A glimpse into the crazy: when the fit hits the shan

Hello world!

It's been a while.  I'm just going to go ahead and warn you right now that this post is going to really divulge some personal stuff, and it may make some people uncomfortable.  No one except my mom and husband have seen me in the state I'm about to describe.  Perhaps your view will change of me if you have never known this side of me.  But I've decided it's too important not to tell.  I know I'm not the only one that has been in this situation or something similar, so here goes:

This past week was my worst yet this winter, emotionally and physically.  My son got a cold, which I then caught and it knocked me on my butt.  I stayed home from work Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.  Now here comes that little part of calling in sick that I talked about in a previous post.  Yes, I had a cold, and yes I felt like crap, but not just because of the cold.  Could I have gone to work? Probably.  But I couldn't even fathom going to work.  All I wanted was to lay on a couch (or in bed), alone, and watch TV.  I often pick TV shows to watch that have people that I live through vicariously in some way.  This week it was Sex in the City.  To be brave enough to leave everything behind, move to New York and then write???  That's my dream job!  And that wardrobe!!!  It doesn't make me feel bad about my life or anything, but it allows me to live another one for a while.

So anyway, I went back to work Friday.  I could handle the thought of one day at work followed by two days off.  The funny thing about my mental illness is that I am very aware of those foggy, tired days where I just don't want to do anything.  I often say "I don't want to exist."  It doesn't mean I want to die, it means I just don't exist in the lives of others and there's no responsibility, no accountability to anyone else.  But the breakdowns..."the crazy"....that I rarely see coming.

It was Saturday night and I hadn't been in a good mood...at all.  I was snarky with Jon and Elijah and really just wanted to be left alone.  But I know it's my responsibility to take care of Elijah with Jon and not just abandon him, so I stayed downstairs.  We had trouble getting him to bed that night, he really just didn't want to go.  In the time between Jon getting home from work and Elijah going to bed, my mood continued to get worse.  I was also allowing myself to be upset by a couple of things on Facebook.  One was seeing a friend go visit another friend.  Normally not a big deal, but that night I was wondering why this friend often cancelled plans with me when she didn't with anyone else. (I'm not saying this was rational thought).  I had also gotten into an argument with someone regarding a post being sent around with pictures of crying children. It's not worth re-telling the argument, but in the mood I was in, it made me feel like the worst mother in the world.

I was almost in tears by the time I got upstairs to snuggle Elijah.  I kept rethinking everything and after only a couple of minutes I told Elijah I needed to go back downstairs.  I went downstairs, read the latest entry in the argument and immediately burst into tears.  I'm not talking quiet tears streaming down my cheeks, I'm talking about body-shaking sobs.  Jon, having no idea ANYTHING was going on (other than my snark) picked up my phone and read the thread on Facebook.  He understood why I was upset, although still didn't really realize HOW upset I was.  He told me to let it go, but I couldn't.  I had to try to resolve this argument. (By the way, the argument was with someone I didn't know.  Turns out it's actually someone I've met a couple of times, but not someone I had regularly talked to)  I no longer remember in what order everything else happened.  Jon was trying to comfort me, but he was afraid I'd upset Elijah and told me to get ahold of myself. Up until now he has never said anything like that when I'm in these states.  So it really struck me when he did.
I started to calm down, but then something else got to me, I'm not even sure what.   But then Jon got angry with me and I completely lost it.  I started hitting myself in the head and Jon got even angrier with me. I literally tried to crawl INTO the couch and was wailing like a child.  At that point Elijah started crying upstairs because he heard Jon get angry and then me crying and he wanted to protect me.  I covered my ears and just screamed into the couch pillows for about 5 minutes.  When I turned around Jon was gone, upstairs with Elijah.  At that point my brain starting running like a hamster in a wheel.  Why wasn't I good enough?  Why did everyone always have someone better than me?  Other than Jon, in all my friendships, why was I never the one people called first?  Why wasn't I enough for anyone? 
I slowly got up from the couch and walked out to the kitchen.  I considered grabbing a knife and cutting (I began cutting when I was 16, but haven't done that in a very long time), and then considered doing even worse.  I stood in the kitchen and stared at the block of knives on top of the fridge.  All that kept going through my head was that I am not enough.
This, friends, is what a person with depression is like at the bottom.  Our brains convince us that we are less than we are, worse than we are, or sometimes nothing at all.  Regardless of what it is, the world either wouldn't miss us, or wouldn't even notice we're gone.  So for all those out there that talk about how selfish suicide is, please try to understand this way of thinking.  Is it rational?  Of course not!  But at the time, it seems so.
What pulled me back from that place, and what often pulls me back, was the visual of what my husband and son would see.  Even in my most irrational mind, I know that if I did something to myself, they would always have that with them.  They would always be able to see that.  And while I may not be enough, they are, and they don't deserve that.  You see, my boys are my heroes. They save me over and over again.

So there it is.  The dirty, ugly truth of a breakdown.  I hate that Jon sees it, but the thought of anyone else ever seeing that terrifies me to the bone.  The shame and embarrassment would be too much to bear.  Even now, I am considering not publishing this one.  But then, if one person feels less alone because of it, than the vulnerability is worth it.

“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.
        –Eleanor Roosevelt