Giving as Addiction

My assignment yesterday was to answer a series of questions intended to get at the underlying issues of why we participate in addictive behaviors to distract us from our anxiety. I had a really hard time identifying that I had an addictive behavior or even what my 'addictive' behavior is. As I've stated before I don't see the cognitive distortions I identified as being bad things, but instead as things that serve me and help me control my anxiety.

I think I am beginning to see that I am using all of these cognitive distortions  to keep myself busy to distract myself from my anxiety, rather than addressing the underlying issue that is the anxiety. It's like saying "ohhh your leg is broken, let's put some tape around it, and keep hiking".

I have to be present for myself, to take care of myself first, before I can do anything for anyone else. I've said it before, but I think that maybe I am beginning to actually understand. Somehow I ended up developing 'positive' addictions as distractions, rather than 'negative' addictions like substance abuse or an eating disorder. The point however is that I found a way to distract myself from my anxiety, and I took that distraction to a point that was unsustainable and led to a nervous breakdown.

It's the equivalent of having one glass of wine with dinner every night vs having a whole bottle every night. I found myself 'giving' and engaged in much more one glass of wine every night. It overwhelmed me to the point that my anxiety took over and brought me back down to my knees.

I'm not yet sure how it plays out from here, since I will most definitely remain involved in my community, but I'm going to have to figure out how to do it in a way that is sustainable. One of my most favorite quotes has always been and Rumi / Coleman Barks quote "Let the Beauty we love be what we do, There are a Hundred ways to kneel and kiss the ground." I always took that to mean that I could give to my community in ways that   made me feel good. I guess that I need to think about myself as being 'beauty that I love' in the same way that I love the community work I do.

 And if we decide to to another final FET, I am going to need to limit everything else in my life so that I have the emotional capacity to deal with those emotions.

In any case, here is a list of the questions and my answers from our assignment yesterday.

What do I struggle with?

Keeping busy to distract from and avoid my anxiety.

Saying No with a full and loving heart

What Triggers me?

Having free time - not being busy

Seeing a problem and knowing that I have the skills/expertise to fix the problem.

Being asked to help solve a community problem, knowing i have something to offer.

Vulnerability Factors

• Being asked to help
• Seeing a problem that I can help with

• Forgetting my priorities
• Not communicating with / feeling disconnected from Mr Fox
• Feeling like I have something to contribute

• Commitments that take more time than expected
• Feeling resentful about my work / my colleagues
• Having authority figures tell me what to do. Not having autonomy.
• Lack of Sleep / Being Tired

Feelings During Activity

Before	During	After
Excited Hopeful Helpful Driven	Good Productive Focused Competent	Accomplished Relieved Positive

Pay off from my Activity

Positive	Negative
Contribute to my community Recognized by community People have improved lives My community benefits Hopeful	Overwhelmed Exhausted Relationship Strained Shut down Tense Lack of Time for other things

Coping Skills

Keeping busy to distract from and avoid my anxiety.

Remembering that I have to come first. In order to be present for anyone else I have to take care of myself first. Keep a list of the things that I can do to restore and care for myself.

Just say NO!

Keep a list of my priorities

Delegate to others / Trust that they will figure it out.

....More to come, this program is intense and is giving me A LOT to think about.

Cognitive Distortions -top 5, i mean 7.

My homework this last weekend was to identify the top five cognitive distortions I identify with and write about them. The Distortions that I most identify with are:

Fallacy of Change - Expecting that other people will change to suit you if you just pressure them enough. My hopes for happiness depend on other people agreeing with me.

Fallacy of Fairness - I feel resentful because I think I know what is fair but other people don’t agree with me.

Polarized Thinking / All or Nothing - I tend to see things as being black or white. There is very little room for middle ground. This is usually related to an opinion that I have about being correct or wanting to control other peoples actions. 

Personalization / Mind Reading / Emotional Reasoning - This one is bizarre because I only feel it as a parent. Generally speaking I am confident and could honestly care less what others think of me or my decisions. But as a parent I feel so much judgement from others and I take it so personally. I feel like everyone is watching and judging every interaction I have with my son, judging every decision that I make about my parenting. I find myself avoiding certain families and activities where families appear to have it more  ‘together’. 

Catastrophizing - I often think of a worst case scenario and overrate the likelihood that this will occur. 

The thing is that I don’t see these as bad things. I see them as strategies that protect and serve me well. They help me plan my life. They help me control my anxiety. They help me achieve my goals and get things done and feel emotions that are appropriate for the situation, if necessary.  

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I asked Mr Fox for feedback about what he saw as my top five distorted thinking fallacies. We walked out to the lake beach and watched as my little fox stripped off his clothing to play in the sand and lake. While watching him frolic with such carefree innocence Mr Fox and had a talk about mental illness. We talked about the stigma that comes with mental illness, comparing it to a broken leg. He would have to care for me and take on many of the same responsibilities if I had a major physical injury, but somehow this feels more unfair or more burdensome because it isn’t something that can be seen. 

After much discussion, much of which revolved around whether these are current distortions or ones that I tend to fall within my general personality when I am not having a mental health crisis, Mr Fox identified what he thought were my top three. He initially identified every single one as an example of distorted thinking that he sees active in my current thinking process. After we talked about it, he clarified that he saw these as being specifically relevant to people and relationships. He concluded on a top three as being Fallacy of Change, and the Fallacy of being Right, (which Ihad on my top 5 as well) but he added:

The Control Fallacy  - saying that I see myself as helpless and a victim of fate and for being responsible for the pain and happiness of everyone around me. 

The thing I hated about our conversation is that I know he has been drinking, which activates all of my “Polarized Thinking”. I want to believe that it would be less triggering if I knew that he knew that I knew. This is a tangent that I’m not prepared to delve into just yet. I asked him to be honest with me about his drinking, to tell me when he was drinking, and he has failed to do that. 

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In our discussion, I realized that I needed to add “Should”  to my list of fallacies that I most identify with:

Should - Having a list of expectations of about how other people should act and being angered or frustrated when they break those rules. Having expectations for myself and feeling guilty when I fail to achieve my own expectations.

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There is something about being here, sitting under against the backdrop of a perfectly green tree-line under a uniformly blue sky that allows me to let my guard down, to hear Mr Fox and not get defensive. I’m listening the the geese and watching the ripples of the lake caused by my dog who is playing with a rope attached to the dock. The sun is so bright and feels warm through my clothing. With the exception of a plane every so often, all that exists is the silence. The perfect silence that exists in this place that I feel so perfectly comfortable and calm. 

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Fallacy of Change / Fairness

Just last week I asked for a meeting with my therapist and Mr Fox to talk about changing my treatment plan. I felt that, I still feel that, I know what I need for my healing better than anyone, and that spending all day at the iop treatment center was not conducive to that recovery.  I walked into the meeting with a plan, a proposal. I’d done my homework and verified that what I was presenting was possible. I wanted to reduce my days at the iop treatment center and then later in May spend 10 days here is the woods working on my writing, art, reading, and generally relaxing. I’d checked the dates that the condo was available, cross referenced my school board meeting dates, and confirmed that mom would be able to stay during the week when Mr Fox went home to work. I proposed that upon my return from the mountains I could see my old therapist three days per week and follow a set schedule of a more relaxed recovery at home. 

The meeting didn’t go as I’d planned. I made my proposal and worked hard to justify why it was best for me. I argued my points and tried hard to listen to the concerns that were expressed by my therapist. She laid out her bottom line, saying that it was her recommendation that I continue at 5 day per week but was willing to compromise at 3. She said that 10 days away was out of the question, both for insurance and for my health. I tried hard to make the case that what I needed was to spend my days sleeping in, reading in a hammock, writing from the deck overlooking the lake, and focusing on the simplicity that I had lost. Mr Fox expressed his fears that I would ‘bounce’ back into the.... depression/anxiety/nervous breakdown whatever we want to call it if I wasn’t at the iop treatment center 5 day’s week. He was fearful of me being left alone. I felt angry that I wasn’t being heard, that no one in the room trusted me to know what was best for me. 

I argued that I’d been very clear about my needs every step of the way - even saying to Mr Fox and my mom when things got bad that I needed help, that I was waving the red flag and asking them for help when things got bad. In the same manner, I was voicing my intention to change my treatment plan. 

I really tried hard to hear the concerns that were being expressed. I tried hard to act in ways that were not defensive. But I felt angry and helpless. 

After my therapist gave her bottom line, I deferred to Mr Fox. Everyone said that ultimately the choice was mine about how to proceed. I tried to explain that it is isn’t really. The choices are not mine. Given the reality that I am not able to drive, that I’m not managing our finances, that Mr Fox has already taken significant time off of work, that I have a son who needs his mother present, the reality is that the very real consequences of my choices lead to the conclusion that the choice is not mine. 

Three days a week at the iop treatment center with a clear plan for home therapy on the other two days was the conclusion of the meeting. We would go to the mountains for the weekend, but not for an extended stay. 

I felt resentful and angry. Mr Fox suggested that it would be a waste of time to stay at the iop treatment center if I had decided that it wasn’t helpful, that I’d be ‘checked out’ of treatment and I felt like I had to look to my therapist and the other therapist to confirm that I was, in fact, an active participant in the group therapy, contributing in ways that are relevant and meaningful. 

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Control Fallacy

One of the therapists stated in group recently that my ‘disease’ is helplessness. I feel that this statement is not accurate and honestly take offense to it. Mr Fox identified the “Control Fallacy” which also mentions seeing yourself as helpless. I generally consider myself as a very independent and capable individual, so to be labeled as helpless is confusing. In the past month since my breakdown I have most definitely required and accepted the help of others, and am generally good at asking for help from others when i need it but i’m having a hard time seeing it as a defining characteristic of myself. 

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Should Statements

I definitely identify with the “Should” statements. I have very high expectations for myself and for others. I think that it is part of why i have never been a good employee. I find it difficult to do my job well when my boss or colleagues are not meeting the expectations that (I perceive) exist for their position. I hold myself to very high standards in the work that I do and feel confident that I am highly capable and excel in my responsibilities. I joke about being a bad employee, but the reality is that it is rare to find a job where everyone is as committed as I expect them to be.

The past 6 weeks have been one crazy rollercoaster. It was March 12 that I stopped going to work. This past week has been the first that I didn’t cry everyday and that I feel capable of doing normal things again. I stayed home alone for the first time in months, I reduced my use of benzo’s enough to for the first time (very briefly), I helped with childcare planning, and have taken on more responsibility with little fox. I felt so good that I even offered to help with a small work project. It was a small project but quickly I found myself overwhelmed. I completed the work, but said no when asked to do two more important projects. It was clear to me that I am so far from being able to return to the stress of work. I do feel guilty about leaving so much work to my colleagues during such a stressful time.

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Catastrophic Thinking

There is this looming question of when I will return to work. My colleges miss me and want me be back. I love my work and I want to return to work, but after feeling overwhelmed with such a small project I can’t hep but Catastrophes that I will never be able to return to work, that I’ll end up on long term disability, lose our health insurance, and my ability to provide for our family will be reduced a small disability payment and I won’t be able to contribute in meaningful ways to my community. My current employment is dependent on the June re-election of my boss. If she wins, my job will be waiting for me with any accommodations that I need. I’d been thinking about asking to return from .5fte to full time. If she loses, I will not have a job after December. 

The other looming question is if or when we will try to do another Frozen Embryo Transfer. We have one final genetically normal embryo waiting for us. If we do decide to try again, it means twice weekly blood draws and acupuncture, ultrasound appointments, and a shit ton of hormones that are constantly changing based on the blood and ultrasound results. It also means a week in Denver and ultimately a 65% chance of a live birth 9 months later.

I’ve never worried about finding work. I may not be a good employee but I can find and excel at contract work and/or start up my own gig. BUT everything feels up in the air if I am still recovering from this breakdown, if i am pregnant, and if my job disappears, in June. This could certainly qualify as catastrophic thinking, but in my mind its just planning ahead. I don’t know what formal disability diagnosis i might have but Generalized Anxiety Disorder seems to fit and i’m sure I also have a sleep phase disorder.

The Mountains

We made it to the mountains. I wanted it but didn't believe it would actually happen. But here I am, sitting on the deck, listening to the frogs sing songs of a winter gone by too quickly. Although I suppose it is almost May and might qualify as Spring. On Tuesday I'll celebrate a May day festival at my sons preschool.

I’m grieving the reality that I did not get to go skiing this year. It would have been the first chance I had to get back on my ski’s since getting pregnant with Little Fox. The weekend that we had planned to come up and spend a real day skiing fell apart that Friday when I ended up in the Emergency Dept for a Psych Evaluation. That most definitely was not the plan. Had it not been for Mr Fox who insisted on an outpatient Psych appt, which magically became available, I would have spent that weekend as an inpatient in order to be seen by a psychiatrist. 

My assignment for the weekend is to identify my distorted thinking. It sort of goes with my ingrained sense of stubborn. I look at my life and for as long as I can remember I have had such certainty and confidence in my decisions, in my opinions, in my personal determination.

I’m pretty sure it's why I have been fired or politely asked to leave almost every job I’ve ever had. i do not make for a good employee. i do however kick ass when I am working under my own rules, under my own determination. 

Without even looking at the list of distorted thinking I can say with some confidence that it is those thoughts, at least some of those thoughts, that have led to my success. It's true that I can be a pain in the ass when I am on a mission, when I am convinced of something and convinced that I can convince you. For the most part though, I think they have served me well. Everyone who knows and loves me will tell you that I am incredibly stubborn. 

I personally think that I am pretty easy going and down with whatever the plan is. But when I have an opinion about something, you can bet that I am going to stand my ground. 

What I think I am realizing, again and again, is that my real distortion comes in knowing what I am able to handle, knowing how much of it I can handle, and knowing how to say no with a full and loving heart. 

I’ve not been graceful in my transition to motherhood, nor have I been graceful in my hormone filled attempts to grow my family. I care deeply about my family and my community, and feel like I have so much to offer. As a result I am involved in A LOT of organizations and take on what is apparently too much responsibility. 

The air here is so cold and fresh. I can smell the smoke from our fire, and a sweet scent of the pine trees that are just beyond the deck. I love it here. With nothing to do but simply be. And the soul filled memories of growing up in this magical place.

The other night, after I’d had a really successful public board meeting and convinced my treatment team to reduce my days from 5 to 3, I felt so accomplished. I felt sure that this was the right plan and that I was on the right path. I even got home that afternoon and drove, for the first time in 2 months, just across town to the the enrollment papers for my son to start school. I was feeling so independent. But at the same time i wasn’t. I was overwhelmed and not so sure that I was as far along as i had envisioned myself to be. 

I them attempted to do some work -a small project for work. There are things that i can do that will take 5 minutes but to leave them to someone else it could take them 5 hours. I completed the two tasks that i’d been asked to help with but found myself feeling SO overwhelmed. i couldn’t focus on the work the way I needed to, and it took so much energy to complete such simple tasks. I was asked to do more but I had to say no. As much as I want to be involved, I want to be helpful, I want to be efficient, I wasn’t in a position to do any of it. I had to say no. 

Maybe part of the sweet scent I smell is from the rosemary that I rubbed my hands in earlier today when I had to step out of core group to take a call from my psychiatrist. I interrupted Beans, and felt bad, but had to take the call. I stayed outside for a few extra minutes and braided the strands of rosemary. 

SO here we are. In the Mountains . It's cold outside, too cold to stay on the deck and listen to the song of the frogs. I wish I knew what they were trying to tell me. I feel like there was a time when I knew, when I could find meaning in their collective course, but that time feels so far away from me right now. 

an alternative treatment plan

I called in sick to the outpatient program today. I really just needed a break to catch my breath and be home by myself. I haven't been alone in over two months. It was so needed. It feels great

Tomorrow we meet with my therapist. Mr Fox is coming. I am going to propose a revision to my recovery plan. I don't think that the program I am in is a perfect fit for what I need. The structure is great, but I am in such a different place than everyone else that it is hard to connect. Here is what I am going to propose:

I want to go to the mountains. I want to go stay at the condo I grew up visiting. I want to sit outside in the hammock. Sit on the porch and listen to the birds. Bundle up to watch the milky way at night. I want to get away from everything - the phone, the internet, the tv, all of it. There is essentially nothing to do up there except be. just be. read. listen. rest.

It is a 4 hour drive from where we live so it's not like a simple proposition. Mr Fox and I can go up on a Friday after work drive home Sunday evening. My mom could come up on Sunday afternoon and stay with me through the week, or until we decided we wanted to come home.  Mr Fox and I could go up just for the weekend on Friday 5/6 and drive home Sunday night 5/8. (I have a board meeting on Tuesday 5/10 that I can't miss). We could go up again on Friday 5/13, Mr Fox could drive home on Sunday 5/15 and my mom could come up to spend a few more days that week. In that case, Mr Fox could actually come up the following weekend and we could come home together on Sunday 5/22.

I'd like to do that as soon as possible and again in a few weeks.

In the meantime, I am going to propose that I go to the Outpatient Program either 2 or 3 days / week. On the other days I will:
- sleep in and nap
- do my writing assignments
- work in my garden
- do a youtube workout and/ or walk around the lake
- read my poetry books
- do other appointments like massage, nails, hair, etc
-  write gratitude/birthday/anniversary notes to friends
- Cultivate and listen to music that inspires and rejuvenates me.

I think that this sounds reasonable and responsible. I hope that the others agree.

doodle

Reducing Benzo's

I want my life back. I want to drive again. I want to be present and engaged with my son, and my husband. I want to go back to work. I want these things desperately. Like seriously I want these things back.

I talked to my therapist about this yesterday and yet when she talked about the resulting need to reduce my use of benzodiazepines I panicked. Like snort cry panic cry.

I get it. I understand that these things are in direct conflict with one another. When I say I want to drive, I know that it means I can't take my benzo's. But it scares the living shit out of me to think that I would be giving up the one thing that has gotten me through the past two months. Through the past 3 years really, if you consider that I had a  postpartum klonopin prescription.

In my mind, and in my conversation with my therapist, I had come to a conclusion that I might be able to drive in the morning (ie take little fox to preschool etc) if I didn't use benzo's in the morning. This felt like a step forward, a step towards regaining my independence without giving up the medication if/when I needed it later in the day.

Afternoons and evenings are usually the most difficult, so this felt like a reasonable step in the right direction.

I had a full meltdown, panic attack, at the Psych appt later in the afternoon. Mr Fox says that I was was not hearing what the dr was saying, but all I heard was that he was reducing my prescription and that I couldn't drive if I was taking any benzo's. I had asked about driving in the morning if I reduced my morning benzo, and he was responding to my lead, but the fear took over and I ended up sobbing and frozen - unable to speak, unable to engage, unable to do anything but curl in my seat and hold my head which hurt. Even after the appt was over I was frozen, Mr Fox had to pack up my bag and escort me out. It was horrible and exhausting. I took two valium in the car and cried the whole way hom. I avoided little Fox and went to the shower. It was only then that I felt like I could calm down little.

Speaking of little Fox, I feel terrible that I am harming him by allowing him to see me upset. The other day, when I burst into tears while talking to Mr Fox about something, my sweet little boy came over to me and used his shirt to wipe away my tears. I told him I felt sad, which seemed oversimplified in a way that is probably causing him fear. A while back when I was crying, I told him that it was because I wanted to have a baby in my tummy and that there wasn't one there. I think he needs the concrete understanding of why mommy is sad, but it has become so much more than that and so much harder to explain. I worry that I am fucking up my little boy and feeding into the cycle of anxiety that he is already genetically predisposed to. I feel like a horrible mom when I think about it.

So that conclusion, I guess, from the appointments yesterday, is that I will be reducing my benzo's on a schedule that feels manageable to me. I know its what I want, but holy shit am i scared. terrified really.

GAD

So, I figured out today that I totally have Generalized Anxiety Disorder. No official diagnosis, but based on the handout we got today I've had this for as long as I can remember. It explains SO much.

I'd love to write more, but am exhausted (in part from a major meltdown panic attack at the Psych office this evening) and off to bed for the night.

my dad

My assignment is to write about my dad, my relationship with my dad, my memories of my dad, and how that all might affect my life now. Big assignment, and I've been putting it off all week.

I have the most loving memories of my dad as a child. Early memories were when we had to leave the house so my mom could teach a class. He took me to McDonalds and then we would eat in the car and look up at the stars. He would should me all of the different constellations and he would point out the different planets. Venus was my favorite, apparently, because often when we returned home I told moms class that my dad had take me out to see "penis". After eating and looking a the stars we would go swimming.

My dad always very rational conversations with me. He taught me how to negotiate, a skill which he came to regret because I was so good at using it with him and my mom to get a better deal than what they offered.


My dad was an Army Officer,  which meant we moved often, I think it was 12 times by the time I turned 12. I reflect back on how difficult that must have been on my mom, with three little ones starting over in new communities again and again.  I recall thinking that moving was kind of fun. Empty houses to run around in, new friends to meet, there was always something new and exciting everywhere we lived. I can only believe that my mom was a superhero because I have no memories of boxes in our house, ever. We've move and everything would be put away by the time we arriv
ed at the new house. It was normal.

My dad is a highly functional alcoholic. He achieved great things in his career and was a great father. One year on father's day I wrote that he was the best dad because he didn't travel a lot (like one friends dad), and he never yelled (like another friend's dad did). In my view he was perfect.

I don't have any specific memories of he and my mom, but I have a sense that they were loving and caring towards
each other. I do remember seeing them sneak little kisses, and my dad had a bunch of pictures of my mom when she was younger, beautiful pictures of her at the beach, in miniskirts, and long hair. I never doubted that my dad loved and adored my mom. and I know that my dad will always be my mom's first and only love.


They were a strange pair and I always wondered how they ended up together. My mom was very responsible. She was taking some summer classes, maybe at a Junior College, and walking to school everyday. She could not afford a car and was cleaning bathrooms to afford tuition. My dad has some family support and a car. They story as they tell it is that my dad saw my mom walking up the big hill to class and offered her a ride. Turned out they lived in the same apartment complex, fell in love, and when the Vietnam war ended (meaning that my dad would not get drafted), they married. The
church they married at is just across town from where we live. It is where my grandfather's memorial service was held. It sounded like a simple wedding. My mom sewed her own wedding dress, and they honeymooned right here in the town where my dad grew up.

Back to my relationship with my dad.

My dad had always been there for me. Always available to talk. Always there when I needed him. When he has his heart attack  and bypass surgery I didn't leave his side for a week at the hospital, sleeping at the foot of his bed. He was there for me when I needed him and there no where else I would be. (It was the first week of the final quarter of college and I was crashing half of my requeired 24 units. ). When My dad got to come home, the rules had all changed. Whereas he used to be able to chain smoke in house, he was no longer allowed to smoke inside. And whereas there were no restrictions on his alcohol use, it was now constantly questioned and challenged. The Doctors has told us that they could fix his heart, but unless he changed his life habits it would only last a decade.  My dad retreated to the unattached den, that had been his office, and spent more and more time there, where no one would bother him about drinking nor smoking.

For a long time I was angry at him for choosing these substances knowing that they would hurt him (and knowing that I would do anything to protect him). After some time, I had a revelation that I could either hate him for the choices he made, or love him and hate the choices. He was not his choices, they were different.

A few years after my Mr Fox and I got married, my parents
announced that they would be divorcing. It was shocking, but not necessarily a surprise given the previous 5 years, since my dad's heart attack. What I, or my mom and sisters, was not prepared for was that my dad had decided to move to across the country to Florida, Nor were we prepared for the possibility that he had another family and was reuniting with his possible adulterous partner in Florida. Theses things all remain unclear, mostly because, no one wants to ask the questions, and frankly, I don't want to know the answers.

Most of all, we were not prepared to lose our dad who had been such a source of strength and stability.

My grandpa had passed a year after Mr Fox and I married and I felt like none of this would have been happening if he were still alive.

For a few years, my sisters and I would fly out to florida to visit my dad. It was always a grand adventure, where we spend most of our time at the Crab Shack bar or on 'Rocky's' Boat, drinking until the florida bars shut down at 4am. We spend time on the beach, played in the waves, rode around on the boat and then spent the evening at the Crab Shack where where ate and drank. It was bitter sweet  - to spend time with my dad, yet see that he wasn't doing anything productive and had essentially escaped my moms 'control' of his drinking.

One year we met the mistress. It was strange and she reminded me in some ways of my mom - Making sure that he took his heart medicine and nagging him about how much time he spent at the Crab Shack drinking. My sisters and I were not kind to her.

Another year, after the mistress had gotten upset with my dad because he had apparently started dating another woman from the bar, and asked her to move out, she set his car on fire and stuck the garden hose in the window of his house and turned it on high while he was gone for a weekend. From what we gathered from the phone calls, he returned to a flooded house. There was a period of time around then when I got phone calls from creditors who were looking for him. Those poor creditors got an ear full.

We quit visiting my dad after he didn't come to my sisters wedding. He claimed it was a financial issue, but even when we offered to pay, he didn't come. If I could have given her his walk down the aisle at my wedding I would have done so. I will love my dad forever but I will never forgive him for missing my sisters wedding.  It wasn't fair, it wasn't her fault, and it was never anything we could have ever imagined as little girls envisioning our weddings.

He did come out here a few times - my mom flew him out for little Fox's First Birthday, which was really special.

He also flew out for a big family reunion last year. It will probably be the last time he sees my grandmother.

I actually quit calling him for a time. In fact I can't say that i call him often anymore. We talk a few times a year, when he calls, which is usually near my birthday or a holiday. We talk about politics, which is interesting because we are on polar opposite sides of the issues (but it is my work). We talk about family, the weather, our puppies, stuff like that. I love it when he calls me. I love hearing his voice. I wish he could call more often. I would call him more but he doesn't answer his phone, so its kind of a waste of time and expectation.

So, I'm sure that there is much more to say but this is not what's on my my mind write now and I need to start a new post. I'll share this with my therapist and be back for more soon enough.

Evenings are the Worst

I thought it was just me, but then in group the other day the therapist called 9pm the "witching hour" -  the evening time when all the urges and addictions take over and all of the resolve to withhold from those behaviors somehow disappears.

Dammit.

I thought that i was feeling better, but I'm not. I'm losing my shit.

For example,  this morning I felt so good I thought, I don't need the valium. Next thing I knew I was in hysterics because Mr Fox left and I didn't get to say goodbye to him. I felt like a 5 year old. Ridiculous.

This past weekend we hear from very close friends who had done a successful IVF cycle earlier this winter that there was no heartbeat at their 7 week ultrasound. I can't stop saying FUCK . I am so god damn Fucking sorry, and SO fucking sad that they are on this hell ride of infertility. I was SO excited for her. and now I feel helpless to do anything as she miscarries her baby. FUCK.

I am trying to use my skills. I had been trying to watch TV while cruising face.book and started to feel bad. So I got my sewing stuff out and am working now on a quilt. I even tried some new yoga poses.

How is it s possible to have a good day, and yet still have everything fall apart at night.
I just don't understand what happened or how to make it better.

March 14

I've been out of work since March 14. It was the weekend before that Mrs Grandma Fox (Mr Fox's) mom had visited. It was that following Friday, March 11 that the cramps started, that my post failed FET cycle started, that the passing of clots started. It was that Saturday that I stayed in bed, with the heating pad, and wore the heating pad for comfort.  It was that evening that I called my GP to tell her i was passing clots and having significant cramps. Her response was so normal, so appropriate in some way, that it would be normal to have more cramps and pass clots after a chemical pregnancy, that it was nothing to worry about. But it wasn't what I needed to hear. I needed to hear that she was so sorry, that it was going to to be hard to have physical symptoms that made you think about the emotional symptoms. I needed her to acknowledge the pain and loss that I had and was experiencing. I needed her to not 'blow me off' when I was calling to get ... to get what? ... She is a GP and was going to address the medical issue, but I expected something that would validate me and acknowledge that I was a whole person and that the physical pain could trigger some of the emotional pain that i'd done such a great job of holding together.

A poppy flower just before it blooms.

On Tuesday March 15, we had our re-group with Dr G.  I'd called in sick to work already that week. He was so kind and gentle and explained that we just don't know why these things don't work sometimes For some sad reason we fell into the 5% of pregnancies that start but don't continue. no one knows why, its just thats the way is it. He said that we would add an antihistamine protocol to our next attempts, but otherwise I responded beautifully to the medication and everything else would stay the same. He suggested we take a month break before starting another cycle.

I'm not exactly sure how the rest of the week deteriorated but by Friday my mom and Mr Fox had made an appt to take me to my therapist. I was a mess. Crying about anything, desperately holding onto Mr Fox, I wasn't me. at all. I was lost, far gone. The conclusion at the therapy office was that I needed to see a psychiatrist ASAP, and the only way to do that was to go to the Emergency Dept. So off we went to the ED, where I was met at the door by the L&D director whom I work with professionally. Somehow Mr Fox managed to keep me from being admitted and getting me into an appt that afternoon. So off we went to the Psychiatrist who prescribed me a shit ton of drugs and made a n apt for the following week.

Its all a big fucking blur. I actually felt pretty good today, but writing this, it brings it all back, It makes me feel that hopeless nothingingness. That feeling like they might as well admit me to the Hospital Psych ward because at least I'd be taken care of there. Like maybe they have better medication than I do here at home.

It's late, and this was not my writing assignment. I should just take another xanax and put on a video.

I just want my life back. I just want it all back. It feel so fucking unfair and confusing.