Out of My Mind

I don't know what is wrong with me.  One day I'm fine, great even.  The next day I'm back down.  One day I'm getting everything done, taking the kids out, making dinner, going to a meeting, going to the gym.  Just on top of everything I should be.  The next, I wake up and I want to die.  Just like that.  No reason behind it.  Just miserable, hating myself, hating life, wanting to isolate and hide from the world.  I don't get it.  My sponsor says that sometimes there is just no reason for these ups and downs.  She says I just have to endure them, that they will pass.  I have to take a deep breath, hold on and just know that it will pass.  I do know that they will pass.  Keeping this log of my journey has been a good reminder that there are good days.  I just wish that I didn't have to keep sinking back down.  It's miserable down here.  I can't accomplish anything and accomplishing anything is the only way I know how to feel a little bit better.  I got off of my psych meds alittle over a month ago.  I think it's time to find a psychiatrist.  I don't think I can conquer this depression on my own.  I didn't want all the side effects that come with the medications I've been on but I can't wake up every day feeling like everything is so hard.  Because if I really look at it.  I have to make a few beds, dress my kids and myself, put some things away, do some laundry and make dinner.  That's all I have to do and I feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders.  The ridiculousness of it makes me even more depressed.  Makes me loathe myself even more.  God, I am so tired of this.  Please help me, if you can.  I am so very tired of this.

Spring Break

Spring break takes on a whole new meaning when you are the mother of two little ones.  Not that I ever went anywhere for spring break.  I was too busy shooting heroin into my veins, selling all of my belongings and alienating myself from my family and friends.  However, when you think spring break you think fun, right?  I see a big MTV party on the beach with a bunch of young bikini clad, six pack bearing college kids accesorized only with their red plastic cups.  Now picture a 34 year old woman in her pajamas at 10:00AM trying to keep her 4 and 5 year old, also still in their pajamas, from killing eachother because they've already spent enough time together and we're only half way through the week.

Does it make me a bad mom that I'm already (at 10 in the morning) feeling like locking them in separate rooms?  I think it might.  I think I should've gotten everyone dressed and ready for the day even though we had nowhere to go.  Even as I sit writing this, I should probably be getting them dressed and ready for the day.  Regardless, I will get them dressed and ready by noon because they go to lunch with my mother on Wednesdays.  An hour of peace for me.

My neighbor just called.  Guess the girls and I are going to go to the movies late this afternoon with their friends a couple house over.  A bit out of my comfort zone.  My anxiety doesn't allow me the luxury of not having a schedule.  Breakfast, lunch and dinner are always at the same time.  No matter what we do, everything is scheduled around these meals.  The movie is at 3:50.  That would mean we were in the movie at dinner time.  I said yes and we will go but this will be a difficult task for me.  When will they eat dinner, will it affect our bath and bedtime routine?  Will they be overly excited when we get home?  Or will they be overtired and crying and whining over anything and everything?  I'm such a nutcase.  I'm also concerned for no good reason that Charlie has jury duty today and will be home early.  What if he gets home early and we're at the movies?  What if he wanted to be the one to take them to see the movie?  What if he wanted to spend some time with the girls?  I won't have dinner ready for him because I won't be making dinner.  What will he eat?  Who cares?  He doesn't.  I worry about everything.  Something to work on.

2 Pounds...Almost

I joined a fancy gym about two months ago.  I needed something to occupy some of my time and give me a break from being mom all day long.  On April 12th I weighed in for their 90 day challenge.  Since no one reads this, I feel comfortable, although alittle embarassed, to say that I had gotten up to 183 pounds.  When I weighed in on April 12th I weighed 173.2 pounds.  Now that the challenge has begun I will weigh in every Tuesday. 

In my own defense, there have been many birthdays with many cakes, cookies, pizzas, etc. to go along with them.  We have also had a battery of illnesses over the last three weeks which meant no gym for me.  However, I weighed in today and I now weigh 171.6 pounds.  If I had lost nothing, my motivation might have been stunted (even though in all reality I should not have lost any weight) but I didn't.  I lost something.  Almost two pounds.  This gives me more motivation to not eat the cakes and the cookies and the rest of the junk around the house because I am imagining that I would have lost even more had I not indulged.  So, here's to better days and getting into a bathing suit this summer!

Check out this great MSN video: Twin Baby Boys Have In-Depth Discussion

This is just too cute. I had to smile.

Check out this great MSN video: Twin Baby Boys Have In-Depth Discussion

Sinking

I think my experiment in gratitude might be failing.  I will not relapse.  I refuse.  I know all too well where that takes me.  And it is not a better place no matter how far down I think I'm feeling now.  But being grateful for my children or anything else isn't keeping the depression at bay.  Maybe I need to get back on meds even though I don't think they much helped for the many years I was on them.  I want to cry all the time.  I want to curl up in a corner in my closet with a big blanket to pull over me and be left alone.  I want the world to fade away.  I don't want to talk about it.  No one can make it better.  No one understands.  And I certainly am no good at explaining it.  I sit and blankly stare at nothing and I just want to be left alone.  I'm still pushing through and doing all my daily chores and taking care of all my obligations but the blackness is getting blacker daily; the air harder to breathe by the minute; the loneliness more unbearable by the second.  I'm not giving up on gratitude, but I am realizing it's going to take alot more to keep me afloat.  God, if you're listening, I think you might be the only one that can help me right now.  I need your help.  I don't know what kind of help to ask for but I think if anything is going to help it will be some sort of divine intervention.  Please help me.  I'm sinking.

74 Days

I wake up every morning in a miserable mood.  The second my eyes open, I just want to pull the covers up over my head and go back to sleep.  As I'm forced out of bed by my daily obligations, I feel a horrible sense of dread.  Not very grateful, I know.  It does get better though.  As I get dressed and get my children dressed and start moving and doing what needs to be done I start to feel better.  The dread starts to lift and the day takes over.  Once I'm out and about I do feel better.  This is where the gratitude comes in.  If I didn't have my beautiful little girls to get up out of bed for I probably would just pull the covers back over my head and hide from the world.  So I guess, in a sense, I am grateful for my obligations.

Something about me that I hate everything that I have to do, before I do it.  Afterwards, I feel better.  I feel better that I accomplished something or that I did something to better myself or whatever it might be.  Now I just need to work on not despising and dreading the things I have to do every day.  It would be nice to wake up one morning and not feel that sick to my stomach, god i hate life, feeling.  Because I don't.  I don't hate life.  It's tough alot of days but it is worth it at the end of the day.  I love my children.  I love my husband.  I have a really blessed life.  I am grateful for everything today (even though I feel cruddy and anxious and a bit overwhelmed). 

74 days and counting.

Do Whatever It Takes To Be Effective

This is one of the things I learned in cognitive behavioral therapy on Low 5.  It's a technique they taught, or a quote I latched on to, while in the psych hospital for three weeks.  I can't quite remember.  "Do whatever it takes to be effective".  I try to remember this when I'm feeling overwhelmed.  Just take one baby step towards whatever needs to be done, then another, then another.  It can be motivating when I remember it.

I've been feeling so down lately; like everything is just so difficult.  Normally when I feel this way, I get sucked down further and further.  I don't want to do "normally" this time around.  My sponsor says if nothing changes, nothing changes.  So, I have to change my behaviors if I want anything to be different. 

In the past, I would not call a sponsor every day.  I would not reach out for help.  I would not take time for myself (without feeling guilty).  I would not be honest about my feelings.  I would not socialize.  I would isolate.  I would wallow in my depression.  I would embrace my feelings of being overwhelmed by daily living.  I have to remind myself of these things so that I don't fall back into the same patterns of behavior.  I have my husband to remind me, but that tends to feel like more of an attack than a gentle reminder.  But I don't have to do it on my own.  I do have a sponsor this time around who I speak to daily, who I meet with weekly, who does a good job of reminding me that I need to do things differently if I want to change for the better.

I have 69 days clean and sober today.  Last night I went back to my old group for the first time since last September.  I was very involved in the group before I relapsed.  (I had 8 months clean and sober before I relapsed.)  The people there knew me and I disappeared for almost 8 months.  I was ashamed and embarassed and, even though I knew they would understand, my shame kept me from returning for the last 67 days.  Something in me said I needed to go last night, though.  And with the support of my loving husband, I did. 

It was good to return.  It felt like a weight had been lifted.  Even if I never go back again, I think it was good for me to show my face and admit to people who knew me, that I had screwed up.  I had been hiding from them, and my shame.  So now it's all out there and I'm not hiding anything from anyone anymore.  It feels good.  It may seem a silly little thing but it was a big step for me and my recovery.

Today, I am grateful for the warm, cuddly and sweet times with my daughters.  I am grateful for a husband who can be understanding and give me a rest when he knows I need one.  I am grateful for a sponsor who has really taken an interest in me and my recovery.  As I write, all the things I'm not grateful for are swirling around in my head, dying to come out.  Old habits die hard.  I'm not going to allow them the privilege of being written down here.  Nothing changes if nothing changes.  Today, I am grateful for being able to meet with my sponsor and for my husband who is making it possible for me to meet with her.  I am grateful that I am not physically addicted to heroin today.  I am grateful for a clear head and another chance to do the right things.  I am grateful for another shot at a good and fulfilling life.

Tears, Tears and More Tears

After a week of taking care of my sick family, I finally reached my breaking point. 

I was thinking last night how I wake up miserable most mornings.  I try to hide how miserable I actually am.  Maybe it seems like mild annoyance to those looking in from the outside.  Who knows.  But anyway, I thought about this blog and gratitude and thought I wasn't really starting the day in a grateful mindset.  So I went to bed thinking I would really try to start my day with a grateful thought, even if I feel a sense of impending doom from the moment my eyes open.  BUT, I woke up feeling sickly and tired myself and never bothered with a grateful thought. 

I dropped my girls off at school, came home, showered and straightened up the house.  After that I sat in my own misery until 11:35 when I have to leave the house to pick them back up from school.  They begged me to go to the gym (where they get to play computers and do crafts, etc.) so I opted to go, even though I wasn't feeling up to it, in order to avoid all of the fighting and hitting and crying and whining that's been going on for the last week.  I was actually surprised by the results of doing cardio for an hour.  I felt good.  I felt happy.  The endorphins were flowing.  It didn't last long.

The minute we got to the car, the hitting, the fighting, the whining, the crying, the tattling all began again.  I immediately sank back into my normal depressed state.  For anyone that believes being a stay at home mom has it easy, I challenge you to do it for a week.  It is the hardest job I've ever had.  It's liking having two bosses who are NEVER happy with your work and who are constantly battling to be the best, putting you in the middle and they are so not above using physical force.  I want to be grateful.  I really really do!  I AM grateful for my two beautiful daughters.  I AM grateful for the time I am getting to spend with them.  It just gets all muddied with the day to day bs.

When we got home from the gym, there was just nothing but fighting and whining and tattling.  I don't always have the answer, ya know?  I don't always know who's done wrong.  I don't always know what kind of punishment is appropriate or if it will even serve its purpose.  I actually hardly EVER have the answers.  I'm often at a loss for the right thing to do when it comes to my girls.

The breaking point came when we went to pick up pizza for dinner.  I've trained them pretty well to stay by me when going through a parking lot if my hands are full and I can't hold on to them both.  We got to the car and as I was putting the older one in her booster seat and buckling her up, my younger one (who had been standing near my leg when I began) disappeared.  I yelled her name.  I ran to the other side of the car.  I didn't see her.  She didn't respond.  I ran back to the other side of the car.  Not there.  Called her name again, more panicked this time.  No answer.  Ran back to the other side.  Not there.  Then a woman points out she's on the other side of the car from me.  We had both been going to the opposite side at the same time, never seeing each other.  I scooped her up and, more scared than angry, told her she could never leave my side like that in a parking lot.  That she scared me and she could've gotten hurt.  I put her in her seat and as I was buckling her up, she began to well up and tell me she didn't love me anymore.  I got in the driver's seat, buckled up and out it came.  The tears just came up from a place inside, where I guess they've been building.  A place that I guess was tired, beaten down, worn down and terrified that I had just almost lost my child.

I never want to cry in front of my children but this was NOT within my control.  I had reached a breaking point.  Emotion just took over and I couldn't even speak.  All of my effort was being used up keeping my crying from turning into wailing.  I don't think people recognize how metally and emotionally difficult it can be to spend the majority of your time with two battling siblings.  I pulled myself together and drove home but I felt beaten down.  The happy endorphins of the gym were long gone and gratitude wasn't even a word in my vocabulary. 

So I sit here now, writing.  I desperately want to be happy.  I desperately want my children to be happy.  I also desperately want for my children not to be the destroyers of mental health that they can tend to be (for me).  You know, I never expect things to be easy (because they hardly ever have been) but I guess I just wish they could be easier.  See.  (God, I think I'm talking to you.) Not easy.  Easier.  Just easier.  That's all.

Off to my anonymous self help program.  ;)  Maybe I'll find some words of wisdom there.  Till next time.

I am grateful. 

Blessings not Burdens

Since my husband was really more confused by the title of my blog than I expected anyone to be, I feel compelled to write a bit more today.

I will start by saying that I am a very, very, very....did i say very?....negative person.  My brain is programmed to always see, feel and hear the worst, but not only that, it has the amazing capacity to forget anything good that  may happen, no matter how recent.  It also has the surprising ability to glorify the misery of being addicted to heroin while insidiously misplacing the memories of the horrifying consequences. 

So, since I have relapsed twice in the last two years, I have taken some time to reflect on what may have happened, in order to hopefully do something different this time around.  And that, is where "Trying Gratitude" comes in. It seems to me that when I first get clean and sober, I am extremely grateful for just about everything.  I am grateful for my husband, who has stood with me through all my failings; I am grateful for my children, who love me without question; I am grateful for my family; who all pull together to support me; I am grateful for my home; and I am grateful just for one more day to be able to be here for my little girls.

So with this pearl of wisdom, I am hoping to be able to keep an attitude of gratitude.  When I start seeing everything as overwhelming and hopeless and burdensome (which I often tend to do), I have to remember the awful days following a relapse, and the feeling of coming home and being so grateful to have all that I have.  I must not let the negative feelings; the depression; the overwhelming-ness of everyday life, blot out the memory of gratitude. 

So, there you go, this time I'm trying gratitude.

First Attempt

As my title suggests, this is my first attempt at creating a post, or a blog, for that matter.  I figure I might begin by explaining the name I chose for my blog, as it will also give you a pretty good idea of me.

Trying Gratitude.....hmmmmmm.....where do I begin?  I am a recovering heroin addict who has also come to grips with the fact that alcohol and pills and cocaine and marijuana and food and cigarettes and pets and handbags are also a problem for me.  The only thing I can't seem to get addicted to is going to the gym.  I am 34 years old, a mom of two, a wife (of one), and I live in a nice house in the suburbs of Long Island. My husband is a lawyer and I drive a nice Sport Utility Vehicle. 

How does a heroin addict end up in these quite dignified circumstances, you might ask?  Well, I quit using heroin for about an 8 year stretch.  I got a full time job, went back to school, finished my degree and met a man who would later become my husband.  During that time, I was drinking, socially, I thought.  It was my husband-to-be who worked tirelessly, and not without a fight, to help me see that my drinking might not be as normal as I wanted to believe it was.  Let it suffice to say, blackouts and still calling for shots at last call were the norm (although it was justified in my mind because I only did it on weekends with my girlfriends...never mind it was the first "drug" I used and that my first attempt at suicide was made under its influence). 

Anyway, we got pregnant with our first daughter.  On a dramatically rainy day in Manhattan, Charlie (soon to be husband), met me in front of a book store with a big umbrella, my tears masked by the rain I had been drenched in walking from the doctor's office to where I met him.  He comforted me with a hug and told me everything would be ok.  He asked "Do you love me?"  I replied that I did.  He said, "I love you too.  And that's all that matters". 

And so it began.  My life as a wife, a mother, a suburban housewife, and a recovering addict. 

Since this post is too long for my liking already, I'm going to end here.  Even though I never really got to the "trying gratitude" explanation, I will say that I did not stay clean after I fell into my fairytale ending.  As of today I have 65 days clean and sober.  65 days and counting.....keep your fingers crossed.