Emotions overload

Long, hard days.

Physical labor.

Mental stress.

Over committed.

Running everywhere, late.

Messy house, messy mind. 

An unending todo list at home, at school, at church.

Not meeting up to my expectations of myself.

Doing everything, accomplishing little.

Alone at home. 

Not being able to help others. 

Rejected offers of help.

Exhausted. 

Wonderful family.

Adorable, happy, inquisitive children.

Good job.

Chance to sleep.

Five Minute Friday: Glue

This is my first one of these, so here I go.

Glue.
The glue that holds things together. That melts in too much heat.
The glue that looks like a big white mess all over until it dries clear and somehow comes out okay.
The glue that gets up early for one kid after staying up late for the other just to keep us all sane. Or as close to sane as possible.
Sticky glue that sometimes feels dried up but pulls off the crusties on the tip and pushes hard to find just a little more good glue at the bottom of the bottle.
How much can you hold together with glue?

The glue that holds the family together.

Sometimes I wish I was the superglue and not just plain old schoolhouse Elmer's. I hope it can hold us all together just the same.

MY STORY: or The More Difficult Mental Emotional Stress and Difficulty Caused by Living and Writing About THE STORY

(Read AFTER reading THE STORY post)

I can't remember the last time it was difficult for me to write something. Writing and typing have always been a welcome release of information and emotion. Usually the words flow out and help me see clearer and feel better afterward. This time, I am struggling to make sense. I struggle to express myself and the words feel awkward and strange. None of them fit right. I keep going back to make changes and then I still feel unsatisfied. 

Probably because all of this feels unsatisfied. I still have no real answers. I met with Jordan's doctors and have a little bit of insight, but I'm still alone. I still don't know if anything I do can help or will hurt. I still feel lost and confused. I don't know what my role should be or if he's going to attempt this again. I feel extreme guilt that I didn't know this was coming. I knew the night was difficult at the end of a difficult week and a difficult quarter, but in my mind there was an end to all of that with the end of classes. Spring break was on the horizon and here was a chance to reset.
But it wasn't that way for Jordan. 

Fear clobbers me over and over as I try to get this on paper. I am making it real by putting it in black and white on the page. Real should be good so it becomes a tangible experience. Words can be read and analyzed and understood. But these words are also vulnerable. They are words that carry heavy meaning and significance. The experiences that wring and twist the heart as I drip out the words one sentence, one phrase at a time. They were shrapnel in my heart and extracting them I hope will help, but performing self-inflicted surgery hurts so much. 

Looking back over the words I managed to spit out so far makes the letters seem meaningless. 

Long-ago memorized words of the prologue to Henry V make all the more sense:

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention,
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
.....But pardon, and gentles all,
The flat unraised spirits that have dared
On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
So great an object: can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France? or may we cram
Within this wooden O the very casques
That did affright the air at Agincourt?

Just like the cockpit cannot hold the vasty fields of France, neither can the mere letters and unfeeling phrases capture the confusion, the despair, the loss, the hurt, the loneliness that have been my reality this past week. How could a phrase embody the desire to make whole again what was once my innocent hope? 

Hope.

Hope is not lost. Even Jordan found it as he listened to someone on the helpline. He didn't know he had it as he walked himself in to get help. Help was there. Hope pulled him in and pushed him back out again on Saturday afternoon. I stood next to him with hope of my own. Hope because I was standing next to him. He was still here in this world. He was still able to walk by my side and be here with me and our children. Hope told me we could still have dreams and life and options and lunch. Hope even told me we could have help. 

Hope tells me now not to be afraid as whispers that your judgement and misunderstanding will make you treat us differently. You might. Maybe we will have to face this terrible new perception of reality without the support and extra love that we wish for. We can. Maybe you, like I was, will be paralyzed for a time, unsure of how to react to this startling information.

Maybe then you will realize to yourself the low moments you have felt and find a way to empathize, while realizing you might not understand the gravity he felt was possibly heavier.

I don't expect you to know how to act, or what to offer, or how you can share love. I don't know what to tell you that you can do to help. But I hope you will. 

THE STORY

There's no easy way to start this. 

I guess the fact that I'm writing this means there is hope.

Hope is always something to hold on to.

THE STORY

One week ago tonight my husband had plans to commit suicide. 

I got a phone call at 10 PM on Friday night notifying me that Jordan was in a crisis center at the U. A man named Brandon told me all about what had happened. How Jordan had taken leftover pain medications from the house and was planning to take a mixture of flexeril and hydrocodone and "fade away". I found out later he'd had plans from when we both left the house together earlier, in separate cars, as he presumedly left for school. He thought to himself, that was the last time he'd see the house. 

I don't know the details from there, but wherever he went or wherever he was he texted me "I love you" at 7pm and that was about the end of it. He was "about to take" the pills when his doctor, Cathy Seegers, for some reason decided to call him to notify him about his new prescription being available for pickup. Miraculously, Jordan actually answered the phone call. Without knowing what was going on, she asked him if he was okay. I'm sure he said something like "fine" but she reminded him about the crisis numbers she had given him and to not hesitate to call them. Somehow he found the strength to call them after he hung up with Cathy and ask for help. I don't know the details from there, but they convinced Jordan to come into the UNI's crisis center and bring all the medications he had with him. I guess he actually came by the house (before I arrived home) to pick up his regular medications before he went up there. 

The crisis center was probably the best thing that could happen to him at that point. Physically, they took his belongings, gave him a safe place to stay and eventually destroyed the leftover medications for us. More importantly they spoke for hours with a man who had lost all hope for the future. He had lost all hope for the day and what he thought was his life. He never really understood he could get help. 

Jordan has Major Depressive Disorder, which means that his depression or "feeling low" can last more than a week without feeling any better. This latest depression has worsened over the past month. He had made plans before, and even told me he had made them two weeks prior. But then we talked and faced problems a little; he was seeming on the upswing. At least, he seemed better to me. I guess now I can see that he was covering that up by acting like everything was normal again. I got a cold and lost my voice and he was again pushing himself aside to take care of me. 

I don't want to get into all of Jordan's story, it's not mine to tell. 

What happened after: 

The next morning Jordan called me and asked me to come and get him. I have a wonderful brother and sister-in-law who took our boys for the day. We went to lunch. We worked for three days to try to reach "saturation point" with the amount of hugs we could give each other in a day. We never found it. 

We talked through the safety plan he made Saturday morning with the Social Worker and added more to it. We leaned like a crutch on anything normal for two days. On Tuesday we dropped off the kids and went together to the prescheduled therapist and doctor appointments as Jordan bravely owned and explained his experiences. The worst part for me was reliving the fears and the "what ifs". The best part was seeing my husband humbly admit his strengths and his own value, so very recently realized and for the first time given a residence in his heart. He chooses a word each day to help him hold on to something positive amidst the ocean plague of negative thoughts that has been drowning him. The first day it was "flicker". Then "family". Then "Happy". Life preservers in turbulent waters. The first few days were actually full of hope. He knows now many things he never accepted before. He has value, talents, and abilities.  He doesn't have to always worry about the future. He has people around him who love him and can support him. He can ask others for help. He asked for and received a blessing.  

He doesn't know exactly how to talk about this. Neither do I. But after months of worry and pulling away, I think it's time to accept a little more help. It is frightening to open up and wait to see how you will treat our freshly bandaged wounds. But it can't be more frightening than tending to them by ourselves. At least, that is the hope. 

Afterward/Current Status: Fortunately, this was the week of spring break for me and we've been able to spend some extra time together. Unfortunately, the week is ending. Jordan got physically sick with a nasty cough, a sore throat and body aches, which have made his spirits fall a little. Also, next week is beginning to loom over us as Jordan goes back to retake classes at school and I won't be able to help during the day with the boys. We have been trying to keep up on everyday things, but both of us have been mentally and emotionally set back a bit. In other words, our house is somewhat a disaster and so are we. But we're surviving, and right now, that is most important. 

Wake me up? It's only the 2nd of September!

Baby 2 is on his way!
I'm happy to meet him!
I can't believe how surprised I am, but I feel like 38 weeks snuck up on me. I guess I'm slightly nervous about labor. I want to stay at home as long as possible so I can still eat and move around without being hooked up to twelve machines in the hospital. Maybe that's why they hook you up to so many machines, to discourage you from having your whole labor in the hospital!

People keep looking at me crazy when I respond that I"m just fine and I'm not really in a rush to have this baby. They changed my due date several months ago from September 24th to September 17th based on my measurements at my ultrasound. I guess it never really sank in. For so long I was also uncomfortable telling people that I'd be out for maternity leave right as school began, so I just got in the habit of saying "the end of September". I even told people the 21st hoping that would happen. Well, now that September is here and I'm measuring right on par with the 17th, it feels a lot different.
2 weeks away different.
Holy-craziness-I-can't-believe-it's-already-coming different.

I don't know really what I'm nervous about.
Not being able to tell maybe?
"I sure hope my water doesn't break but it could any time" isn't the best feeling either.
Really, for all the women that just can't wait to have their babies by this point, can't I just take this one to full term?
I would like to have school figured out. I mean, I got a sub and I have 95% of the paperwork done (just waiting on the doctor paper to get faxed to the district). Now I just need to get a handle on how to teach these subjects so I can build lesson plans for someone else!
One more week? That'd be great.

Sure, Little Boy came two and a half weeks early, but that was me and preeclampsia. None of that so far. Not that I'm really worried. Little Boy was and is fine, no problems from coming early, just tiny at 4lbs 11 oz.  So THAT's not it.

Last night I tried out the idea that it was husbandman that I was most worried about.
While probably true, that didn't work out very well.
_____

I am worried about my husbandman. I'm tired of not being able to help him. He doesn't really know how to let me help him, or accept when I offer. Hugs and a few words he can accept. Physical help to accomplish what he needs to each day. . .. a little. Cleaning and taking care of little Boy. But I'm not really helping as much with that because being 8 months (9 months?) pregnant has made me tired super easily. Plus, I think I miss the first pregnancy when, at this point, I was being taken care of all the time, even though I didn't really need it.
Husbandman gets so stressed about everything and when I try to cope in my way-- usually talking things through or enjoying a short distraction-- it really makes him more anxious. Granted, he is doing a lot right now. He just also is making some mindless decisions. Buying expensive things makes me the most upset. Video Game escapes would be okay if they weren't for hours at a time. Didn't I watch my brother do that? and it really didn't help. Not from my view anyway.
So I'm hopeful that his appointments on Wednesday with the psychologist and on Friday with the Sleep specialist will give us some insight and plans. I just want to know SOME way to help him!!
_________

So, now I'm back to guessing at reasons why I'm nervous. Is it fear? Not exactly.
I guess I just don't know how it's going to turn out. I don't think I'm afraid it's going to fail. I am a mom and I know I will take care of my new son and love him like I have Little Boy. I don't know how it will be to take care of two at a time, but I'm sure it will work out in the end and we'll get the hang of it.
I know there will be sleepless nights and we'll have to laugh a WHOLE LOT so we can make it through without crying. I think Little Boy will actually help with that. He's so fun these days. All he wants to do is play and laugh. He struggles to learn things and gets whiney when tired and needs us still a lot, but he's also great at smiling and laughing and learning to do things on his own.

Logically, if I rule out every possible reason to be nervous, will the nervousness go away??

Distraction will have to win out for now, since Little Boy is waking up from his nap. I'll need to wake up his dad from his nap, too. And we all should be on our way up to the Homestead for Labor Day games (badminton and croquet) and dinner.

For now, I think I need to focus on a way to not freak out into hysterics if my water breaks before the 21st. Especially if it happens this week. (Please say it won't!) But even if it does, at least at the end I'll get to hold a sweet new baby boy. :)

Man, pregnancy does some crazy things to your brain!

Thanks for reading anyway. ;)

It's so easy to convince myself that I have no one I can turn to but God. I know He's always there, but I also know I'm not always in tune with the spirit. The worst of times find me so upset at others, and then in turn so much more with myself, that I don't think I'm in any conditions to receive revelation, peace or blessings. Then hopelessness leads to more feeling alone.

Of course, checking Facebook does nothing to help- nothing on the internet does, really. When you're alone, looking at such removed human interaction does nothing, either help you feel a part of things or to satiate any need for human reassurance. 

At that point I try to turn back to God and look for peace or help, only to feel at a loss as to what I could even ask for. 

And then my baby cries again, or it's time to make dinner and I resign myself to being alone, without a friend to call and cry to, and only guiltier that I am not only failing at motherhood and wifehood, but also sisterhood and friendships. When did I let everything go? 

But I'll comfort the child, and hope that comfort will one day find me, since I've lost my way to finding it on my own. 

Trying to Help

I’m watching him drown but he won’t grab the rope.

He might want to escape, but he has no ways to cope.

So he slips and he trips

He crawls but he falls

He loses his grip

And he pulls down the walls

As he sinks even further, in darkness he hides

From me, from himself, from the goodness inside

“They’d be better off without me” he lies

To himself, to that voice that keeps holding him down,

As he wishes for ways to hide underground.

So he slips and he trips

He crawls but he falls

He loses his grip

And he puts up more walls

To hide from mistakes: Maybe one, maybe two

Enough to condemn if you think that it’s true

That terrible doubting, there’s nothing to do

So why keep on trying? Why wonder? Why wait?

If that’s all there is, why leave it to fate?

So he slips and he trips

He crawls but he falls

As he loses his grip

I look down from the walls

I know that I can’t lift him out of that place

But I wish he could just feel the sun on his face

Feel the warmth, feel the hope, feel some sort of relief

‘cause I know that it’s not half as bad as he thinks

But he leans on the ground and he sinks and he sinks

Then I’m watching him drown but he won’t grab the rope

He might want to escape, but he’s losing his hope. . .