mommy's little helper

Does everything truly look better in the morning, or did you just remember your anti-depressant for the first time in a week?

I’d peg last night as one of my lowest thus far in this solo-parenting/widowhood/grief journey. And it’s not that anything grandiose happened. I was just so… done.

There was my first Thanksgiving without Pete, a holiday that was one of his absolute favorites, where he did literally all the cooking and prep and cleanup for because he was just that jazzed to be doing it all. Then his mother’s funeral, another event where I feel so jagged, like I’m just a shard that keeps reopening everyone’s grief wounds all the time. Another event filled with tears on shoulders and pitying glances and just… heavy-ass grief (though, to be honest, I love all of my in-laws dearly and we actually had a wonderful time together over those few days all things considered). Then, we came home and promptly got the flu. Axl and I, at least. The baby is still questionable, currently hanging at a runny nose and an occasional cough.

But last night? My 4th consecutive day (wow, feels like a lifetime longer) being trapped in one room with my kids, while my 5 year old was consistently running a high fever and unable to get out of bed, while I could hardly stand up from lightheadedness and still needed to somehow care for both kids? After 11 f*cking months of having to do this all on my own day after day after day??? And the baby refused to nap all day, and then woke up an hour after I put him to bed for the night and then refused to go back down for 3 hours?! 

I was DONE.

I actually laid on the kitchen floor and cried for a minute, like I was in a very depressing movie. I had massage homework to do, I’m weeks behind in emails at work, I was running low on Tylenol for Axl and it was day 4 at hovering at 103* temperatures. I’m moving into my house soon after what has been a very emotionally tumultuous and stressful process (that will likely remain stressful for quite awhile as I figure my shit out). I have about a week to pack up my whole apartment and move out of here, because this property sold too and closes in just a few weeks. EVERYONE needs something from me at all times.

I don’t often feel like giving up but I did last night. The thing is… what does that even mean? I can’t give up. This is my life. And shit is hard, and shit is really unfair sometimes, and no, I did not sign up to be up all night caring for sick kids alone and moving into a house that my husband has never seen or been in, and I hate that everything I own is in disarray with no sense or order. I hate that my husband died. And you know what? Feeling all those things is okay. I am allowed to hate it. I’m allowed to kick and scream about it like a toddler if I want. I’m allowed to cry about it. I’m allowed to have breakdowns on my kitchen floor after being home for a week with my kids and the flu. The only thing I’m NOT allowed to do is give up.

And while I was laying on the floor wishing for the sweet release of death, I realized something. To my left was my pile of luggage, still packed up from our trip to PA for Barb’s funeral. In the pile was my bag of toiletries. And while blankly staring at it, it occurred to me that my medication was in there. Like, STILL in there. After a week. Meaning… I had not remembered to take my antidepressant in almost a week. You’re not supposed to cold-turkey stop an SSRI- if you do, really weird stuff happens. It certainly didn’t give me the flu, but it probably had given me the weird brain-zappy sensations I’d been having and also may have been the reason I could do nothing but lay on the floor and wish things were different. I know medication isn’t for everyone, but my tiny blue low-level Zoloft is I think what helps me hold my shit together. At this point, I needed it most and I’d left it packed in my bag for a week. 

I immediately flew off the floor, with a speed that I haven’t seen my body reach all week, and downed one of the pills. It was like finally taking a deep breath. I know it was probably psychosomatic, but I awoke the next morning feeling like a new woman. We’re all still sick, and we’re still trapped in this apartment, and my responsibilities are still stacking up around me… but that all feels… fine… today. Yesterday and all week, it was making me want to off myself. Sometimes you just need the glimmer of hope that things are going to be different soon, and I think that’s what that tiny little blue pill gives me every day. Mommy’s little helper, indeed.