Guard Your Heart

I am dealing with pain and hurt.

How do I be vague and specific about what’s going on in my life all at the same time?

I feel like I’ve loved and I’ve lost. Like the rug was taken out from under me. That I had no say. That every decision was made for me.

I feel as though I need to walk forward into life trusting few, if any, people at all.

I’m afraid that the ones I’ve opened myself and my heart up to will shatter me into a million pieces. Never to be fully reassembled.

I feel wronged and confused and bewildered.

I embark on a new journey and set sail with an uncertain course. I don’t know whether to keep my heart to myself or to open it up, leaving me open to brokenness again. I feel like I’ve already opened myself up to certain people and I just can’t take it back.

I wish I could. I wish I could be quiet, keep to myself, “normal” me. Busy as a bee. Quieter than a tree.

I don’t know how to slowly unveil myself. All my quirks, foibles, and eccentricities. I feel like I’m sort of a BAM! package deal or a “Nevermind, I pass.”

After years of pretending to be quiet and not showing my true self, I don’t know how to become bubbly and cheerful. I guess.

I’m afraid. Afraid that all my hard work will come tumbling down in a matter of weeks. Will I crumble? Will I succumb to pressure?

I thought I had a family. I did. But then they were collectively taken away from me.

My heart hurts. My heart bleeds. My heart wants so much more. I live hard. Love hard. Live deeply. Love deeply.

It’s a blessing and a curse to be so alive, to give your heart out to so many.

Because the majority of people will break it without care.

I feel so heartbroken. As though I entered a 3-year romantic relationship only to be broken up without a plausible explanation. Shift the blame on me and when I try to do what it takes to make the relationship work, cut me off like a New York driver in rush-hour traffic.

I wanted to make it work so badly. Even if the break was in my best interest, I wish it would have been relayed to me. But now, I feel adrift. Alone. Cold. Without a home.

There’s another land on the horizon. I just don’t know what challenges and benefits it will bring. Will it bring any benefits at all? I’m gearing myself up for challenges.

I need to guard my heart. “Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life.” — Proverbs 4:23

And let me TELL you, I have issues.

Things’ll Never Be the Same

The end of 2014 and the beginning of 2015 have brought a TON of change.

Folks, I don’t handle change well. Not even in the form of coins.

Here’s a brief list of the things that have changed in the past 3 months:

  • I began a full-time job at the beginning of January.
  • I left the library at the beginning of January.
  • I switched my son to a different daycare at the beginning of January.
  • My husband’s department got bought out by another company.

Even though I listed four things above, they’re all major life events. And I’m flipping out over every single one of them.

Continue reading “Things’ll Never Be the Same”

Thoughts on #Ferguson

I have a lot to say and if you follow me on Twitter, you’ll find these thoughts quite redundant. But I need to put them down somewhere and get them out of my brain and off my chest.

Let me preface this by saying: I don’t hate white people. I think white people and black people need to work together to effect change. That being said…

I live in a white neighborhood. It’s a peaceful neighborhood with very little crime. One day, I sat in my car, idling in the parking lot next to my apartment, listening to the remainder of a favorite song. I had just come from the gym and it was at night. A cop car pulled alongside me with a white officer at the helm. He very politely asked if everything was okay and I replied that it was. He gave me a dubious “okay” and pulled away.

I’m not sure what probable cause he had for pulling up. Because businesses were closed? Because it was a lone car idling in the parking lot? Did he see that I was a woman all alone? Did he see a black person in a car and wondered what the hell I was doing in the neighborhood?

I’ll never know. But the latter option has run through my mind.

That’s not the only instance in which my family has had a run in with white cops. I often tell the story of my dad who was driving home (we lived in a predominantly white neighborhood) and was less than a half-mile from home when he got stopped by a cop. The officer asked what he was doing and my father said he was heading home. The officer asked where that was and my father said it was down the street, a couple of houses away. The officer let my father go and my dad made it home safely, but he was always convinced he got stopped for DWB — driving while black.

I had a conversation with my husband that left me in tears last night. Because I love my son and I well and truly believe that he’s somewhat at a disadvantage because of his skin color. Despite the fact that Trayvon Martin was not killed by a cop, I really fear my son getting into an altercation with a cop simply because he’s walking around with a hoodie at 6 pm during the winter when it’s dark. My son may be half-white but he’ll only be seen as a black man in the eyes of the law.

I’m tired of making excuses for black people and why they deserved what they got. Mike Brown didn’t deserve to get shot at 12 times. I don’t care if police are trained to empty their clip or if they’re supposed to shoot until a person goes down. I think that’s barbarous. That 12-year-old in Cleveland, Ohio, didn’t deserve to die. I don’t care if he chipped the paint off the toy gun to make it look real. He was TWELVE.

Minorities have a history of getting the short end of the stick:

  • “Oh, that black person was being an idiot to the cop so of course he got shot.”
  • “Oh, that woman was all over the man so of course she was asking to get raped.”
  • “Oh, that Latin American immigrant came into the country illegally so of course his American kids should get deported.”

When does it stop? Who polices the police? I wasn’t much on white privilege before Ferguson, but I guess I am now. White people are more likely to be in positions of power. Black people, to succeed, have to (quite frankly) kiss ass in ways that their white peers don’t.

My mom always told me that black people have to dress nicely and act properly in front of white people if they want to get anywhere. My mother was promoted to the head forewoman position at her job from being a CLEANING LADY. She doesn’t attribute it to her great work ethic (which she had) and great English (she’s got a strong French accent). She attributes it to the fact that she dressed properly and always acted politely in front of white people in positions of power.

You see, I play the game, too. Where a white person can walk into an interview with jeans and be a likely candidate, I have to dress up in a business suit, be articulate, and put on my A-game to get the job.

Oh wait, that’s not a fair comparison because anyone who walks in with jeans won’t get a job in a white-collar industry.

You’d be surprised.

I’ve had to work TWICE as hard as my white peers to succeed in academics and in my career.

I really don’t believe white people are the enemy. It may sound like it, but I don’t feel that way. (Drop in reference to white husband that validates my lack of racism) My sole point is that white people hold the upper hand on a lot of things. In ways they don’t even realize. I may not always identify with my black peers, but that doesn’t negative the fact that my skin color is still dark.

So I guess I believe that white privilege exists. And I don’t know how to change it. It’s been an institution in America since the 1700s. Maybe the first step in breaking down white privilege is accepting the fact that, if you are white in America — and I don’t care if you’re a redneck or live in Appalachia — you have advantages over black people.

I guess that’s it.

It’s Getting Better All the Time

I’m worlds better than I was in August, September, and October. After trying different medications (and getting back on my Vitamin D and fish oil with omega-3s), I’m finally starting to feel like myself again. Bubbly me. Not exactly cheerful but normal. I’m on a max therapeutic dosage for lithium and Lamictal along with reduced dosages of Prozac and Ability. The combination seems to be helping. I just saw my psychiatrist and he didn’t want to tinker with a good thing. I was in such a good mood that I drove myself to and from Philly safely and considered walking into his office as though I were manic. But I decided against that and just let him see my bubbly disposition.

“I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.” — Stuart Smalley

I haven’t really had suicidal thoughts lately. Not like when Robin Williams died.  It’s like I took his death and internalized it to a point where I felt hopeless. Not like I knew the guy, but he was so vibrant and full of life that I couldn’t imagine living a life any better than he did.

I’m looking into a new daycare for my son. I was looking for something a little more local, but I just found out that he shares a crib with another baby at his current daycare. Even though the workers sanitize and put clean sheets down, it still rankles me that my son shares a crib with another baby. He should have his own! It could help explain why my son has been consistently sick with a cold since August.

My postpartum depression, I think, is getting better. I’m still afraid to care for my son when no one’s around. But I hope to use a few days in December to take care of him while everyone’s at work and show myself that I am capable of that. I need tackle this particular anxiety head on.

Journey of My Bipolar Depression

consolerI suppose I’ll begin chronicling my bipolar depression journey here rather than on my other blog, depression introspection.

Since August, my mood has been up and down with “down” being severely low. I was suicidal. I’ve been suicidal. And when news of Robin Williams’s death hit my ears, it hit my mood as well. I honestly began thinking, How could someone so vibrant and alive kill himself? How could someone so talented and loved by so many people commit suicide? Then I thought, I’m not as talented as he was. Maybe I should kill myself too. I’m certainly not as loved as he is. What’s the point of living? I should join him.

Somehow, I managed to hang on to see my psychiatrist and I told him that the death of Robin Williams had triggered persistent suicidal thoughts. I hadn’t attempted to kill myself, but I was seriously considering it. He suggested that I try taking lithium, which has a track record of reducing suicidal thoughts.

I’ve been reluctant to take lithium because it requires that you get your blood levels monitored every 6 months. But when you’re desperate, you’ll try just about anything. (Probably just short of eating cockroaches. I certainly don’t have the stomach for that.)

Continue reading “Journey of My Bipolar Depression”

(Insert witty blog post header here)

“It’s been a long time… we shouldn’t have left you without a dope beat to step to” — Intro by Timbaland to Aaliyah’s song, “Try Again”

I’ve been dealing with severe postpartum depression and bipolar disorder as of late. It’s pretty annoying. I alternate between wanting to live and wanting to die. I’ll spare you the particularly gross details of my condition, but suffice it to say, it’s hard to do much of anything.

I’ve been working as a freelancer from home and it’s difficult to even do that. I have my husband assisting me on a project because I’ve lost 2 days to depression. It’s bloody frustrating.

White Privilege vs. Black Privilege

The term “white privilege” makes me bristle. (See Matt Chandler’s post on “White Privilege.” I disagree with a good bit of it.)

White privilege is supposedly the idea that white people have an easier time in life than black people.

I want to say white privilege is bullshit. But it’s not. I submit to you, however, that black privilege exists too.

Continue reading “White Privilege vs. Black Privilege”

A different Black opinion on #Ferguson

I do not subscribe the popular collective mind-set in Black culture. I do not believe everything revolves around race. Sure, dismiss my opinions as invalid because I am a first-generation American, but the fact of the matter, is: I was born in the US. I have a right to my opinion just like any other Black American.

There are a lot of conflicting reports regarding the shooting of Michael Brown. I have heard and read that Brown was a suspect in a robbery of a convenience store. It’s possible that he was not the actual suspect but a Black man (because all Black people look alike) who kinda fit the description of the suspect. There are witnesses who say that at the time Brown was shot, he was unarmed and had his hands up in the air in surrender. I have also heard reports that he was resisting arrest and charging police at the time he was shot. Another account says that Brown was shot in the back.

People, of all races and colors, just want the truth about what actually occurred. I do not think it is fair to conclude that the Brown shooting revolves solely around race simply because the police officer, Darren Wilson, is white and the victim was Black. Sometimes, unfortunate shootings like this happen regardless of race or color. We don’t live in a perfect world. This wouldn’t be an issue if Wilson were Black and Brown was also Black.

The second autopsy of Brown’s body revealed that he was shot six times, twice in the head. If it is true that he was charging at  police, then the police had a right to defend themselves using force. But if Brown did have his hands up in the air in surrender and was shot six times anyway, then Officer Wilson has a lot of ‘splaining to do.

Officer Wilson is currently on paid administrative leave. The media have no clues on his whereabouts. Rumors are that Wilson has skipped town and is laying low somewhere out of state (probably a smart idea for him). His professional history does not include any complaints, but in fact, notes that he was commended for outstanding service. How does an officer with no history of violence or trouble suddenly find himself at the center of a racially charged shooting?

Continue reading “A different Black opinion on #Ferguson”

Perpetual Suicidality [POTENTIAL TRIGGER]

Monday, August 11, 2014 will be one of those days that live on in infamy for me. I will never forget where and when I heard the news…

I was working at the library for the evening and a patron came in.

“Did you hear the news? So sad.”

All three of us looked at her like she had three heads. What are you talking about? we all wondered.

She caught on to our looks and replied, “Robin Williams died. Isn’t that sad?”

At first, we gave each other puzzled looks, wondering who in our community was named Robin Williams and then… oh, we realized it was the big-time actor.

THUD.

Continue reading “Perpetual Suicidality [POTENTIAL TRIGGER]”

A Religious Manifesto of Sorts

CrossI’m having a crisis of faith right now. I believe in God and I believe in Jesus. I just… don’t believe in all the stuff that comes with Christianity. I don’t want to do the stuff that comes with Christianity, such as:

  • Attending church
  • Praying regularly
  • Reading the Bible

Church often feels like a social gathering—a way to meet new people. I love my church. If I could pick any church to attend, it’d be the church I’m a member of. So why do I choose sleep over worshiping God on Sunday mornings?

Continue reading “A Religious Manifesto of Sorts”

What kind of mother do I want to be?

I’ve gotten over the hump of worrying about my little Boo-Boo in daycare. Right now, I’m concerned about finances. About getting ahead. And I just don’t feel like my family will ever get ahead unless I’m working consistently at a high-paying job. Of course, I have no idea what kind of high-paying job I could do, but I have a bachelor’s degree. That could get me somewhere, right?

Sigh.

I do feel less guilt about putting my son in daycare and in the hands of a part-time nanny for the month. (OMG, I really just said part-time nanny. I never thought those words would ever come from me.)

One thing I appreciate about my postpartum therapist is the practical advice she gives me to make life better for my family. Not jumping out of moving cars ranks high on my list. But putting my son in daycare recently has been a Godsend. Right now, my therapist wants me to focus on… me. Getting better for myself so I can be well for my family. That includes working on my mental health, beefing up my spiritual health, and calming my emotional health. I have been very nervous, anxious, and panicky lately dealing with postpartum anxiety.

What kind of mother do I want to be? One who always puts forth an air of perfection or is real and is willing to make mistakes? I need to be real and make mistakes. My mother puts on an air of perfection for me and won’t own up to her mistakes. I don’t want to be that kind of mother.

A Place with No Name

Perhaps this is a blog post that belongs on my other blog, depression introspection, but this blog has been rather active so I prefer to post the following here.

Image from salon.com
Image from salon.com

My psychiatrist has added two more medications to my regimen. I was on Abilify and Prozac daily. I took Ativan as needed. Now, I’m on Abilify, Lamictal, and Prozac daily with Xanax as needed. Continue reading “A Place with No Name”

Philadelphia Climb/Hope

You turn the radio on
Play your favorite song
And cry
(Cry)
~Sarah McLachlan: In Her Shoes~

I’m battling. Warrior mom FTW (For The Win).

I want to share how my day at the Philadelphia Climb Out of the Darkness event went. It was fantastic.

ClimbOutI met several amazing and inspiring women who had been through some form of perinatal or postpartum mood and anxiety disorder. It meant a lot to me because the women there were able guide me out of darkness and into light. Even, if only, for a few hours. I was able to watch children happily run around, share my story with other women, and receive an amazing massage. I also was able to receive 3 hours of doula care from Main Line Doulas. I connected with a sweet n’ sassy counselor at the Postpartum Stress Center. The event organizer for Philadelphia, Heidi, is an amazing woman who encouraged me with her own story of climbing out of the darkness. And to meet Heidi’s mom, the official photographer, was such a blessing because it reminded me that we all can find support from somewhere.

YahooOutlook

I was originally supposed to meet up with a more local group at Valley Forge but due to communication issues (I’m looking right at you, Yahoo! Mail), I missed out. But that’s all right because I connected with the climb leader, Christy, who is A-MAY-ZING. My husband believes I was able to make a better connection with her as a result of my email snafu, and I have to say it’s been a blessing just getting to know her.

I have to recognize several women in my postpartum journey who have helped me above and beyond their call of duty: in person—my mother-in-law, Chris and my friends Rachael D., Karen W., Christine R., and K.C.; online—A’Driane, Lauren, and the many, many of you who left positive uplifting comments in my blog post, Heaven Can Wait.

Today was a difficult day. I was depressed from the moment I woke up (thank God the baby was with the grandparents overnight) and I could barely get out of bed to brush my teeth and shower. Life just seems so bleak. So many women have echoed in my ears, “It gets better,” and I really hope it does. I’m holding onto the hope of other women.

You turn the radio on
Play your favorite song
And sing out
So loud
~Sarah McLachlan: In Her Shoes~

 

Hanging on by a thread

Still struggling.

Feeling hopeless. Like a disappointment. Like a failure.

Having someone take care of my son part-time feels like a failure on my part. Like I can’t hack this mom thing.

Oh, and I just got my yearly reminder in the mail: I have a frozen embryo on tap. What do I want to do with it?

I want to discard it. Because I can’t imagine that I can be a good mother a second time around. I’m having a hard time being a good mom THIS time around.

But I won’t. My morals (belief in the value of life and all that jazz) won’t let me do that.

Postpartum depression, anxiety, OCD—all of it—has taken a hold of my soul and won’t let go. I have cried several times this week. More times than I’ve cried since the sixth week of my son’s life.

The screechy crying. It’s like the wail of a dying baby. It never ceases to freak me out. I feel like such a horrible mom for strapping him into the car seat while he’s crying and then the high-pitched wail reverberates through the car sending figurative splinters under my nails.

I still have thoughts of suicide but little impulse to act upon it. Right now.

I’m still here.

https://thisjourneyismyown.wordpress.com/selected-lyrics/by-a-thread/

You Are Not Alone. I Am Here With You.

(I think this is the month for Michael Jackson quotations. I mean, after all, he did pass away during the month of June.)

Where do I begin?

If you’re reading this after having recently commented on my last post, Heaven Can Wait, thank you. I always felt alone and as though I didn’t really matter in the world. Then came a storm of warrior moms (I can see why they call y’all warrior moms now!) to my rescue. They encouraged me that things will get better. That this too shall pass. That I am not alone.

The sun is beginning to peek through the overcast sky in my life. I’m feeling worlds better than Tuesday. And even better than when Saturday when I replied to many of your comments.

I am working with a therapist at the Postpartum Stress Center in Rosemont, PA and we have come up with a solution that can make me an even better mom: have someone else care for my son part-time. Whether that means part-time daycare or a part-time nanny, it will allow me the space and opportunity to take of myself while supporting my family. While I was pregnant, my husband and I decided that I should be a “full-time” stay-at-home mom and work part-time (I work at a library 2 to 3 days a week). Now, it’s looking as though I will be a “part-time” stay-at-home mom who also works part-time. Perhaps getting another caregiver to help me with my son is not me being a bad mom; it’s a way for me to keep my sanity, keep myself alive, and keep myself involved in my son’s life.

I have a call in to my psychiatrist to see him sooner than July 29. I had been doing so well…

I don’t know how many warrior moms are reading this, but I can’t say thank you enough to everyone for their encouragement. It means a lot to hear from other women who have been where I am and tell me to keep going.

Also, Postpartum Progress is a major resource that I’ve been able to use (and raise funds for!). I also want to send a shout-out to Lauren H. (@unxpctdblessing) who runs #PPDChat on Twitter. That group of women was there for me before I even got help.

I had hoped to participate in a local Climb Out of the Darkness in my area, but I don’t know if that will happen. In the meantime, here’s a video celebrating many of the warrior moms who have reclaimed their lives against perinatal and postpartum mood disorders.