Feeling numb feels good

Sometimes I just don’t want to feel. I don’t want to feel good. I don’t want to feel bad. I just want to be numb. There’s always so much going on in my head that causes so many different emotions all at the same time. I just don’t want to deal. I just want to be.

Over the course of the last 5 years, my depression has progressively gotten worse. It has totally changed my life. I’ve been unable to keep a job for longer than a maximum of 6 months. I’ve been through 6 jobs. I’ve been in the mental hospital 3 times for a total of 18 days. I’ve been out of work probably longer than I’ve worked. I owe about $30,000 to credit card companies and $5,000 to hospitals. I just can’t seem to get my stuff together.

I’m a 333-year-old mother of 3, wife of almost 14 years, and I can’t get myself straightened out to live life.

People ask what I have to be depressed about. I have 3 wonderful, healthy children. A supportive husband. A totally awesome family and support system. I have a bachelor’s degree in nursing; I can work anywhere.

Well, you know what? That just makes it even worse. I know I have all the wonderful things going on. I know how wonderful my life should be. I know how great it looks from the outside, but I wouldn’t wish my life on my worst enemy.

The daily internal torture that I feel. The realization that I’m 33 years old and can’t get my life together hurts me daily. The fact that I’ve put my family in the situation where who knows how the bills are going to get paid or how we’re going to eat kills me.

Then, your great husband tries to tell you that it’s not just your fault that the family is in this situation. I’m just not buying that one. No. I didn’t ask to be this way, but in the end, this is me. I’m the one with a sickness that I can’t get a control of. I’m the one that has been through so many jobs that nobody wants to hire me. I’m the one that ran out credit cards up. It is my fault. I’m the one that has to pay $400 a month for crappy insurance, and then turn around and pay $300 a month for just one of my medications to make me functionable. Can’t you see? This is all my fault!

My girls have worked so hard playing softball. They eat, sleep, and live softball. We’ve reached a point that we can’t afford that anymore. It’s my fault that my girls’ passion is fixing to be taken away from them.

I totally get why there are so many mentally ill people that are homeless.

It’s hard to get out of bed most days. How am I suppose to hold a job down from my bed? No job equals no money. No money equals no mental help, no medications, no food, no home. All this negativity makes the depression even worse. It’s a vicious, never ending cycle. It’s a roller coaster that won’t stop no matter how much you want it to. It’s that nightmare that you can’t wake yourself from, but it’s not a nightmare. This is my life and so many other’s life.

I know that I can’t possibly be the only person out there going through this. I guess I want you to know that you’re not alone. I know how you’re hurting. I know how you feel. I get why you just want to not feel anything, good or bad. I understand. You’re not alone!


The best description of depression.

How do you describe depression?

Sadness, anxious, crying, seclusion, craziness?

It’s hard to describe depression to someone that doesn’t have it. It’s just something that you cannot fully understand if you do not have it. It’s indescribable, but between 2 depressed people, it’s fully understood.

Things people with depression immediately understand:

  • Feeling like you’re dying an excruciatingly LONG death.
  • You’re in a continuous war that has no end.
  • You’re a burden to your friends, family, and everyone.
  • You would be doing your friends, family, and everyone a service if you weren’t alive anymore.
  • Wanting to stay in bed all day, every day
  • It’s too much trouble to eat, brush your teeth, shower.
  • Not being able to sleep, but sleeping too much.
  • Being tired of being tired
  • Just not caring at all about anything
  • Not knowing the person in the mirror

For someone without depression, it’s just hard to imagine these things. Why would someone not shower? That’s disgusting! Why do you feel like a burden to your friends and family? They’re there to help you. How in the world can you stay in bed ALL day after day?

So you do not have depression, but you’re saying you get these things. You’re thinking ‘I could stay in bed all day after having a really bad week at work’. You’re thinking ‘I’m not asking my family to help me pay my house note’. You’re thinking ‘Sometimes I get tired of being tired’. These feelings are normal. You know what? You’re totally right. These feelings are totally normal.

What isn’t totally normal though is having these feelings day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year.

Depression is the hardest thing that I’ve ever had to face in my life. I fell out of a moving vehicle and had to have gravel scrubbed out of my skin. I have buried my best friend at the age of 19. I gave birth to my children naturally. Nothing compares to living with depression. This is a chronic disease. There’s no cure for it. Medicine and therapy only help to a degree. It’s like an autoimmune disorder. My heart and brain are fighting each other. My heart tells me that I’m not a good enough mother/wife, I’ll never reach my goals, and I’m causing so many problems for my family. My brain tells me that I’m a great mother to my children and an awesome wife, that one day I’ll be able to get a new car and have a nice house, and that my family is here to help me through this. It’s a daily battle as to which organ wins.

This daily battle is why people with depression just want to feel numb, feel nothing at all; this is why people with depression want to just not think, just don’t care. This is why people commit suicide. This continuous, daily, never-ending battle going on inside of them. The heart killing the brain, and the brain killing the heart.

What is depression?

It’s… it’s… it’s… it just is.

Will Work for Food

Oh my gosh! I am in a profession where there are a million job openings. I have applied for dozens upon dozens of them. I still can’t get a job.

I applied for a job at a local sports store. I can’t even get an interview there!!!

What is wrong with this picture?

I went to college and got a bachelor’s in nursing. Why can I not get a job?

Money ran out a LONG time ago. The whole teacher’s salary doesn’t cover all 5 of us.

It’s so frustrating.

I’m so frustrated.

Sleep, where are you?

This whole insomnia thing is really affecting my life. I screwed up big today! Ronny went to work early, so it was my responsibility to get the kids up, ready for school, and dropped off.

I woke up at 11:00 a.m. All 3 kids were sitting on the couch watching TV. I asked them why they didn’t wake me up, and all 3 said, “Because you were asleep.” Come to find out they had only been awake since 10:30 a.m.

I didn’t take the kids to school today. They would’ve had to get ready, and I would’ve had to feed them lunch because it was that time of the day for them. It would’ve been like noon by the time I got them there; that only leaves 3 hours left in the school day.

I had to make the dreaded text message to Ronny. “I’m so so sorry! I totally screwed up this morning. I turned my alarm off and didn’t wake up until 11.”

No response! He still hasn’t said anything to me about it. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

The problem I’m having is I sleep so much better in the daylight hours. If I’m able to sleep from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., I feel good. I function so much better at night. I am actually awake at 6:30 in the morning when I have to get the kids up, ready for school, and dropped off.  The issue I have with this schedule is it’s not conducive on the weekends or anytime the kids are home.

I do not do good having to transition from night schedule to day schedule, which I have to for my family.

I wish everyone functioned on a night schedule. It’d make my life easier! 🙂


Someone better do something with these kids!!!

I feel like this post needs some sort of disclaimer. It’s not an easy post to write. It’s not an easy post to read. I know that some will judge me, but I’m only human with a mental illness that I am getting treatment for.

Today I want to talk about mothers that have abused or killed their children.

There is actually a name for parents that kill their children; it’s called filicide. Who knew? This is considered one of the most upsetting crimes. People get even more upset when it’s the mother that kills her child. We as mothers are supposed to have special bonds with our children. We are supposed to love them like nobody else can love them. Filicides are considered monsters. I researched filicide. There are tons of different categories: altruistic (out of love), acutely psychotic (no comprehensible motive), unwanted child, child maltreatment (“battered child syndrome”), and spouse revenge (done to make their spouse suffer).  No matter what category you put it in, it boils down to a mental issue.

Society is so quick to judge these people. They say, “She’s crazy!” or they may say, “She was an awful mother!” I was once one of these judges. Now I consider myself one of the crazy, awful mothers. Let me explain.

I can remember a time when Bethany was just a few weeks old. I am a person that NEEDS lots of sleep; you know with a newborn you don’t get that. I was exhausted! She was crying; I was crying. I just felt like I couldn’t make her happy. I remember yelling at her. I started off yelling, “Shut up!” It quickly progressed to me yelling curse words at my newborn. If I recall correctly, I was even shaking her at one point.

Another time when Bethany was about 4 months old, I was laying down with her trying to take a nap. Well, Bethany did not want to take a nap. I fought her and fought her for over an hour. I was balling my eyes out. I finally called Ronny and told him to come get this child before something bad happened. Luckily, he was able to do come right then.

I’m sure that there were times with the other 2 kids, but I just can’t pull any up right now.

Over the years, I have directed all kinds of ugly words toward my children. I have gotten so annoyed and fed up with them that I started “spanking” them. It wasn’t a spanking though; it was a beating. I have thought about really hurting them, sometimes even to the point of killing them.

I love my kids with everything inside of me, but there have been times that my depression has gotten the worst of me and made me feel this way or think these awful things. I’m not crazy. I’m not a bad mother. I have a mental illness. I am getting treatment for it, and I fight everyday to keep it under control.

I write all this to let all those mothers that are on the brink of that breakdown know that you are not alone. I have been in your shoes. I have felt the things that you are feeling. I have had the thoughts that you are having. I have done some really bad things to my children. YOU ARE NOT ALONE! You are not crazy! You are not a bad mother! You just need help. The one thing that I have learned (and am still working on) is “You cannot take care of others, if you cannot take care of yourself!”

If you are having thoughts of harming yourself or your children, please call 911 immediately! Reach out and get the help that you need.

First time in “crazy jail”

In January of 2015 I hit my all time low. I could not function. I cried all the time over anything and everything. I didn’t answer my cell phone. I locked myself in my room and stayed in bed all day. I pushed people away. All I wanted to do was lay in my bed and waste away. I wanted to die.

This behavior landed me my first time in “crazy jail.” (My son calls it that because you’re behind locked doors and because it’s for mentally ill people, crazy people.) I knew I needed help, but I did not think that I need inpatient hospitalization. I called over to Brentwood in Shreveport just to hear them tell me that I did not need to come in; that’s not what happened though. I called the admission line, spoke to some lady for a little bit, and she told me that I needed to check myself in and get some help. That evening I checked myself in. I felt ridiculous doing it because i wasn’t “crazy.” I was just feeling really really sad. I went through the admission process. All my belongings were searched through. All strings were removed from my clothing. My room had a video camera in it to watch my every move. I was behind one locked door after another.

It came time for me to let Ronny go. I’ve never experienced something so painful. The person that I loved most in this world had to leave me; I was going to be by myself. I had to deal with this on my own. There wasn’t someone I knew or felt comfortable with by my side.

I remember walking into the women’s unit, and everyone looked at me. Some came up asking why I was there. My reply was simply, “Depression.” They wanted to know what else was I there for. I simply said, “Depression.” The other women were there for reasons such as methadone addiction, newly diagnosed bipolar, pregnancy and had to come off bipolar medication, or other reasons that seemed so much more severe than my depression.

I very quickly grew close to the women that were there with me. They were some amazing women. They’d been through so much already. I quickly realized that I was not alone. We dealt with our issues together. They were fun, encouraging, helpful, and even though we each had a different diagnosis, we were there together; we weren’t alone.

We had several groups throughout the day in which we talked about coping mechanisms, triggers, and lots more. We had art therapy where we drew ourselves as two trees; one of mine being dark and dying, and the other bright green leaves that was producing fruit. We had gym time where we were required to walk around to get a little exercise. Most of all, we had a lot of time to sit around and think.

You ask, “Did it help you?” I don’t know how to answer that though. It took me out of my reality and gave me a chance to rest. It kept me safe from myself. It got me through my crisis.

It was definitely different for me. I had never been that long without seeing my children. I had never been that long away from Ronny.

I remember one of the women that had been there multiple times saying, “Make sure you eat. Take your medicines. Don’t argue with anyone. Just agree. That’s how you’re going to get out of this place faster.” I swore to myself that I was going to learn all that I could to keep from having to ever be admitted to a mental hospital again.

That was my FIRST stay.

Who? What? Where? Do what?

As I sit here at 4 am in a hospital room with Bethany and ronny asleep, I enjoy the peace that I have after the whirlwind of a day I had yesterday. It all started on Thursday when Bethany was complaining of her ear hurting. She actually had the school nurse call me about it. I said told the nurse to send her back to class and I’d arrange for her to see her pediatrician. Friday morning she woke up complaining of her left ear hurting. I took her to see the doctor at 10 that morning. We confirmed what I anticipated, a double ear infection. This is where our world changes. He starts asking about her losing weight. I explained to him that I had been concerned about that for several months. He goes on asking questions. Does she drink a lot? Does she go to the bathroom a lot? Does she say she’s hungry all the time? Yes. Yes. Yes. He said “She might be diabetic.” He checked her urine and sure enough it was full of glucose and ketones. He decided I needed to bring her children’s hospital in Dallas to have her seen and treated. 


What happened to the ear infections? 

We got to the children’s ER how? 

My mind is going in a million different directions and still at the same time my only concern was, is my child ok? My child that was out on the softball field tearing it up the night before. My child that was complaining that her batting coach yelled at her the night before. My child that was JUST complaining about her ears. 

We (Bethany, Ronny, and I) headed towards Dallas. Beth slept most of the way here. Ronny drove and squared home life away. I sat there still not knowing exactly what kind of state my child really was in. I’m a nurse. I know how bad she could be. She looked ok to me, but heck I never suspected her to have diabetes in the first place. All the signs pointed that direction though. Why did I not put 2 and 2 together to get 4 myself? Why did it take someone else to open my eyes and make me realize it equals 4? 

We arrived at Children’s ER about 5 o’clock. We were shuffled from one waiting room to the next until we finally were taken to room 1 of the ER. Her blood sugar was in the 300s. Praise the Lord; her blood showed its PH was normal, so she wasn’t in diabetic ketoacidosis. They drew blood for every kind of lab that could possibly be done. Everyone explained everything so well. (I never told my little secret; I’m a nurse.) She received some IV fluids. Her sugar started coming down. Her ketones started coming down. She received some insulin, but still no word from a doctor that she was or wasn’t diabetic. The nurse came in and told us that she had a room for us. I took that as an undiagnosed diagnosis of Type 1 diabetes. 

Bethany is complaining that she’s bored; she’s hungry; she wants to go home. She thinks she’s fine and we can take care of this “diabetes” stuff at home. She has ball to play, which is another of her frustrations; she doesn’t get to play with her team this weekend. She doesn’t grasp how we got here either. 

We got into a room on the endocrinology floor about 8 o’clock. Two doctors came in shortly after that. They were very impressed with our pediatrician catching this. They said normally they don’t get newly diagnosed diabetic patients until they’ve reached that diabetic ketoacidosis state, and they’re in an emergency. The diagnosis of diabetes still doesn’t seem real even after they walk out. They still have not said “Bethany is a diabetic.” I guess in my mind that is the diagnosis. The explaining what type 1 diabetes is, the fact that we’re admitted to the hospital, or that we’re fixing to go through tons of training on diabetes is a sufficient diagnosis for me. At this point, I need to hear it. I need the doctors to say, Bethany has developed type 1 diabetes.” Otherwise, it’s not real. 

Fast forward 8 hours to where I am now. She’s been poked every 2 hours to check her sugar, and then to receive insulin along with it. Her sugar and ketones are coming down still. Praise the Lord! 

She’s been asking a few questions about diabetes, but she doesn’t realize the change that’s occurring. And I think, maybe that’s a good thing. I think it takes away some of the fear because she doesn’t know what to expect. She’s been a trooper. She’s endured all the pokes without a tear shed. She’s so happy go lucky. She makes me so proud. I wish I could be like her. I wish I wasn’t scared. I wish I could be poked every time instead of her. I wish I was strong like her. And then I think; where do you think she gets it from? Where did she learn to be brace like this? To endure adversity like this? Me. She learned it from me. She’s seen me suffering and has learned to keep going on, to keep fighting. Thank you Lord for this reminder!