Grip

Over the last few days, I have found myself describing myself to myself as "she's come undone" like the book title.  The fact that I'm describing myself to myself should be a warning sign in and of itself but the fact that I find the term "undone" to be a fitting description of my state of mind these days is not the most encouraging.  I have also viewed myself as:  fried, done, wigged, spent, lost, done, done and then DONE. 

Before I describe all my self-hatred I have been feeling these last few days, I will reassure my readers that I am taking steps to help myself.  Last week, when I thought that I was about to completely lose it, I went and had a 1 1/2 hour massage.  After the lovely massage, I purchased a 6 month membership because I'm not letting my muscles get that out of whack again.  For those in similar situations as me, I will say frankly that we can't afford it really but I've decided it's more cost effective than my being institutionalized, right?  I also have an appointment with a therapist this week to help ME and not just my child. 

So, what's my problem?  It's called coping and, for some reason, the last few days have been difficult for me.  Perhaps it's seeing my 3 year old twins growing up and seeing the difference in their development from that of my older son.  Perhaps it's watching my autistic son do things which break my heart, knowing that those who don't know and love him will not see how special he is.  Perhaps it's the fact that I'm approaching 40 and my hormones are out of whack.  Perhaps it's the fact that I haven't been taking good care of myself.  It could be many things but, regardless, I felt sandbagged this week.  Simply put, my life was more than I could take this week and I found myself on my knees begging for strength, begging to be a more patient parent.  I wished that I didn't appear in public as frazzled as I felt.  I wished that my children would simply behave, be "normal", be quiet, be still, be clean, and so forth.

When I went for my massage last week, I was amazed by how tense I was.  The masseuse showed me how tense I was several times.  Without my knowing, he'd hold parts of me in ways that, if I were calm, I would lie a certain way.  If tense, well, I'd be doing what I did such as not having my shoulders flat on the bed.  My head should have laid back on the bed when he pressed my neck a certain way instead of floating 4 inches above it.  My body was so tense that in an hour and a half, he was unable to give me a full body massage because he spent so long working on the many knots I had.  In the future, I will know I'm making progress when he reaches my toes.

I simply have not been in the right frame of mind lately and I find that to be so discouraging.  I've realized that, in the past, gutting things out during difficult times would help me get through the situations but my son's condition isn't temporary.  I have to adapt to the chronic nature of his autism and the chronic nature of my grief.  I'm not sure how to do that yet but, because I am one stubborn lady, I know I will.  It's just not this week.

So, this week I'll try to be honest with the therapist and not put a brave face on.  I'll try to show her the ugliness, the self doubt, the hatred I often feel toward myself for not being good enough.  I can only hope she's worth the expense and that she'll tell me something I don't already know.  If I can't find the strength to pull myself up just for me alone, all I have to do is look in the eyes of my children.  At one point today, my oldest son's words penetrated my heart deeply after he heard me saying to myself that I was going to explode (due to a stressful moment with all the kids).  He said, "we wouldn't be a family without you, Mom."  Talk about going for the jugular. 

He's right though.  He needs me.  They all need me and I need to get a grip and move on.  I'm working on it.