Electrical Storm

Today, we have a guest post from my sister, who suffers much like I do from the darkness that is depression and anxiety:

It’s been awhile since my painful feelings and thoughts were this sticky.
The day started out ‘successfully’…my anxiety manageable as I eat breakfast, encourage the kids to put their dishes in the dishwasher, give them permission to play. And I can hear the self-judging thoughts, buzzing around my head like a persistent, unwelcome fly.

‘This house is so dirty.’

‘If I could just get caught up on the laundry, I’d feel better.’

‘My friend _______ didn’t ask me for help- it must mean she doesn’t trust her children in my dirty house. I knew I’d drive her away eventually.’

And a feeling of shame, of inadequacy, of loneliness. So much pain.
It’s an effort to breathe. I consciously take deep breaths, trying to center myself in the present moment, to somehow recapture my sense of self-worth. Past experience has taught me that meaningful action amidst the uncertainties of an unkind brain is lastingly valuable. So I take one more deep breath, noticing the little zing of pain in my chest that accompanies my emotional electrical storm, and start the dishwasher.

Things are easier for a while. The kids play; I love the sound of their laughter. I get dressed for the day (no shower – I’ll do that later, I think). I lay down on the bed and nurse BooBah; I get up to run an errand, snapping at the children for asking to walk there. ‘We don’t have time,’ I bark. What I think is ‘Why do my kids make everything so hard?’ What I feel is not so easy to describe; a wave of nausea and self-loathing at my action, my thought. The dirty pain is a cyclone that obscures the most basic, tender hurt I have trouble finding, even with effort.

We make it through the errand and then back in the car I start to hyperventilate. I can’t handle this – ‘This’ being my children, my life, my thoughts, my feelings. I back the car out of the parking spot, berating the children for their unwillingness to help with chores. I drive back into the spot, put the car in park, breathe deeply. The lightning has expanded – I feel it in my shoulders, my fingers. I back out again and just start driving. I have no plan, except to drive until I’m calm enough to plan. It only takes a few blocks before I decide to take them out to Daddy’s work.

The nursery is busy – it’s a Saturday, after all, and everyone who has been looking and choosing all week is now buying, toting plants out to their car to take home and lower into the earth, hands dirty, soul all clean with touching living things. Or something. I gather my 5 children (I have FIVE CHILDREN!!! What kind of an earth-hating extremist am I?!) and we walk through the lanes of flowers and grasses and fountains. I simultaneously notice my soul lighten a bit to be amongst these undemanding living things, even while my gut tightens with anxiety about my children’s behavior, my worry about the customer’s possible responses to my children’s behavior, my husband’s bosses possible responses to my children’s behavior.

The children are delighted; the big girls have never been here. It is a truly beautiful place. Buddy sees a fountain with a large cement ball on the top and shouts ‘It’s a wrecking ball!’ He’s so excited. He breaks into the Miley Cyrus song, his purse (yes, HIS purse) flapping against his stomach as he dances around. He’s so full of light and life. I curse Miley Cyrus and pop culture and myself. How does my 4-year-old even KNOW that song? Glargh!!!

Later I take the kids to Panda Express (FIVE KIDS by myself!). They are sweet, dancing around the line and smiling at everyone they see. Once the large crush of customers in front of us get their orders we make our selections, in a surprisingly timely fashion. The kids go claim a table while I whip out my Mom’s credit card to pay, grateful that she’s offered us this little break. ‘Can I see your ID?’ I swallow my heart, which has turned to lead. ‘I don’t have it, it’s in the car.’ (Which is true). No one is behind me in line. The cashier kindly says she can wait. I let her know that I’ll go get another card and my ID. I instruct the kids to wait at the table, and get what I need from the car.

As I pay I breathe a little sigh of gratitude that there is still no line. If there are any stares of judgment, they’re at least 20 feet away at a table. Although I suspect that my brain is magnifying this; I know that often the judgment I am seeing in others eyes is merely my own shame reflected back at me.

We eat. The food is amazing – the kids are all enjoying their meals. I chew slowly. I breathe out slowly every time I notice the electrical storm inside starting to buzz again. I brainstorm with the kids – we had planned on buying shoes. I am mortified of the same scenario being repeated after the gauntlet of shoe shopping for littles. We come up with a workable plan. I savor the peaceful moment; point it out to the kids, highlighting how life comes in waves of tough and peaceful. Smarty-pants, Bug says ‘You’re 36 and you’re just figuring that out?’ I give her the fake stink-eye and tell her that I just wanted them to notice it. She says that she hates that life’s that way. I nod my head sympathetically, say ‘I’ve noticed that if you spend too much time freaking out that stuff is hard…’ ‘…you miss the good stuff’ she finishes. Did I mention I have really smart kids?

So much of my perspective on my life, my depression, my parenting, depends on where the scene gets cut. Of course I want to end this on that tiny moment of extreme brightness. I am also willing to be with the electrical storm. I woke from a nap 90 minutes ago, panicked that in my sleep I had given my children permission to ride their bikes to a neighbor’s house around the corner. Lightning bolts were shooting down my spine as I tried to drag my groggy carcass out of bed. Breathe. Breathe, Sarah, breathe. I took BooBah in the stroller to get them. They were having a marvelous time. The storm continued despite their obvious well-being. As I trudged home at tricycle speed I decided I had to share the storm.

Today I lived. All day. On purpose.