Saturday, 11 August 2012

Home to the heart of chaos...

Well, the vacation is over and I am beginning to realize some things.

ONE: I am not cut out for camping trips without showers that last more than 3 days. 6 days of filth, smoke and bugs is just not within my tolerances. Not just me, but my children smelling like used diapers and lakeweed laced with goose poop is enough to drive me nuts.

TWO: The generosity of my in laws in taking my Monkey Man for a week must be balanced with the incredibly difficult recovery of schedules. I am not the most organized person, but keeping Ewan on at least a tentative wake up/mealtimes/bedtime routine is vital, and the in laws are just not interested in attempting to keep him consistent. That it is a challenge is not something I contest, but he is so much happier and easier to be around when he has a decent sleep schedule, even if it does take major effort to get him to bed on time. We really need to work on meals again, too, as his eating habits have slipped again. I am tired of having a six week minimum recovery from vacations.

THREE: I am slipping into major depression again and need to find a therapist again. I get so sick of first visits, though. I hate explaining my history, my present issues, my meds, my family, my kids again to yet another doctor, only to find that I can't work with them, or that the doctor is retiring, moving, or for other reasons won't be around for the long haul. I hate changing medications and going through the withdrawal/side effects/evaluation cycle again and again with little or no gain.

FOUR: I really don't like myself much, and I don't want to pass this to the next generation. I feel like a whiny little brat. I always say I get tired of the screaming and crying, but these days it is coming from ME.

None of this is new. I just can't seem to cope with anything and it is driving me crazy. Crazier. Whatever. I can't seem to recharge, and I don't know what to do about it. My house is an appalling mess, and Monkey's in-home therapy starts on the fourteenth. I am not ready. I don't have two clear areas for him to work in, nor is my kitchen set up for his OT. I want to sit in the closet and scream and cry and have a little meltdown of my own.

I can only hope it passes. I need energy, dammit. I have people counting on me. I have me counting on me. I can't give up, but I really really want to.