Monday, October 15, 2012

My depressed rant; some days, I go there..

I have been trying to hold it together for the past six months, but depression keeps on rearing its ugly head. Thoughts of failure, lack of understanding, guilt, and hopelessness tend to plague me on the “rough days”. See, for the past three years I have been pursuing my master’s degree. My goal was to land a “good job” and become independent again, so that I am able to financially provide for my children. Well, I’ve had a set-back looking for that “good job”. To top that off, my kids and I are uninsured; thus unable to seek quality mental healthcare or medical healthcare. This past summer I discovered a lump in my breast; luckily, I was able to find a non-profit organization that paid for the mammogram and biopsy. Thankfully, the lump is benign. But it is growing.  Now, I am pressed to find a job with health insurance so that I can have this lump removed and have my youngest son, Marty, properly diagnosed and treated.

Marty may also need medical attention for his urinary incontinence. He has been spontaneously urinating on himself throughout the day and during the night. On an average week, I wash his bed sheets four to five times. His clothes reek of urine because I can’t seem to wash the smell out; and he doesn’t appear the least bit bothered by his saturated underwear and pants. This morning, I was greeted by wet bed sheets again; I lost my patience with Marty and became visibly upset. “Are you mad at me, please be my baby,” he yelled. I tried to reassure Marty that I was not mad at him; I could see the uncertainty in his eyes. He cried for several minutes as I tried to console him, “be my baby; I Iove you.” I kept telling him that I will always love him, and he will always be my baby, but he was still unsure. Finally, I convinced him to lay down as I continued to get the boys ready for school. My oldest gets dressed and tries to get Marty to turn the TV off and come downstairs; I can hear my oldest, Max, yelling, “stop crying; you’re always crying.” The situation escalates as Marty comes downstairs and hears the torrential rain outside. He starts screaming, “I don’t want to go outside.” He refuses to put on his shoes and claims that his windbreaker hurts his arms. By this time, I am over it. I pop Marty on the leg and yell, please put your shoes on. I sense the confusion on his face; he yells at me, and starts running around the house. I fetch him and his shoes, cover him with my sweat shirt, and run to the car. In the car, Marty is still crying; guilt ridden, I apologize for losing my temper. But, he’s hurt, he’s insecure, “I thought I was your baby; you’re mad at me; I love you!” He is inconsolable; and will not stop crying. I feel like crap.

I think this morning’s meltdown was intensified by what happened yesterday.  Marty joined his older brother at my neighbor’s backyard barbeque. Max didn’t want Marty to stay at the barbeque because he feared Marty would act out and behave badly, but my neighbor (and friend) insisted that I leave Marty and go, “do something for yourself.” She wanted to give me a break from the kids, and I was very grateful for that gesture. Max, on the other hand, did not want to share this event with Marty.  When I picked the boys up, Max confided that Marty embarrassed him with his impulsive screams and inappropriate use of the word, “stupid”. “Why did you have to leave him?” Max kept asking, “You know how he acts.” Marty was obvious to his brother’s complaints, but the stress from all the stimulation and not knowing how to fit in weighed heavily on Marty.

Marty told me that the kids didn’t want to play with him. He couldn’t understand why. It pains me, as a mother, to think that my child has to endure these feelings of heartache at such a young age. True, he prefers to play by himself, but on the days when he wants to be social, he often gets rejected. For some reason, he cannot comprehend that calling kids stupid, yelling, and screaming is not the way to win friends. It’s like he has no restraint when it comes to controlling those aggressive and angry impulses. I wish I knew how to fix this problem for him. All I want is for him to be happy. And, when he’s had a bad day and is misunderstood by his peers, I want to be that safe place for him. Today, I felt like I failed him. I got annoyed with him and lost my cool. I’m so stressed out by my own situation: becoming a displaced homemaker, divorcing his father, and looking for a job, that I barely have enough left in me to give him the affection and security that he needs.

 This [situation] isn’t fair. “I didn’t sign up for this!!!!” I think to myself, but my pity party can’t last long. I have two kids depending on me to hold it together; therefore, I cry in silence, hoping that one day things will change, and I will have it easier. We will have it easier!  If my stress is relieved, I can be the long-suffering, accepting, and nurturing parent to Marty and Max. Marty needs extra encouragement and to feel loved unconditionally. I can’t imagine living in a world that is a maze of perplexity and apprehension. If I can provide that consistent and predictable place for Marty, I believe that I can make his world a happier place. And he deserves to know that Mommy’s love last forever.


No comments:

Post a Comment