The Weird Kid
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Today Smudge wouldn't stop screaming. Her particular, pissy screams that are not caused by anything I can fix. She was just mad at me, mad at the world. But she did it in a restaurant, with my mother and sister watching. Just watching, silently, me and Smudge.
Mom said, "The best way to make her mind in public is to make her mind at home."
Oh.
Today I wrote out an escape plan, when I came home, soul-sick, and she wouldn't sleep and Sean snapped at me before leaving for work.
I wrote out that I closed my private account and went to the ocean. And I stayed in a dirty sweet motor inn I stayed at once when I was 17, with mismatched bedspreads and gray salt stained windows. I got graduate school applications from the computer at the library. I didn't care if they were low-residence or commuting distance. I applied in Pennsylvania and Boston and anywhere with cold autums and stone buildings. And I went back to my motel room and prepared for my future and was totally free.
I had a friend who did it, you know. Left her baby and her husband and...now it's art and Geneva and men and fashion and freedom. I have hated her for years, for doing it.
I stopped writing and cried on my bed.
I get so far gone sometimes. I get...blind. I shove reality. I can't bring myself to remember that this is good. This that I have is all good. Love and home and baby. And I'm the only thing in it that messes up. And that no escape short of an overdose would be complete, I'd always be there.
Mom said, "The best way to make her mind in public is to make her mind at home."
Oh.
Today I wrote out an escape plan, when I came home, soul-sick, and she wouldn't sleep and Sean snapped at me before leaving for work.
I wrote out that I closed my private account and went to the ocean. And I stayed in a dirty sweet motor inn I stayed at once when I was 17, with mismatched bedspreads and gray salt stained windows. I got graduate school applications from the computer at the library. I didn't care if they were low-residence or commuting distance. I applied in Pennsylvania and Boston and anywhere with cold autums and stone buildings. And I went back to my motel room and prepared for my future and was totally free.
I had a friend who did it, you know. Left her baby and her husband and...now it's art and Geneva and men and fashion and freedom. I have hated her for years, for doing it.
I stopped writing and cried on my bed.
I get so far gone sometimes. I get...blind. I shove reality. I can't bring myself to remember that this is good. This that I have is all good. Love and home and baby. And I'm the only thing in it that messes up. And that no escape short of an overdose would be complete, I'd always be there.
posted by Imez at 8:55 PM
10 Comments:
I feel your pain so clearly through this post that I want to cry for you, with you. I wish I could hug you and tell you everything will be better. Time will make everything better, and you just have to wallow through this muck that sticks to your ankles and pulls at your feet, and eventually it will get better.
Have you tried to see if there are any support groups with other mothers who feel the same way? How about a yoga class at a local Y that might offer babysitting. Anything to break up the monotony and give your spirits a lift.
That Mind in public, Mind at home comment is bullshit. Babies at that age don't mind. They're little tiny schizos. Especially in public. Or when you're on the phone. Or in the bathroom trying to poop.
Do you have PPD? I did for a little while with both kids, and it was made worse the second time around by my physical isolation from public. Then, when I did try to get out and about and the screaming started? Not good.
Wow. It may be little consolation, but you are one hell of a writer. Hopefully it provides an outlet for you. Keep writing and writing and writing.
My mom told me a few years ago how, when we (4 kids) were little, she'd lie on her bed in our dumpy little house in Winnemucca, Nevada and she'd listen to the train go through town. She'd cry and dream about hopping on that train and just leaving it (us) all behind. I don't know what stopped her from doing it, I really don't. I think it takes so much courage to admit this.
I share that story in hopes that, again, you know you aren't alone.
And again, I encourage you to get on anti-depressants. It sounds like you definitely have PPD. You can get help and it can make all the difference between coping or not.
xo
i wish i could convince you that people who judge other people's parenting based on the public behavior of a two year old SUCK!.
Okay girl...the anti-depressants are a good idea. Also, this, (it doesn't work everytime but it did a lot for me and several of my friends), when Smudge starts to scream in a restaurant, pick her up and take her outside. Walk. Bounce. Go around the block. Change of scenery. Pick up a leaf. Point at the sky. Just a thought. Ideally, your goofy family should pick her up and walk outside with her to give you a break but that doesn't sound like a possibility. Everyone left you good ideas here. We're on your side!!!!!!
I agree with Jill and Mignon. I am becoming the stepmom of a 3 year old and you cannot control a whole lot about their behavior at that age. I am the LAST person in the world to suggest medication b/c I really do think that as a society, we're quick to pop a pill for anything but in this case, I'd look into antidepressants.
I took them for a brief while two years ago - quitting smoking, watching my Dad dying, etc...it was all too much. I tell ya what though, they worked. Within a week I felt better and could lift my chin off of my chest and the weight lifted off of my shoulders. Generic Wellbutrin, I think.
Everyone had great suggestions, and my hat is off to your honesty. I think a LOT more women feel exactly like you do. You're brave, Imez. You know what else? You're gonna make it.
Hey, the most famous blogger in the hemisphere, Dooce, suffered from PPD and got on meds before she left her husband and baby. And now she's famous and making oodles of money talking about it all!
My thoughts are with ya, sistah!
Hey pretty girl, hang on. I understand your fear of the meds, I held off for ever and a day, but my depression lead to anxiety that led to anorexia, that led to more guilt, more shame and anger issues and lashing our and burrowing under and running away.
I still burn. Red Hot. I get more done and I'm less likely to run my car off the road these days. I'm thanking Lexapro.
I think it stops the hamster wheel.
fancy- That is really wonderful practical advice, especially the yoga. Thank you.
mignon- I've been thinking about PPD. You keep inspiring fresh posts in me.
kate- your mom's story is so tangible. I've seen Winemucca, and I can hear that train and everything. Thank you for that story.
meno- I'm convinced they suck, but don't know why I can't shake the shame
jill- I know. It's just A. then the baby is rewarded for her bad behavior and learns screaming gets her out of the high chair, and B. I just wanted to eat my damned salmon SO MUCH. Thanks for the support.
jen- thank you so much. And remember...not brave, exhibitionist. Seriously. I'd be braver if I just shut up and kept marching.
Your mom has no clue, really.
You sure have a lot of people who care about you (count me as one of them). Wish I could do more than read your blog and comment :)
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