Wow. Can I just say…you guys are so awesome. I am just…overwhelmed by all the supportive comments and emails. I’ve read and re-read them all, alternating between smiling and crying. I’ve gotten many virtual hugs, much love and support, and a couple of phone numbers (expect late night deep breathing). My mind just cannot fathom the possibility that there are so many people out there who care for me. Thank you all so much.
I’ll be okay. I know I will. I’m not saying I don’t need help. I’m just….I’ll be okay.
I’m not feeling very ‘chatty’ tonight; so, rather than reply to each comment and email individually, let me respond to a few of your questions and comments here (by way of a list, ’cause you know I love my lists). Most of these were asked by more than one person, via comment or email:
1. Do you want to talk?
I don’t. I’m sorry. And it’s nothing personal, trust me. As I said, I don’t even want to say the words aloud. My post was really all the “talking” I want to do about it for now, unless I find a counselor or therapist; then I figure I’ll probably have to talk about it.
2. Can you talk to your pastor?
No, I can’t. I tried that once before, years ago, when I was really going through a rough patch. He quoted me a scripture. That’s it. He never offered to sit down and talk with me, nothing. Scriptures are great sources of wisdom, yes, but I needed more at the time.
I did try to call the minister of one of the other local churches today, a man I know well enough to respect, but not so well that it would make it difficult to open up. I was surprised to find he’s no longer there. So, I’m still trying to figure out my options. But the fact that I actually picked up the phone and tried to call feels like progress.
3. There’s no stigma.
Yes, I’m afraid – in this small town – there is. I know, I KNOW, depression is a disease blahblahblah, but many people are ignorant. Do I care what ignorant assholes think of me? No. But I DO have other people to think about. You have to have lived in a small town to understand small town politics. My father-in-law is a Highway Patrolman, my mother-in-law is second-in-command to the Superintendent of the school district, and my husband is a Deputy Sheriff with a big law enforcement career ahead of him. Both my daughters are in public school. And here, everyone knows everyone; and everyone knows how many squares of toilet paper you used in the bathroom yesterday.
So, while I may not give a flying frick what everyone thinks of me, I DO care what they think of my family. As a dear blogging buddy so eloquently put it, “It must be stifling to be in a small town and not be able to seek an impartial ear for your thoughts without alerting the whole damn town that something is amiss.” Yes, that’s it, exactly.
4. How long have you been feeling this way?
My first reaction is…pretty much since Big Boy came along. I’ve just been so overwhelmed in the past year.
But I was thinking about it this afternoon…I remember contemplating suicide in the eighth grade. (My mother found out. Her response? She sat me down and bitched me out for an hour or two, about how inconvenient this was for HER.) And, shortly after Deputy Dad and I married, I remember a period of time – months, maybe? – when I would frequently cry uncontrollably for hours, while he held me and stroked my hair, and I said, “I just can’t understand why you love me” over and over. I may have been going through depression at that point; I don’t know, since those memories are kind of foggy.
UPDATED TO ADD: I can’t believe I didn’t think to mention that I sunk into a deep depression after my miscarriage in January, 2002. I ended up on meds for about three months, and that helped me to get through that dark time. No one except Deputy Dad and myself ever even knew about it. It’s interesting, I think, that this ‘episode’ didn’t even cross my mind when I was writing this post last night. I’m not sure what it means exactly, but it’s interesting nonetheless.
. . .
When I left work this afternoon, I picked up the kids, came home, and played in the floor with Big Boy. I held him and snuggled him, played blocks with him, tickled him just to hear his beautiful giggle, and breathed in his intoxicating baby smell to remind myself of just how blessed I am. The girls played outside for almost an hour without any tattling, a miracle in itself.
I’ll be okay. I will.
I’m sorry I scared you guys. But hey, I scared myself a little – a LOT – this morning. Thank you again for being there for me, for embracing me, for caring about me. Love and hugs to you all.
. . .
Special thanks to Carol for using the phrase “show us your uglies”, which not only made me smile, but made me feel like flashing my bosom at the monitor; to RazDreams for making me smile with her P.S.’s and her P.P.S.’s; to Homestead for giving my blog its new R rating, with her worried and frantic use of the f-word, which also made me smile; and to Susie, sweet Susie, for her helpful, sound, and detailed advice (like she needed one more thing to worry about, poor gal).
Thanks again, everyone. You guys are the best.