to not be a total jackass, or at least to be an even-tempered one. Ordinarily I’m an apologist for pharmaceutical interventions of this sort, at the moment though this feels like a bit of personal failure and I’m a tad miffed by it, and disappointed.
None of this changes, however, how I feel about a things — generally speaking — nor should it be expected to. It still sucks that Hope has two of my 15th chromosome, and all that will follow because of it. I still feel conflicted and abandoned by my faith, and isolated from or misunderstood by many of those close to me. I’m still struggling to find my voice and my path and still haven’t got a clue where to start (well…maybe I have a hunch).