Going crazy in an organized fashion.
Last week, Matt went out of town to Vegas for the aforementioned free vacation courtesy of his company. During that time, I held it together, for the most part. I only sent out two desperate emails. (Thanks, by the way BG.) And the only reason I was desperate was because I ruined a disc that had Luca’s first few days on it.
Now, if you’ve been following this blog long enough, you’ll remember that I had horrible postpartum depression after having him. The only reason I chose that moment to finalize the disc was because I wanted so badly to try to remember anything about that time. Because, even now, those moments escape me. As awful as this sounds, I would have much rather had it been a video of Claire. I remember everything about that girl as a baby. I bet you I could chronicle every single poop diaper I changed. Even looking at photos of him now, I still have to remind myself what happened that day, or month even.
I finally broke down and emailed an old friend of mine from high school. He graduated three years ahead of me and was probably one of my best friends when I was in 8th grade. He played snare drum in marching band and I played the cymbals. We, along with the rest of the snare drum players, got in a lot of trouble together. Good times.
Anywho, he was always super smart when it came to computers. He even went to ITT Tech. I figured, if he could offer any advice, I’d be forever grateful. He quickly wrote back, gave me some programs to try, and when those didn’t work due to an error that he said, “Yah, that’s bad,” he gave me his work address to send it off to him to see if he could fix it.
Today, my memories of Luca went off in a padded envelope to New Bethlehem in hopes to get them back.
Even if he’s unable to fix it, I’m so amazed that he’d be willing to help. It has been years since I’ve seen him, let alone talk to him, so I’m grateful. I can’t even remember why we stopped being friends. Probably because he graduated and such. Times change. We all move on. Whatever. Point is, he’s still the same, good hearted person.
I often sit and wonder how much different I am from 16 years old. Or 10 years old. Or 3 years old. There are times when Claire or Luca will do something that will spark a memory from when I was little. They do the kindest, sweetest things, and I hope that never changes. I know I may have gotten older and situations have changed, but I’m willing to bet I’m still the same kind little girl I was at 5.
This made me think about the PPD and how I’ve changed. When I was actively suffering with it, I wasn’t me. I wasn’t the same person I usually am. So when I started to worry that my simple freak out was actually PPD starting, I realized that my worrying was actually making it worse. I feel as if people are watching me as if I’m a ticking time bomb. That it’s just a matter of time until I go crazy again. And then I think that if I do in fact, go crazy again, that I’ll be a failure. I don’t have those feelings I had with Luca. At least not yet.
But this time, I’m prepared. I have documented the shit out of Mae. I have made videos of the little things that I so missed with Luca. And I video the other two, as well, because I don’t remember much about Claire from that time, either. And even if I do get PPD again, I’ll still remember to at least make a 30 second video of the kids because even if I don’t want to, I will thank myself once the fog is lifted.
Matt and I have an understanding. If he notices that I’m starting the decline, he’s just making an appointment with my doctor. No need for the confrontation, because we all know that would go over; I’d get defensive and blame it all on him. And my doctor always checks on me when I bring Mae for her check ups.
So far, so good. So far I’m not crazy. And if I do end up that way, I’ve got a plan so that I can just be crazy until the meds kick in. Sometimes shit happens. I have to be prepared for it.
In the meantime, I’m still going to the gym as usual. I haven’t changed my schedule or ways in anticipation for what may or may not come. And as shallow as this sounds, I keep running so that I can have the body I had after the Army. I know it’s healthy and all that junk, but mainly, I just want to be hot again. I want to have the body I deserve because after all I’ve been through, dammit, I deserve it. And I work really hard for it. And if I end up having that fun chemical imbalance again, I’m going to fight like hell to be normal again. At the gym.
Some people go to the spa, some people go to the bar. Some people hang out with friends and some people go to football games. As Jillian Michaels says, “It’s you-time, baby,” and that’s why I work out. It’s my therapy. It’s my pedicure. It’s my martini. And when I have work outs like I had today where I pushed myself to do just one more 3 minute segment on a 5.5 incline, that’s my long soak in the tub.
I’m pretty sure I’m already crazy, just not PPD crazy. So if I cross over that very thin line, at least I’ll do it in a sexy, well toned, organized fashion.
And at least I didn’t break Luca. While I wasn’t myself or the way I should have been, I didn’t break him.