checking in

I know I have not been on here in AWHILE (sorry again!) even though I said I would be back more regularly. Life has other plans for me than blogging, apparently.

*sigh*

My preschool job is going well, but it's been a long and difficult adjustment.  The hardest adjustment has been learning how to juggle all of my responsibilities in addition to working full time, but I also struggled with missing Bobblehead (whose class is right down the hall from mine, so at least I get to see him some throughout the day). Hubby started stepping in and helping with household stuff a few weeks ago, which has helped IMMENSELY. Well, except for the fact that I'm a bitchy control-freak and have a tendency to go behind him and re-do stuff that I determine he has done 'wrong'.  I'm getting better about letting go of this, but it is so hard!

I can't remember whether or not I announced on here my 'new career'.....I am now a trained Birth Doula!  I'm going through the process of certification through DONA International, and I expect to be certified by the end of this year. I don't know if I will ever make a LIVING doing this, but for now I want to offer my services for free to military mommies who are giving birth while hubby/boyfriend is deployed.  Bobblehead's birth during deployment effected me so profoundly, and I could NOT have done it without my amazing Doula.  Had she not been there, I am certain I would have had a cesarean!  The most I can reasonably commit to, time-wise, is one birth a month.  If I ever decide to quit my preschool job though, I can schedule as many as three births a month (hard to do, since we all know due-dates are ESTIMATED & babies rarely come ON their due date!) and if I do civilian births, doulas in my area are charging $750 to $1000 per birth.  Hourly, this breaks down to anywhere from $20 to $50 per hour depending on the length of that mommy's labor, but it is still a PART TIME job, so I think I would have to start teaching childbirth classes or breastfeeding classes or something to fill in the financial gap. ANYWAY, that's really jumping the gun!  For now I am just really enjoying helping mommies welcome their little ones into the world.  I don't have any clients scheduled to deliver in June, but I have a July birth lined up already, as well as August & October.  I might have a September birth scheduled, but that mommy has not gotten back to me yet.  (if you know a military mommy on or near Pendleton who is due in September & can't afford a doula, have her contact me in case I can help her for free!  Priority will be given to a mommy whose hubby will be deployed or far away for training at the time of the birth, but that's not a requirement at this point)

My home life & marriage is still a full time job in itself, but it is still going.  At least I haven't been 'fired' and I'm sure as hell not about to QUIT!  Hubby and I are working through some of our issues, and trying to take time to enjoy the kids.  Bonehead will be moving out sometime in the next couple of months, but his actual plans keep changing.  Part of me hopes he follows through with his plans to enlist, but part of me prays he finds a civilian job instead. Knucklehead continues to impress everyone with his stellar academics (straight A's again!) and his extracurricular activities (basketball, band, and Young Marines) and Bobblehead is growing like a weed - still not talking much at 20 months, but learning new 'tricks' every day.

I'd love to commit to updating this blog at least weekly, but all the things I want to write about are the things that KEEP me from having time for blogging!  Our ongoing struggle with undiagnosed PTSD, the longest reintegration in history, my weight battles, my depression/anxiety issues, and the everyday adventure of raising all these boys are all EXTREMELY time consuming.  So forgive me if it is a long time before you hear from me, but thanks for coming back every time I do - it means more than you know.

(HUGS!)

why I love blogging (a.k.a. UPDATE)

WOW, has it really been a whole month since my last post??? Makes sense, I guess, since it has also been a whole month since I started working full-time again.  I'm finally adjusting (SORTA) to my new schedule, but working full time is a lot harder than I remember it being!  True, the last time I worked full-time I was 3 years younger......and didn't have a toddler to care for.  But seriously, some nights I can't even summon the energy to pour a much-needed glass of wine!  Oh, who the hell am I kidding, there is ALWAYS enough energy for the wine!  My nightly wine habit is back, and it is SERIOUSLY effecting my bottom line, both literally and figuratively.

I am still supposed to be training to run my first ever half-marathon, but have not made time to run DAILY like I need to - especially since the race I originally planned to run (Disney Half Marathon in September) already sold out, and the only other viable option for me to meet my goal of completing a half THIS YEAR is to do the Fontana Days Half Marathon in early June.  This one costs a lot less, and is an all-flat course, but how in the HELL am I supposed to be ready in just 8 freaking weeks?!?! GAH!  I did another 5K race in early March, shaving 4 full minutes off my October race time.

Three weeks later I did this one in Palm Springs, with a goal of finishing four minutes FASTER than my new personal best time, but instead I added 15 seconds.  I could blame the gnarly cold we've all been passing around for about 5 weeks now, but in reality, this was strictly due to lack of training.  I only ran ONCE in the week before that last race, and didn't run well at all.

I've actually started gaining weight, probably due IN PART to the wine I drink every night to cope with this job (I might love it some day, but for now.....NOT SO MUCH) but in reality it is more likely due to the 2 or 3 times a week FAST FOOD habit that also returned when I started working again, and the fact that my workouts are inconsistent at best.  I weighed 272 lbs when I signed up for Valley's Biggest Loser last summer, and finished the 3 month contest in December weighing 218.  I got down below 215 once or twice, but have mostly bounced between 216 and 220 since December.  Today, I weigh 225 stark naked. :(  I am SOOOOO not willing to ever go back to being that WHALE that I was for more than ten freaking years! I'm doing an informal weight loss competition with a couple of girls from work - we each put in $20 and weighed in this week, and we'll weigh in again May 1 - the person who loses the highest PERCENTAGE of their weight will keep all the cash.  I'm hoping my competitive self will now come out and kick the crap out my stressed-out-emotional-eating self.  That fat bitch has NO PLACE in my new life!

Speaking of my new life.......

My hubs has been home for a few weeks, and is making some progress.  I wish I could say everything is GREAT now that he's in counseling, but that would be a blatant lie.  In truth, some days feel WORSE than before, but mostly we are at least moving forward.  Sometimes we are INCHING forward, but still moving forward.



Remember that "Ugliest Backyard" contest I asked you all to help me with back in January?  Well I WON, with 40% more votes than the next nearest contender!!!!!  The prize was $5000 in goods & services from System Pavers, which was exactly how much we were 'short' when we had them out for a bid in December.  Thanks to that contest, we were finally able to move forward with our patio project, and my back patio went from this:

to THIS:

AWESOME, right?  The yard is not completely done, but the System Pavers portion is.....it only took them 2 1/2 days!!!  The air conditioner unit has been moved back to its spot since this picture was taken, and we've built planters all around the fence, and put in a lemon tree and an orange tree.  Now I need to finish building Bobblehead's custom sandbox, and put up a fence in the dirt side-yard for my doggy, and then of course add some actual patio furniture.  My new neighbors might also sell me their granite-topped BBQ island that they had from their old house, since it is too big for their new backyard.  If not, we still at least have a cart-style gas BBQ in good condition, so we can start grilling ALL. THE. TIME.   :)

Bobblehead already LOVES this new living space, and SO DO I!  So, bloggy friends, thank you SO MUCH for voting for my hideous backyard!

So, lets see....New job, new backyard, and new start with hubby.  Now I just need a new dose of MOTIVATION to lose weight, and I'll be all set, right?  Well, my 38th birthday is four weeks away, and that was originally my goal date for reaching my GOAL WEIGHT of 145 lbs.....clearly not gonna make that, but since the date is approaching, maybe I will use THAT for some pressure/motivation.

I'll try to update you all here BEFORE that, but if I don't, well be sure to check back here after I turn 38!

did i say that out loud???

Just a warning right from the start - this post might piss a lot of people off.  That is NOT my intention, however, human nature being what it is, I know that it is a likely result.

My intention in sharing this is actually twofold - I need to get some negative crap off my chest, and I want to bring awareness to the struggle that so many other spouses like me are going through RIGHT NOW.  Maybe you know one, and maybe you'll approach her differently after you read this (?)  Or maybe you'll just sit down and write me a nasty email for being honest.

So, you know that scene in Jerry Maguire, where he basically has a nervous breakdown & then a manic episode, during which he writes his mission statement (the title is something like, 'the things we think but do not say') and he makes sure that EVERYONE in his company gets a copy........then he wakes up, realizes that he wants to take back EVERY WORD, and then realizes it is too late?  Yeah, THAT moment.  Have you ever felt like that?  I have a feeling I will feel that way within about 15 seconds after I click "PUBLISH POST" but I am posting this anyway, knowing that it actually NEEDS to be said.  My integrity won't let me delete this post for the sake of being politically correct, or for the sake of looking like the dutiful, obedient mil-spouse I am supposed to be.

FUCK THAT.  Oh yeah, sorry, language advisory. *AHEM*

Anyway, the thought that has sprung into my head at least a couple of times in the past 14 months, the one that will probably make you want to slap me, is one that I really can't SPEAK OUT LOUD.  I'm actually shaking as I type this, because even putting it out in the blogosphere is so very taboo.  The horrible thought is this little tiny voice in the back of my head, that I can barely hear over the wails of despair over a particularly rough day/night/week dealing with my (invisibly)wounded hubby.....the voice is mine, and whispers, "why couldn't he have just DIED over there?"

Before you rush off to write me hate mail for saying this, please read the rest of this post!

I absolutely do NOT wish that my hubby was dead!  Nor do the other thousands of women who are the primary caregiver/support to a wounded warrior - whether his wounds are visible or not, treatable or not. These men return home but are no longer themselves, and we, their wives, girlfriends, or mothers, take on the daunting task of helping them figure out WHO they are now, and how that new man fits into society, into our families, into our LIVES.

In my case, my hubby has refused to get help for what I am now certain is PTSD.  Some days I would swear he is bi-polar, other days schizophrenic, other days BOTH.....and some days, very very rarely, I would say he is HIMSELF, the same man who left here in May 2010, kissing my pregnant belly goodbye.  Those rare 'good days' are such a gift, but at the same time they leave me hurting SO MUCH MORE.  Those days are part of what makes me subconsciously 'jealous' of the brave war widows I know.  Not really jealous, but I can't come up with a better word.  You see, a widow has to endure an entire life without ever seeing her love again.  She KNOWS he is gone, and is never coming back.  She can grieve publicly and privately, and move forward with whatever new life she's able to make for herself.  She gets to cherish the memories of her hero as she last saw him.....maybe he even kissed HER pregnant belly goodbye.

For me, the random glimpses of my husband's old self - his REAL self, are just such a merciless tease.  Those moments make me think that maybe he really IS coming back to me, completely whole.  And when he slips farther away from me, having a terrifying blowup, or meltdown, or just plain shutting down altogether, I GRIEVE all over again.  Hate me for saying this if you must, but emotionally, it is as though he has DIED several times just in the past six months.  Every time, I go through the cycles of grief all alone, in private, and if I get to that lowest of low points and hear that little voice whispering 'why didn't he just DIE over there'....then I go through days, weeks, or even months of GUILT just for having that thought.

Again, it's not that I WANT him dead, but when this burden becomes so heavy, I secretly steal a glance at one of my amazing widow friends (you know who you are!) and wish I could trade my load for hers.

Any wife of a Wounded Warrior will admit to having this very thought at least ONCE.  If she denies it, she is either lying, or hasn't walked this road far enough yet.....she'll get there, I promise.


The important thing, of course, is when we DO get there, when we hit our emotional rock bottom, we have to learn to BOUNCE.  And I think the first step is to talk about what 'rock bottom' actually looks like, feels like, and sounds like.  Even if it is just a little whisper that we don't want to acknowledge, much less say OUT LOUD.

more running to stand still

I've been trying to sit down and blog for the past few days, but just don't know what to say.  I even missed Amber's music linkup for the first time EVER. This week has just sucked SO BAD.  I posted earlier in the week about some of the struggles we're dealing with as a family, but can't even really put into words what I'm actually going through right now.

Bonehead came home yesterday, but has been a complete jerk since he got here.  I feel like I'm bending over backward to please everyone and all it gets me is kicked in the teeth.  I seriously think that I will soon be the mother of a HIGH SCHOOL DROPOUT.  Sad thing is, this kid is such a genius! He's throwing so much away right now.  I did make it clear to him that I am on his side, and that is exactly WHY his last day to live here will be Nov 24 (his 18th birthday).  Seems I'm good at kicking people out, huh? :(

Speaking of which, I finally talked to my hubby for a few minutes on the phone yesterday - first contact we've had since I asked him to leave last Monday following his meltdown.  He is still very angry about pretty much everything, mostly just mad at ME at the moment for making him go.  It's not like he left me any choice, the way he blew up here!  I'm a little bit scared that he'll blow up like that at work, where he carries a gun.....the consequences could be SO MUCH WORSE than just having to go stay with his grandmother for awhile.  Not scared enough to actually call his supervisors to warn them or anything, but still it's a little nagging worry in the back of my mind.  I'm also a little scared that he will retaliate financially against me & the kids - you know, stop paying the mortgage, etc. I have a new job starting this week, but it will basically only be enough to feed us & that's it - I can't pay any of the other household expenses with the little bit of money I'll be making.  And, when I look at this honestly, I am still scared that he could come back here to confront me, try to force his way into the house, etc, and this time really hurt someone.  If I was not physically afraid of him, I would not have asked him to leave to begin with.

I keep waiting for him to call and actually APOLOGIZE to me.  Not a weak, "I'm sorry your feelings were hurt" kind of thing, but a true, "I'm sorry, can you forgive me?" kind of thing.  Maybe with flowers, I guess, I don't know.  But he's not anywhere near even recognizing how far he went this time, and even if he does recognize that he crossed a line, he won't admit that to anyone else.

I reach for my phone several times a day to call or text him, but I always manage to talk myself out of it, knowing he really needs some time and some space to figure things out right now.  It is SO HARD for me to just leave it be....but I know in my heart that I HAVE TO leave it, for now at least.  So I keep busy instead, and by the time I even have TIME to call or text him, it's well past bedtime.  He turns his phone off when he goes to bed, so at least that normally keeps me from acting on the urge to at least CHECK on him.  Last night after a glass (or 3) of wine, I finally did send him a sappy text about how I will always love him, even if it has to be from a distance.  He didn't even get the text until late this morning, and of course now that I am sober I'm kicking myself for sending it.

MUST. RESIST. TEMPTATION.

:/

This is one of the hardest things I have ever done, but now I have to look at this as though I am the parent and Hubby is the child here (because psychologically, he kind of IS....or at least is acting like a child!)  If I give in and let him come home WITHOUT getting help, he'll never get help.  On top of that, he'll never take me seriously again, which would then be setting me up for a lifetime of abuse.  I CAN'T live that way, and I sure as hell don't want my boys to grow up seeing that example of how to treat a woman!  I put my foot down, and now I have to stand by my word.....he can NOT come home until he has gotten some help - at least counseling, preferably coupled with some pysch meds.  The meds part is not a deal breaker for me, but I know he could be so much more functional/content/HAPPY with a llittle chemical help right now.

*sigh* Well, off to do a little more running nowhere - literally this time, on a treadmill.  Then I'll run around and stay busy the rest of the day so I won't follow up that text with a 'please come home' text.  I really do miss him, but even when he is HERE, he's not really himself anyway - not since Afghanistan.  I want my REAL hubby back!  The one I would never have needed to be AFRAID of.  The one who used to laugh and play and LIVE his life.  OUR life, together.   I'm pretty sure THAT man is never coming back, and the grief over that is overwhelming.

prayer request

I don't usually do this, but am asking you all to please say a prayer for my family tonight.  Last week my teenager, AKA "Bonehead" ran away - he is safe at a friend's house for now, but needs to come home and handle things here......he's risking throwing away his last opportunity to graduate this year, and therefore losing his best opportunity to get into the military.

On top of the teenager issues, my marriage is in trouble, AND my hubby is struggling with more mental health issues (which he STILL has not gotten help for).... this morning he lost his temper to the point that he got physical.  No one was hurt, but he scared the crap out of all of us.  I had to ask him to leave.  It breaks my heart to be the one who is 'kicking him out' when he so clearly needs a LOT of love and patience right now, but I can't risk him hurting me or the kids in a blind rage.  I'm seriously hoping and praying that this will be the final straw for him, the one thing that will MAKE him go and get help.

He has gone to a few counseling sessions in the past year, but I know he is not being honest with the therapist - so how is she supposed to help him?  He's been referred to a psychiatrist, and WOW, if anyone needs psych meds right now, it's my husband - but he "doesn't have time" to go see the psychiatrist. I pray that he will now MAKE time, and will take his mental health as seriously as he's always taken his physical health.

I truly hate to air our dirty laundry here like this, but you already all know how much we've struggled with his mental health issues (and MINE) since he returned from deployment 14 months ago.  The 'reintegration' ugliness is mostly over, but if he doesn't find a way to heal his mind, it won't matter.

Please, just say a prayer for peace and health for my whole family.

THANKS.

weathering life's storms

Ever since I said I was going to be more honest on here about what my life has been like dealing with hubby's PTSD "issues" I feel like I have had total writer's block.

It's just, I don't know where to begin!  There are these crazy emotional storms, if you will.  Sometimes I can't tell if the storms originate from HIM, or from ME, but either way I never know if they'll be gentle like a spring rain, or sudden but short like a summer thunderstorm, or downright deadly like Hurricane Irene.

Like, a few weeks ago in one of our more bizarre arguments, he actually accused me of stealing/hiding his logo t-shirts.  (regular t-shirts with a logo on them, mostly surf/skate types like O'Neil or Quicksilver, even though he has never surfed OR skated). He has always worn these t-shirts, and when he got home from this deployment he started buying new ones compulsively.  Shopping compulsions are not new for him, but have always been tied to some sort of emotional distress, so I should have seen that as a cry for help way back in Dec/Jan, at least. 

We have issues already with fitting our clothes into our drawers/closets, so by about March I got fed up and said something to him.  We were in Costco and he was looking at the shirts there, excited by the great price, I guess...and I snapped and said, "PLEASE don't buy any more t-shirts until you get rid of some of your old ones!" So he claimed he couldn't FIND any of his white logo t-shirts, and then made a point to complain about this again several more times over the following weeks, usually while buying more shirts. Of course I went home and checked his drawers to make sure I wasn't imagining the t-shirt surplus, and I started having HIM put his clean t-shirts away after I washed and folded them, so he would at least see what I meant about not having room for any more of them. 

I didn't mention it again until I saw him wearing YET ANOTHER new logo shirt, and I asked him if he finally got rid of some of the old shirts.  He completely LOST IT, yelling at me for stealing/hiding his clothes or something, because he can only find 2 white logo t-shirts.  This man has always been incredibly organized, to a point that they probably put HIS picture next to the phrase "anal retentive" in the dictionary....but the day he blew up about the shirts, he had t-shirts in four different drawers (all full, of course...I counted 17 clean white logo t-shirts, plus all the grey, blue, etc and that's not even counting the 7 or 8 that were cycling through the laundry at that point!) and he had only checked one drawer before he panicked that they were all "missing".  That by itself was a serious short-circuit in his usually precise brain, but the delusional stuff.....the idea that I would for some reason sabotage his efforts to freaking GET DRESSED - that only hints at our biggest problem: he thinks I am the enemy.  He is so convinced that I am somehow out to get him, it is no wonder he can't fully trust me, or open up to me, or CONNECT with me.  Why would he want to connect with the enemy?

I can't even begin to describe how painful that is, in and of itself....knowing that he sees me that way.  There are times that I can really tell he is trying, and that maybe he even understands that those views are, in fact, delusional.  But he still treats me as the enemy most of the time.

The craziest part of this is the calm between the storms.  We probably have one major blowup a week (sometimes a fight, sometimes just one-sided yelling) and then 3 to 5 small ones.  Considering his work has him gone for 4 days straight every week and home for a max of 3 days, that's a LOT of storms (especially since we don't even have make-up sex any more). But in between fights, it's almost like nothing is wrong - at least to anyone observing us.  I don't know if we just keep up appearances for the kids' sake, or if maybe we cling to those moments of normalcy, wondering when the next storm will hit and how severe it will be?

Right now another storm is brewing, and I can't tell if I should find a shelter somewhere, or stand there shaking my fist at it, daring it to do it's worst.  I do know that I am strong and prepared and capable, but am so afraid of the BIG STORM coming someday.....the one that no amount of preparedness/prayer/strength/luck can possibly stand up to.  The one that will end me, maybe end us both.

In the meantime, all I can do is try to enjoy this little bit of calm before the storm - these precious few moments that allow me to actually blog about it all.  At 2:30 in the freaking morning.

have you heard the secret?

I don't do this very often, but I want to introduce you all to one of my FAVORITE bloggers, Lori Volkman at Witty Little Secret.  I've only been subscribing to her posts for a couple of months now, but I literally laugh out loud, or cry, OR BOTH, every time I read her posts. 

Today's post was just so PERFECT, I simply had to share.  It really hit home with me, since I am still trying to draw my 'real' husband out from the shell of a man he came home as almost 8 months ago.  She starts out with this intro:

"This week I wrote Husband an effusive email expressing various events, emotions, challenges. I laid bare my concerns, seeking input and counsel. I reached out into the ethernet for some partnership, some companionship, and possibly some laughter.

Husband’s response announced: ”See responses below.” I scrolled down. At the end of each of my written paragraphs were his contrasting color comments. And by “comments” I actually mean single word phrases. The response to paragraph #1 was “yes,” paragraph #2 was “cool” and paragraph #3 was … wait for it … “Mind over matter.”

 

I stared. I had PTSD flash-backs of R&R. I flashed forward to homecoming. And I did what any girl would do. I issued an OPORD. I have a feeling this one is going to get me in trouble …"

Her OPORD is freaking HILARIOUS!  Go here to read the whole post.....I guarantee you will love it! 

insomnia

I've been trying so hard not to badmouth my husband on here, or air our dirty laundry, etc.  But so many of you can clearly see how much I am hurting, even if you don't have all the dirty details. If nothing else, I am sure most of you have noticed the lack of real posts on here lately.  Linkups, sure.  Recipes, why not? But actual posts, with CONTENT, substance? Nope. Not lately.  I've just been keeping it all inside (or trying to).

So tonight, my fourth sleepless night this week, I am spilling my guts - in hopes that it will clear my head so I can at least get some sleep.  Or, maybe talking about what I am going through can help someone else to avoid this painful situation?

I'm still skimming over a lot of details, but need to get the general story out.

There has never been physical abuse in this marriage, and there still isn't. But there has been some serious verbal and emotional abuse.  Once, about 8 years ago, the verbal abuse got so bad that I wanted to die.  I was honestly planning my own suicide.  I knew my children would be devastated if I took the cowardly route I was considering, so I didn't follow through with it.  Somehow in a rare moment of clarity, I also realized that my children were being harmed by what they were witnessing.  What was I teaching them by ALLOWING anyone to treat me that way?

So I stood up for myself, told him to get out.  He refused to leave, so I left....sort of. There was this big dramatic scene straight out of an after school special, where he begged me not to go, then physically blocked the door so I couldn't leave, and even refused to move his car so I couldn't get mine out.  I pretended to have a spine, for the sake of my kids, and left ON FOOT. Knucklehead was just a toddler at the time, so I had him in his stroller, and had Bonehead (then about 7 years old) holding on to the handle of the stroller. The few possessions I had managed to grab on the way out the door were stuffed into the little basket underneath.  I didn't have a plan, didn't even have a cell phone, so I headed down the block toward town in search of a payphone, frantically going through a mental list of WHO I could even call.....where would we even go?

And then he caught up with me, all apologies, begging and pleading with me to stay. And, predictably, I caved - but only after getting him to PROMISE me that he would get some counseling, go to some kind of anger management, etc. He didn't actually go to any counseling, at least not at that point.  But the yelling, name calling, and general disrespect he had been showing me did stop. He simply replaced it with other forms of emotional abuse.

And I took it.

It's not fair to characterize him ONLY as this bully, because he is so much more than that. (Duh. Why else would I stay?) He is smart, funny, and of course VERY good looking.  He has this way of looking at me from across a crowded room and making me feel as if I am the only woman in the world - like he is not aware that the rest of the world even exists, when he looks at me like that. He can kiss me in a way that makes me SURE he's some kind of wizard or something, because there is absolute MAGIC in those lips. He makes me feel indescribably good - when he's not making me feel like I am *this big*.




Throughout several more years, as we both grew, changed, and matured some, the mental/emotional abuse diminished. There are a lot of reasons for this, most of which I am only beginning to understand right now.  But when things came to a head 2 years ago, and our marriage was 'over' (or so I thought) I had to really do some deep soul searching.  I had to figure out WHO I was, and why I had let this man drive me crazy (literally) by convincing me that I was crazy.  Sounds funny to say it that way, but that's the most basic way I can break down what he did to me in those years.

I had to heal that 'crazy' before I could do anything else, and the process was (IS) very painful.

When I made the life-changing decision to take him back, to start over again, it was with a lot more knowledge, confidence, and (finally) backbone than I had ever had before.  After months of 'separation' and preparing for a divorce, we both had regrets, but didn't want to waste time looking back - just wanted to move forward, to our future TOGETHER.  We both swore, never again would we hurt each other or let anyone else hurt us. Ever.

So we moved forward, and while I can't claim things were picture perfect, we were at least 'whole'. I was a whole person, HE was a whole person, and we were a whole couple......an US.  He had finally gotten counseling before the big split, and continued it after we got back together. We still had disagreements, but we handled them like grownups, and kept moving FORWARD....to the baby we had both been wanting to have for ten years, among other things.

Nothing is ever perfect, but for about six months we functioned well, we grew and matured even more, and we cherished each other.  Then we conceived Bobblehead the same week that he got orders for deployment. We had about 4 months before his actual departure, but of course there were trainings and workups, so things got a little strained.  But we dealt with it.  Mature, loving adults, facing all of these challenges TOGETHER.

By the time he left for Afghanistan in May 2010, I was convinced that everything we'd been through so far had made us strong enough to get through anything. 
(fun fact about me: I am terminally NAIVE)

Something happened to him over there, and while he fights his way back to some kind of normal, he has reverted to some of the same crappy behavior from years earlier......initially it was just this ridiculously huge invisible wall that he put up between us when he came home in December. But within a couple weeks, I started feeling the way I used to with him, years ago: small. insignificant. nothing.

I fell back into the old 'battered woman' habits of making excuses for him.

"He's still getting used to being home, he just needs time/space/etc"


"He's dealing with all the changes that took place while he was gone - especially the new baby"


"He doesn't KNOW how much he's hurting me, or he would definitely stop."


"I'm just being too sensitive because of my own issues (post partum depression, etc.)"

After a couple of months with no improvement, I begged him to get help for his 'issues'. He still refuses to acknowledge any kind of mental health problems, but he made all the promises, said all the right words.  And still  kept this distance between us.

I sought counseling on my own, because I did NOT want to go back to the darkness I used to live in.  Counseling has helped me, more than anything to be very clear and very specific when asking him for what I want or need.

And still, six months after his return, he won't open up, connect, or really BE here with me.

Can't? Won't? at this point there is little difference, as far as I am concerned. The result is still the same.

I still have this horrible emptiness inside me, and I continue to fill that void with food.  Every pound I gain is a testament to my own misery and weakness....and HIS weakness, in my view.  I keep thinking, if he could only be strong enough to live up to the promises he made in those six months before active duty, and those four months before he actually left....if he could just be strong enough to really COME BACK to us, then things would be OK.

And then I think that *I* need to be the strong one, need to move on and get healthy, inside and out. For me, and for my kids. But I can't find a way to do any of that and still stay in this painful marriage.

I feel so much guilt for even considering LEAVING (or asking him to leave) when he's clearly suffering.  He's fragile, and needs me now more than ever, whether he knows that or not.  It's not HIS fault that he came back so damaged, right? He's made so much progress in his professional life in the past few months...still a long way to go to 'normal' but he is at least FUNCTIONAL.  I still love him every bit as much as I did before he left for that third deployment.....

But is it really OK for me to suffer through this - IN FRONT OF MY CHILDREN?  They see all of this, they know that dad makes mom cry ALL.THE.TIME.  They don't have to know the details of how or why he is torturing me, to see the devastating results.

The burning question that keeps me awake at night, is "What am I teaching my children by allowing anyone to treat me this way?"

Will my boys grow up to be mean, manipulative, abusive husbands?  If they do, I have no one else to blame....it will be MY fault.

DEVASTATED.

Three little words, and I felt the walls falling in all around me AGAIN.

I think it is my own fault that I keep feeling so LET DOWN, because I am just dumb enough to get my hopes up that things will finally get better.  Back to 'normal'.  Whatever that is.

So, what are the three words that broke my heart this past weekend?  "I'm not interested."

And he wasn't even talking about SEX, although he might as well have been....we've only been 'intimate' three times in the past six weeks!  Enough to make me scream in frustration, and cry those bitter tears of self-pity because he just doesn't WANT me.  But I don't scream or cry, I just stay calm(ish) and I keep fighting for US.  I keep hoping.  Stupid hope.

The three hated words were actually used when I told hubby about an e-mail I got from the FRO about this AWESOME opportunity for hubs and I to attend a weekend "RWW" program....Returning Warrior Workshop, which is "an interactive weekend where the Marines will not only benefit from numerous resources on-site, but also have the opportunity to speak with mental health professionals, chaplains, and unit leadership"  The email said it was specifically targeted to married Marines and their spouses who experienced high stressors during deployment, either in theater or on the homefront.  Um, HELLO, that's US!  And it's a FREE "Yellow Ribbon" weekend.  They will even reimburse us for travel expenses!  Not a be-all, end-all perfect solution, but it sounds like a pretty good start.  Stupid of me to hope that hubby will actually WANT to do anything about this ridiculous divide between us.  I think the keyword he heard was "mental health professionals" and he literally cut me off with the horrid "I'm not interested".  Verbal knife-hand.

And I can't think of anything to DO about this, except cry another river.  And, well, that hasn't exactly been working well for me in the six months since he returned from deployment.

This just freaking SUCKS!

I mean, overall, life really isn't all that bad here.....we've settled down some, and Bonehead's drama is minimal (for now).  We don't really fight or yell as much....maybe once every two weeks or so?  Ha - about as often as we have sex, I guess.  If I thought more fighting would equal more sex, I would go wake up my snoring husband RIGHT NOW and pick a fight.  A BIG ONE.  If I thought that would work.  Even if it would work, it would be the disappointing version of sex that somehow passes for him these days.....not so much for me. *AHEM*  But anyway, we're barely existing right now.  I want to LIVE!  I want to MOVE FORWARD, instead of just barely treading water.

I honestly try so hard to see some light at the end of the tunnel.  I'm normally pretty good at that stuff - a FATAL OPTIMIST.  But right now, thanks to those three little words, I seriously don't even see how we have a FUTURE to look forward to!  I mean, here we are, desperately in need of something to help us with this incredibly difficult transition, and instead of grabbing on with both hands, he just SLAPS IT AWAY. "Im not interested"  WTF?!?!  Well I am, damn it. 

But as usual, I can't do this by myself.

BY MYSELF.  Those two words are the only ones I hate more than his three little words.




WARNING!!! THE FOLLOWING IS A SHAMELESS PLUG:

* if you want to cheer me up, come join in my weekly viral video linkup!  It goes up every Sunday and stays open until Monday night, midnight (Pacific time).  It's really been struggling lately, and I'm considering pulling the plug, but if YOU participate, maybe I can keep it going.  Keep SOMETHING going.*

pardon me, but your CRAZY is showing!

OK, before I get into this one, this will be a LONG post (but I promise it will be worth it if you read to the end!)

I've always known that everyone has SOME degree of 'crazy' that's just, well, ingrained in us. I recently observed a woman at my work who seems to have some level of OCD (DISCLAIMER: I am not a licensed medical practitioner of any kind, and am not trained to make any kind of diagnosis!  I just know crazy when I see it.) So, "OCD Lady" has this routine every morning when she arrives at work.  When she parks (far away from any other cars) she sits in her Prius until precisely 8:55 (maybe listening to a radio program?) then she gets out of her car, takes out her efficient little tote that fits perfectly on her shoulder, then walks around her car (apparently checking for scratches or dings?) and takes out her CAR COVER.  It's always perfectly rolled up from her previous afternoon's routine, so she can easily - but CAREFULLY - place it over the top of her little car, and roll it out from back to front, then roll down the fabric over the driver's side, and then walk around to roll down the passenger side fabric.  She then circles the car one more time to make sure all is IN ORDER before she walks inside the school.

That's right, I said SCHOOL.  As in, elementary school.  In super-safe suburbia. Where NOTHING is going to happen to her car, even if she *gasp* parks near other cars, or leaves the car cover off.

Now, the first time I saw this routine, I thought 'what a paranoid bitch!'  Then I began to sympathize a little, and wondered what horrible thing must have happened to her to make her so paranoid. 

Then I began to see my own OCD husband just a little in her crazy routine.  He has this NEED to check, and double check, all the car door handles after he locks it with the little remote. Even though we all hear the 'click' of the lock, and the little beep of the car horn to confirm that the remote has done its job...he is just never satisfied with that.  Everywhere we go, the kids and I have to stand there (sometimes with our hands full, and even in the RAIN) while he walks all around the car and pulls each handle up two or three times to make sure each door is really locked. To me, this is excruciating!  I try so hard to just smile and know that he needs this, but it is just freaking PAINFUL to watch.

And its painful to watch OCD lady sometimes, too.  I mean, PAINFUL.  I felt so sorry for her, for whatever has trapped her in this time-consuming routine. 

But one day last month, it hit me:
she finds COMFORT in this routine. 

I have my own specific routines, things I HAVE to do a certain way, and these routines can calm and comfort me when my life is in chaos.  At first I compared my own routines to OCD Lady's car habit, and thought, 'yeah, but my routines are all about things that MATTER.'  (to me)  Like, I have this thing about my towels not fitting in the linen closet if they're not folded "RIGHT".  It comes from this teeny tiny linen closet that we had in our last house, and now, after 5 years in this house with THREE linen closets, I still have this need to fold the stupid towels 'my way'.  My mother in law folded a load of towels here while I was in the hospital giving birth 9 months ago, and I actually took them OUT of the closet and re-folded them 'the right way'.

Anyway, here's the major epiphany that I wanted to write about:
What matters to me, does not necessarily matter to other people.  And what matters to my husband RARELY matters to me.

I think, when we were dating, and even early in our marriage, we cared about each other's causes simply because we cared about each other.  But now, I find it harder and harder to give a damn about the things he is 'crazy' over, and he rolls his eyes at my obsessions.  We barely ever even watch TV together any more, because our taste in entertainment is so vastly different.  I think this last deployment really highlighted a lot of our differences, because we each had nearly eight months of each being able to do things our own way - and struggling to come back together this time, with all of our OTHER issues (his PTSD, my PPD, and all of our idiosyncrasies, old and new) has just seemed like more trouble than it was worth.

But when it comes down to it, HE matters to me.  And I know I matter to him.  So, we have to find ways to focus (once again) on the things we have in common.  The things we BOTH believe in.  Our kids.  Our faith.  Our home.  OUR FUTURE.

We need to develop some of our own crazy routines TOGETHER, don't you think?  Something comforting, something that's always the same, no matter what.

Random ramblings

I have so much on my mind these days, but can't seem to pull together one cohesive post.

Instead, I offer you random bits of the chaos in my head at the moment:

My mom had open heart surgery the other day.  Triple bypass.  Now they say her heart has a good 20 or 30 years left in it!  Don't know about the rest of her, though.

Miracle whip is WAY better than mayonnaise.

Holy crap, only 3 1/2 weeks of school left!  Summer vacation sounds good right now.

My birthday was pretty awesome.  Hubby kinda phoned it in (as usual) but my awesome friends made up for it!  Wish they could make up for OTHER areas he's been neglecting *ahem*  Yeah, I totally just went there.  Sorry.  Or maybe I'm not. (?)

Scentsy 'Newborn Nursery' smells freaking AWESOME.  I love it!

Bobblehead has been so incredibly clingy lately - I hope he doesn't wake up before I finish typing my list of random thoughts.

Last week I (finally) cleaned some of the mess in my closet, and put away all of my maternity clothes.  The sadness this brought me made me realize I really DO want another baby - even knowing that will mean more of this crazy lack-of-sleep, lack-of-sex, get-me-off-this-fucking-ride feeling.

Bonehead has his interview today at the youth academy I am trying to get him into.  I want him to get in so he can better himself, but if I am being honest, I really want it so I can get RID of his rebellious butt for 5 months.  Especially after the hell he put me through yesterday!  I almost called the cops again...in fact, would have, if he had not tried to take the phone away from me while I was trying to dial.  What am I going to do if he does NOT get into the academy???

Wine should really be served with every meal.  Is there a breakfast wine?

Jarhead AKA Hubby is spiraling in depression again - and my efforts to help him only seem to make it worse.  I keep HOPING he will follow through and get counseling, as he promised.  He lied to me last week and said he is already IN counseling.

Knucklehead's basketball season is almost over - still can't believe I signed up to COACH.  What was a I thinking???? And yet, we're doing really well.  Fourth place of eight teams, and all three of the teams ahead of us are A-MAZ-ING.  Knucklehead seems to be holding back a little in games, maybe he doesn't like me being 'Coach Gaile' instead of 'Mom'?  *sigh* Only one more game left in the regular season, and then we go into playoffs.

I've really gotta hit the yard sales for some baby stuff.  Which reminds me, I am looking for a used Ergo Baby Carrier - anyone have one for sale?

DUH.  Mimosas!  Champagne + Orange Juice.  Breakfast wine. Sometimes I am a freakin GENIUS.

But most of the time I am the crazy-chaotic-unproductive-rambling-hot-mess you see here.

square one.

Lately things have been REALLY up-and-down.  More than usual.  We've had some rough days and some good days, and a WHOLE LOTTA 'blah' days.

Hubby's most recent 'episode' got me really in a funk and I've been trying to pull myself out of it for a couple days. (I don't know if episode is the right word, but I don't know what else to call it when he zones about responsibilities and throws all his time and energy into things that seem unimportant to me...but he is just DRIVEN to do them...even to the detriment of others or himself)

It doesn't help that I am caring for a super-sick baby, who was nice enough to cough and sneeze all over me, so now I am sick, too. (why did I even BOTHER with a clean shirt this morning???)

The good thing about having a sick baby is that he wants to be held constantly right now.  Not very good for getting anything DONE around the house, but good because I just love snuggling him.  And holding him makes it pretty hard to type anything, so I have been catching up on READING everyone else's blogs instead of just logging on, getting my rant out, and then logging back off.  Sometimes I have to be reminded to just shut up and listen, you know?  I've been slacking on the 'reading' part of this blog-relationship that I have with you all.

Anyway, I saw a post from a milspouse who just started a deployment, and she wrote about saying goodbye to her hubby.  I started thinking back to the 'goodbye' I had with my hubby last year....the last time I saw him as himself.  That probably sounds overly dramatic to someone who has not lived with the mental/emotional issues we're dealing with right now, but from my point of view, it's pretty darned accurate.  He literally has not been 'himself' for even a single day since he returned over four months ago.  There is more and more of him coming through all the time, but it's still not HIM. (yet)

So I went back through my own archives and started reading this blog from the beginning.  I tried to read it from his perspective - how would he react to this statement, or would he see me differently or judge me for revealing that weakness?  As I got to the part, almost a year ago now, where I said goodbye to him, I realized something shocking.  Call it an epiphany, or a paradigm shift, or a litghtbulb moment.

I saw, through my own blog, that I have not been myself in a long time, either!  I can't pinpoint exactly when I changed, but I am definitely starting to sort out the old me from the new me, and to identify things I like and don't like about the new me. (if you missed yesterday's post, I definitely DON'T like the new BITCHY side of me).

Now I feel like this knowledge about the changes in ME is somehow the 'key' to getting US back..... if only I can locate the darned lock.

Going back to the beginning of this blog was just the catalyst for me to now go back to the VERY beginning.  When we met, when we started dating, when I proposed (yeah, that's right *I* proposed to him).  When we had Knucklehead, and when we finally made it legit by getting married when Knucklehead was two.  When we bought this house.  When we nearly gave up on this marriage a couple years ago, and when we miraculously found each other again.  THERE...somewhere in that timeframe, when we had our second 'beginning', that has to be where I can find the secret to getting us back.  We've done it before, and while it was HELLISH, I know we're strong enough to do it again.

I don't want to revisit that pain, but it might be the only way to get through this new pain we're suffering from every day.  So, as I work through some of this (can't WAIT to tell my therapist about this 'breakthrough'!) I may or may not do some flashback blogging.  Might share some of this painful story with you all.  Please bear with me if I do, because it is not an easy story to tell......

another meltdown

Last night SUCKED.  We're still getting over it, actually.

I had pre-made an enchilada bake for dinner, and I put it in the oven to warm for a few minutes before church, figuring I could turn the oven off as we walked out the door and it would continue warming while we were gone.  (We go to church Sunday evenings) At the last minute I found out that hubby was not going with us, so I set a timer for half an hour, and asked hubby to listen for it and turn it off.

No problem, right?

Well when I got home from church the house smelled kind of.....scorched.  I expected to pull this out of the oven:

But instead I found that hubby had already removed THIS from the oven:

I may or may not have cried.....and eventually may or may not have yelled at hubby, using some very colorful language.

Oh yeah, did I mention that my father-in-law was here for the whole debacle? Fortunately I had all the fixings for tacos, so we had a yummy (late) dinner. 

NOT a good night. 

To make things worse, my attempt at an apology for losing my temper only caused hubby to lose HIS temper, so we fought for over an hour after everyone was in bed.  I'm pretty sure FIL heard every word.

It's amazing how something as simple stupid as not turning off the oven can ruin everyone's night.  And since hubby left for work this morning for the week, it kinda ruined our whole week.

**edit: I failed to mention that the reason hubby did not hear the timer is that he went outside and got distracted by the weeds, which he then went manic on....and when he came back through the garage he noticed bird poop on his new car, so of course he HAD to wash the car, right then and there. SIGH.**

Alpha to Zulu

Have you linked up yet?  This week I am pretty much ALL about linkups, and this one took more time than I had imagined it might. Head on over to Riding the Roller Coaster for more info and to add your own list to the linkup!  Oh, and be sure to check out the other fabulous blogs already linked there. (other linkups to check out: Goodnight Moon's music linkup every Thursday, and my new Viral Video linkup every Sunday/Monday)

You may notice that my list includes a lot of words with negative connotations....if you are new to my blog, you may want to read back over the past, say, three or four months worth of posts and you will see why.  I do love my husband dearly, and I am so proud of him, and proud to be his wife - but PTSD is trying to destroy what's left of our marriage, and while I am fighting just to keep my head above water, it can be tough to be 'positive'.  Add to the mix my own current Post-Partum Depression, and, well, not a whole lot of laughs in this post.  But here it is anyway, enjoy!

Military Life from Alpha to Zulu

ALPHA

Active Duty, Arguments, Afghanistan, Anxiety, ADJUSTING

BRAVO

Bravery, Budget, BLOGGING

CHARLIE

Cammies, Cover, Changes, Cell phone, CRYING

DELTA

Deployment, "Donut of Misery", Drill Weekends, DREAMING

ECHO

Emotions, E-MAIL

FOXTROT

Friends, flexible, FRG, fears, FIGHTING

GOLF

Gear, Girls' Night, GOODBYES

HOTEL

Head, Homecomings, HOPES

INDIA

Independence, Invincible, Iraq, INSOMNIA

JULIET

Jumpy, JERK (sometimes)

KILO

KISSES (goodbye and hello!)

LIMA

Love, Laughter, Loneliness, LIVING

MIKE

Moto-mail, Marines, MARRIAGE

NOVEMBER

Notes, NCO's, Nightmares

OSCAR

OPSEC, Orders, OIF, OEF

PAPA

PTSD, Planning, Phoenetic Alphabet, Phone calls, Prayer

QUEBEC

"Quick-fast-and-in-a-hurry!" (Major Payne)

ROMEO

Reintegration/Redeployment, Reality, RISK

SIERRA

Single parenting, Surprises, "Soon", Sweat, SADNESS

TANGO

Transitioning, Trust, TEARS

UNIFORM

Uniforms, Unstable, "Us", UNSTOPPABLE

VICTOR

V.A., Venting, Vibrator? (ha ha ha)

WHISKEY

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, WINE (and sometimes WHINE)

X-RAY

XO

YANKEE

Yellow ribbons, YEARS

ZULU

Zip-ties, ZOLOFT

nucking futs, part three

OK If you have not read my previous posts, you don't know yet that I am dealing with my own Post-Partum Depression (more like nervous breakdown) and my hubby's undiagnosed/untreated PTSD, as well as caring for an infant, a tween, and the teenager-from-hell.  Oh yeah, and I work part time, and coach a basketball team, and volunteer at church.

CRAZY does not even begin to cover it.

The BIG part of the 'crazy' that I didn't mention in the first two 'nucking futs' installments (read them HERE and HERE, if you missed them) is the fact that I have been self-medicating for months - with FOOD.  I started this last pregnancy with an extra 100lbs, then only gained 15 lbs, which I lost right after the birth (and immediately lost about 10 lbs more). 

So, by the time hubs came home, three months after the birth, I was actually about 10 lbs lighter than I was when he left. Then I started making all the yummy food he missed out on during deployment, and of course we had to have dessert EVERY NIGHT.  It was more than that, though.

The loneliness that I felt while he was gone was manageable.  The loneliness that stabbed at me every night after his return, however, was impossible to ignore.  He was RIGHT THERE next to me, and yet we were worlds apart.  I say this in the past tense only because it seems to have gotten a LITTLE better.  For now.  Anyway, the emptiness was unbearable, and I started trying to fill it with food.

Junk food, mostly.

Ho-Ho's were eaten by-the-box.  Literally. I would bake a batch of brownies under the pretense that they were for hubby, but the rejection I felt from him, coupled with the increasing sense of isolation, would become so painful that I would eat most of the brownies myself, in an attempt to feel better.

To some extent, this actually worked.  On a very short-term basis, of course.

In the first three weeks after hubby came home, I GAINED 15 pounds. 

Yup, five freaking pounds a week.

When I realized that none of my clothes were fitting me, I got even more depressed, and tried to talk to hubby about what I was feeling - but he got so defensive, as usual, that he didn't really hear a word I said.  I responded by gaining another ten pounds in the next two weeks, then gained five more over the next two weeks. 

I gained thirty pounds in just seven weeks.

Now, remember, I was already 90 lbs overweight when hubs came home.

Around week seven, when Baby Bobblehead was 4 1/2 months old, I began to realize that the CRAZY I was living with was probably PPD, and therefore treatable.  That knowledge alone seemed to boost my ability to cope, so I slowed down a little on the emotional eating.  It took me four more weeks to actually make an appointment and see a doctor to start meds, and over those four weeks I gained almost ten more pounds.

I don't know for sure if it is the medication, or the counseling, but I am now coping MUCH better.  I still have a lot of issues, and still frequently feel that emptiness that only a box of Ho-Ho's could fill, but I am able to resist those urges most of the time now.  As a result, my weight has leveled off.  I am not losing any weight (yet) but at least I haven't gained anything in about 5 1/2 weeks now.

The only reason I am taking the time to write out this very painful, very personal part of the story is that I want to document my efforts to take ME back.  I also wouldn't mind a little cheerleading along the way, if you feel inclined

 :)

If the numbers you already saw above didn't shock you, here is the naked truth:

My ideal weight: 140lbs
My pre-pregnancy weight: 240 lbs
My post-pregnancy, pre-homecoming weight: 230 lbs
My CURRENT weight: 268 lbs.

My 'ideal' clothing size is 14.
My current clothing size is 24-26.

Most of the clothes in my closet right now are 18-20, so I am trying to at least get back to that size (approximately 200 lbs) in the next six months or so.

If I can lose enough weight to get down to a size 16, I have an AMAZING dress for the Marine Corps Ball in November.  I wore it once, several years ago, and could not bear to part with it.  I kept saying, 'someday I will be able to wear it again'.  Well, with any luck (and a lot of hard work) that 'someday' will be THIS YEAR.

I want to post some 'before' pictures as I now embark on this weight loss journey, but am really so disgusted by my body right now, I am not sure if I can even TAKE those pictures.  I will try, so watch for that nightmare in a future post.  If I wimp out and DON'T post any 'before' pictures, then my 'after' pictures will be somewhat anti-climactic, right?

**edit: I just re-read this post, and realized that it sounds a little like I am BLAMING hubby for my weight gain.  This is not the case, I take full responsibility for every bite of food I have ever taken.  It is NOT his fault that I feel the need to binge on junkfood when he hurts me.....HOWEVER, after I talked to him about this, his continued crappy treatment of me seems almost like an endorsement of my eating. In simpler terms, it is not his fault, but I do feel that he could have done something about it, and he failed to (or refused to?)  OUCH.**

nucking futs

WARNING: this is a really LONG post.  If you don't want to read the details, the basic story is: I'm CRAZY, but I'm also NOT CRAZY.


I have been trying to get this story written out for, well, WEEKS at least.  Maybe longer?  I know I have alluded to feeling crazy in more than one recent post, but there is so much more to it than that.

I guess to tell this story properly, I have to go back about 11 years.  Knucklehead's birth was fantastic - I mean, for childbirth.  He was my third baby, so I pretty much knew what to expect: weeks of very convincing 'false labor' followed by a fast ACTUAL labor and super-fast delivery.  What I did not expect was the deep feeling of sadness that settled on me by the time the baby was about a month old.

I would cry for no reason, and was so embarrassed about this that I would hide it - I cried in the shower, cried in the car by myself, cried in the laundry room, the closet, etc.  This was when I perfected the 'silent cry' so I could even cry in bed next to Jarhead, without interrupting his sleep.  I figured I had a textbook case of the baby blues, which meant it should resolve itself in a matter of weeks.

It didn't.

By the time I finally sought professional help, I had been living in this inexplicable DESPAIR for nearly three months.  Knucklehead was about four months old, and though I loved him deeply, I found it hard to find ANY reason to 'go on'.  I had begun fantasizing about ways to die - popping pills seemed the easiest, but I didn't want my kids to find my body.  Yes, I thought it through THAT much.  I figured I could drive off a cliff and everyone would think it was an accident, but the thought of leaving my children motherless kept me from going any farther than just IMAGINING being dead.  Airhead was ten, and Bonehead just five years old.

My psychiatrist told me that I was NOT, in fact, crazy, but was suffering from
POST-PARTUM DEPRESSION.  I had kind of suspected this already, but was relieved to be officially diagnosed with something - especially something TREATABLE.  I was still breastfeeding Knucklehead, and since I wanted to continue to nurse him for as long as possible, my medication choices were limited.  Luckily we found one right away that worked well for me, and when combined with weekly therapy sessions it stopped the suicidal ideations.

After about six months of medication and therapy, I felt better, and stopped treatment.  About six months later, I began to feel extremely depressed again.  By this time we had moved to a new city, so I put off getting help for awhile.  I finally made myself find a new doctor and get back on meds when the depression became so severe that it limited my functioning.  There is no 'magic pill' but the drugs I took helped me get a handle on my life again.  Since then, I have gone back on meds three other times, for at least 5 or 6 months each time.  I have officially been diagnosed with CLINICAL DEPRESSION, and threw in some Generalized Anxiety Disorder a few years ago, too. Throughout all of it I had severe insomnia, but only took sleep medication in 2008/2009.  I do love me some Ambien!

So, when Jarhead and I decided to try to get pregnant in late 2009, I had been off of my anti-depressants for almost a year already, and had not suffered a panic attack in almost two years. I only had to stop taking my birth control and my sleeping pills, and was fine.

Beyond fine - our first attempt at getting pregnant was a success.

The same week we got pregnant, we also got orders for deployment.  This meant my hubby had to miss half of the pregnancy, as well as the delivery - which I think would make MOST women at least a little depressed.  This is known as 'situational depression'...and for the most part, I think I handled it well.  If you've followed this blog from the beginning, you probably noticed the bouts of mild depression during and shortly after the pregnancy.

Jarhead came home when Bobblehead was three months old, and I was THRILLED to have him home.  At first.  I noticed right away that something wasn't right, that we just weren't connecting.  I felt isolated, hurt, angry, and really ripped off - after all, I had waited SO LONG for our family to be whole again, and then got this ridiculous sham of a relationship out of it???? WTF???  It's like the kid in the old sitcom/movie/book who saves his money to send away for some awesome 'real' boat/plane/car/whatever, and waits for it, checking the mail every day, until finally it arrives and its made of corrugated cardboard. Disappointment.

With all of that in mind, the minor depression I felt back in December was again 'situational'. Totally rational, normal depression.  No suicidal thoughts, and no endless crying 'for no reason'.  Nothing to make me think PPD, or even to make me think I needed meds again.

By mid-January I felt like I was losing my mind.  Bobblehead turned four months old, we had him baptised as planned, and life seemed to be going on all around me - without me really participating other than to meet everyone's basic needs.  I was Rosie the Robot from The Jetsons.  I was just going through the motions.  Except I really was FEELING things; feeling too much, feeling overwhelmed by everything. 

I went back to work in January too, so I chalked some of the crazy feelings up to the stress from that.  Also around that time, I began to finally admit that there was more wrong with my hubby than just the typical detachment that comes with deployment/redeployment.

I knew there was something wrong with him (probably PTSD) and I knew there was something wrong with me - but it felt nothing like the PPD (Post Partum Depression) that I experienced a decade ago.  I wasn't SAD.  I wasn't suicidal.  I wasn't crying all-the-time.  I was just going freaking OUT OF MY MIND. 

It was only by a series of coincidences that I ended up at a special presentation for Doulas and Midwives about PPD.  Of course I am neither a Doula nor a Midwife, but like I said, a series of coincidences got me there.  I now believe that I was MEANT to be there, because the therapist who presented her personal story gave me so much insight into PPD!  The one thing she told us was that, in her experience, PPD felt like "having a nervous breakdown".  I had actually said those exact words the day before, describing to my sister how completely INSANE I felt. I didn't feel that deep sadness that I had come to associate with PPD, so I didn't think to ask for help with this new brand of crazy - nor did I think that help would be so freaking SIMPLE!

After that presentation, I went back on a low dose of my anti-depressant, which made a huge difference, and I started weekly therapy sessions.  Now, after only three sessions, I already feel SO MUCH like my old self!  I still don't recognize my husband as the man he used to be - and still hope he will get some help and work through whatever issues are keeping him locked away so deep inside of himself.  I still don't see 'US' when I look at us.  I don't feel like we even ARE an 'us'....and honestly have to face the possibility that we might never be US again. 

But I am determined to find a way to be ME again, regardless of what our future as a couple holds.  I owe it to my children, my husband, and most of all to MYSELF to get well.

Healing will not be as easy as I am making this sound, but taking the first difficult steps of admitting there's a problem, and identifying the problem, has given me hope. 

I can do this.  I WILL do this.

Keeping it real (?)

The other day I posted over on The Wifey Blogs about my hubby's sudden request demand that I stop blogging about him.

He has never read my blog, which I think magnifies the unfairness of his demand, but whatever.

The problem is, I really want this blog to be HONEST.  Uncensored.  The real me.  And, like it or not, he is a huge part of ME.  I would not be the woman I am if I had never met him. (that's mostly meant to be positive, but I also credit blame him for some of my negative traits)

I feel like, if I blog about my life, but omit this very important part of my life, then my blog will resemble this joke about OPSEC:

Yeah, its kind of funny - except that it's NOT.

I really want to respect his unreasonable request, but I am not sure if I can.  If you notice that the 'hubby-related' comments are a little thin, just know that it is not censorship, it is me trying to make this marriage work.

PTSD?

At this point, I don't know if labels even matter, but if they do, then I think hubby's "issues" definitely fall under the category of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).

I wish I could accurately capture and write down the exact changes in him, but I can't.  He's just NOT himself since he got home in December.  He is full of anxiety, and now severe depression.  He can't fall asleep until 3 or 4 in the morning, even with a little pharmacuetical help.  (This is a guy who I used to openly ENVY for his ability to fall asleep literally THE MINUTE his head hit the pillow every night). 

I know I already wrote about his lack of libido - that part is still killing me, but I am learning not to take it so personally.  Doesn't make me feel any less lonely, though.  I seriously miss having some connection to him, you know?  When we do have sex, there is no passion there, none of the real excitement that we used to have - none of the spark.  Sometimes I think I'd rather go completely celibate than have him just 'go through the motions' like that.

It's impossible to go anywhere with him - if I drive, he is snapping at me within minutes about how I should brake sooner, or later, or I better speed up so I don't miss the next light.  It's nerve-wracking. If he drives, we can't go three miles without him cursing at random drivers - or at the super-slow traffic light, or whatever else is getting on his nerves (which is everything).

Crowds make him BEYOND jumpy.  He carries his service sidearm everywhere - completely legal since he has his sheriff's badge with him at all times - but I see him reaching for it almost for comfort when he sees someone or something that makes him uncomfortable in the middle of, say, Costco.  Or CHURCH. To others, it probably just looks like he is adjusting his pants or his belt, but I know what he's doing.

He's always been hyper-vigilant (has to sit with his back to the wall in a restaurant, has to be able to see the entrances and exits, etc) because of his other job in law enforcement (and I think because of his personality). But now it is really ridiculous.  Bordering on OCD.  He used to pull the handle of the car door to double check that it was really locked after he hit the lock button on the little remote - now he has to check ALL FOUR DOORS.  Every time.  It's painful for me to even watch. I mean, I am all for him being careful, but this is just....well, for lack of a better word, this is just crazy.

I hesitate to use the word 'crazy' because I take mental illness very seriously - several forms of it run in my family, including bi-polar disorder and schizophrenia.  I myself have battled clinical depression for more than ten years now, and in the past few years have also struggled with some serious anxiety - complete with panic attacks.  Fun stuff, right?  As tormented as I have been over the years, I don't think my insanity comes anywhere close to the pain my hubby is in now - and I feel so helpless!  There is nothing I can do to help him right now, other than stick it out - no matter how much he hurts me with his reclusive behavior.

I've begged him to talk to someone, and initially he refused, saying he was 'dealing with some issues' and wanted to do it on his own.  I finally pointed out a few weeks ago that he's just taking too long - its not fair to his family to ask us to wait indefinitely while he deals with his issues.  He agreed to see a counselor, but has yet to actually DO it.

I love this man, and I pray he returns to some version of his pre-deployment self SOON.

Valentine's fail

I have been waiting all week to write this post, procrastinating, hoping it would become unnecssary/untrue.

I am BEYOND pissed that my husband did ZILCH for me for Valentine's Day this year.  He is depressed, and I do understand how debilitating depression can be - but DANG!  He asked me weeks ago what I wanted for V-day, and I told him all I really wanted was a DATE with him. Dinner, and maybe a movie that does not involve zombies or aliens or gratuitously bloody shootouts. 

By last week, it had become apparent that having MIL come over to babysit for said date was going to create more stress than it was worth, so I gave up on the idea of a date, and told hubby that instead I would like an Amazon.com gift card so I can buy some new e-books for my Kindle.  That night (Friday - three days BEFORE V-day) he told me that whatever I was going to get for V-day would probably be late.  I joked about it, saying, "so, in other words, no different than the last dozen or so Valentine's Days".... he didn't appreciate my humor, but that was he end of discussion.

The next day (Saturday) my friend/neighbor/babysitter texted me to offer to babysit for free that night if we wanted to go out on a date.  I was SO excited to tell hubby, who rudely shrugged it off.  So, no date.

I was bummed, but kept my chin up anyway.  Monday rolled around, and I kind of HOPED he would pull himself out of his funk and go shopping for SOME kind of gift for me.  That never happened. 

Here it is Friday, four days after Valentine's Day, and still NOTHING - even though he HAS been into town a few times in the past couple of days, and he HAS shopped on amazon this week (for himself).

I feel forgotten again.

AGAIN.

Should I say anything to him?  I am worried that the resentment will build (& explode) if I don't speak up.  But I am also worried that anything I say will be misunderstood and will lead to a nasty argument.

Its not about THINGS, or how much money he spends, etc.  It's about being an afterthought, a shadow in the background.  I really NEEDED, now more than ever, for him to show me that I matter to him - that he thinks of me and loves me. 

Seriously, not even a freaking CARD????

Am I wrong to feel so hurt about this?

SERIOUSLY????

My husband asks some really DUMB questions sometimes, but this one takes the cake.

I have been SO overwhelmed by stress lately, and finally got to sit down with him yesterday and tell him how I felt, and I proposed a solution: I want to QUIT my ridiculously part-time job.  It has never been worth the money, especially now that I have to pay for babysitting.  I literally make less than $100/month after I pay the babysitter (and she is working for next-to-nothing!)  But the money isn't the reason I want to quit - it's the stress.  Every freaking morning I have to wake up early so I can pump breastmilk for the baby, and nurse him, and get us all out the door on time for my AM crossing guard shift.  It takes me TWO hours to get ready for a ONE hour shift, and the whole time I am there I am stressing about getting back to the baby (*working mommies, how do you DO it?*) 

Now, my breastpump is the manual kind, for 'occasional' use, and I find I have to pump with every feeding to keep my supply up so I have some to send in a bottle to the babysitter each day.  Sometimes the baby needs the bottle, sometimes he doesn't.  But I am having trouble keeping my supply up for this, and am SICK AND TIRED of the hand cramps and callouses that come from using this manual pump 5 or 6 times a day, only to discover that I can't even get an OUNCE of milk at a time sometimes.  Beyond frustrating.  So, yesterday when hubby heard ignored my pleas, I told him that if I am going to
keep working then I need an electric breast pump - minimum $130.  He didn't say yes or no to that one, but definitely shot down my idea of quitting.

SIGH

So, this morning after my shift, I came home and made hubby breakfast in bed (yes, his lazy ass was STILL in bed at 10 AM by the time I finished cooking this awesome meal for him!) Baby Bobblehead was getting fussy, so I took hubby his food then sat down to nurse the baby.  Hubby came downstairs to witness the I-don't-want-to-take-a-nap tantrum that Bobblehead throws a couple times a day, and then asked me why the baby is so cranky lately.  I told him I think the baby senses my stress, and hubby asked me the DUMBEST question ever:

"What could you possibly have to be stressed about?"


REALLY???? Seriously????

He is lucky he had already eaten his heart-shaped breakfast, because otherwise I might have dumped the damned plate in his lap.

Happy f-ing Valentine's Day, you insensitive jerk!