What Hurting Really Looks Like

   So today's blog is a more serious blog. Vincent and I had a discussion last night that made me decide to post on it. We talked about my break down. This topic is one that is very personal but I think might help others if I share. So I've decided to share.

   So in October of 2013 we were getting ready to move from our house in Grand Prairie. We were packing it up and making the arrangements. At work, it was 4th quarter. I was in busy mode. There was barely enough time to get my work done in an 18 hour day, let alone taking time to cancel the electricity at our old house and start the electricity at our new house. Or call and wait 25 minutes on hold to have our dish moved from our old house to our new house. Or find a new babysitter. The list goes on and on. Slowly it felt like, I was drowning. But the day of the move, I collapsed. Not literally but emotionally. It was too much. My job didn't care that I was moving and insisted that I work while I moved my house. My husband needed help with our 3 children. I was being pulled in every direction.

   The best way to describe my break down is that I stopped caring. I didn't care about cooking food for my family. I didn't care about my job and the expectations that they had for me. I didn't care that I should get out of bed and play with my children. I didn't care that I should go shopping for our family. I didn't care about hanging out with my parents, brother, and sisters. I just didn't care. I would sleep for hours and hours because I didn't want to get up. To me, the kids screaming and yelling were too much and I wasn't a good mom in my mind, so what was the point? It was too much. I would be in the front passenger seat of the car and the kids would literally be screaming for like 10+ minutes and Vincent would get frustrated and say "Aren't you going to do something?" I would just shrug my shoulders. I didn't care. I didn't talk. I didn't joke. My mom and dad had a conversation with me at some point because they thought the very worst. That something in their daughter's marriage was going on. I told them that that wasn't the case, that instead, it was my job and that I was just stressed. My sister asked me several times what was going on with me. It got worse when my family finally reached out to Vincent and told them that they were concerned. I was not myself. I didn't laugh, joke, poke fun. I just sat and stared. There was a point in our marriage where Vincent would ask "Is it a good or bad day?" That would signal how the day would begin. Usually if I slept in, it was a bad day. And the kids knew not to mess with Mommy. If it was a good day, I would play with the kids more. It really got bad. And honestly, I didn't know when or if, it would get better. All I could think at the time was that I hated who I was and I hated what I was doing. It was a struggle day to day. It also didn't help that I was being over-medicated. I had 2 types of medicine for my mood. But in reality, I only needed 1. Granted, I went to see a doctor that was super busy and had no time to figure crap out for 1 patient. But at the same time, I should've figured it out. I was lethargic and dead to emotion. I should've mentioned that to my doctor. But I didn't.

   Rewind to my college years. I went overseas to England to study abroad for a semester. Best time of my life. I was young, in college, no obligations, and an American girl in a foreign country. It was golden. I befriended a girl. Let's call her Samantha, just in case she reads this blog. Samantha had an eating disorder. A group of us figured it out pretty soon. She was eating lettuce with no dressing. She was denying the fact that she was hungry even though she hadn't eaten all day, She would make excuses for not eating. She was tired ALL the time. Her hair would fall out for no reason. Her skin was always dry. She was ALWAYS cold. Her lips were always chapped. I bring this up because of how me and my friends reacted to her. It was not good. We were annoyed. We didn't want to hang out with her. We wanted her to stop and just eat a steak. We didn't understand. We wanted her to drink a beer. We wanted her to be able to go outside without wearing 9 layers. We hated it. We eventually started hating her. I know. It's terrible if you're reading this. You're probably judging. But here's the thing. It's reality. Someone that's going through this..........is annoying. When you have to be the person dealing with it, it's no Lifetime movie. It's real life. They're annoying. They're obnoxious. You don't want to have to deal with it. That's what I remember thinking when I was dealing with it was "Why didn't someone tell me that this wouldn't be all chick-flick movies but instead, I really hate this person??"

   I bring that story up to segue to Vincent's story. During my break down, it was obvious that Vincent was struggling with his sympathy towards me. Of course, he let me sleep all day. But then at times he would yell "Snap out of it" to me. Last night, he told me it was really hard. He basically had to raise 3 kids on his own. He had to do laundry on his own (a first), cook on his own (a first), and tend to all of the children's needs on his own (a first). I basically dumped everything on him all at once. But he did it. Of course, as you can expect, he wasn't happy about it. Here he was with a wife that was helping him 50/50 but then was not helping at all. That's tough. Also when you don't understand what it feels like to hurt, you don't understand at all. As he said last night, "I thought you were weak", "I thought you just needed a reality check", "I thought you were being selfish" - all things that I thought of my friend Samantha. But the thing is, it's just not true. It's tough being the one in pain. It really is. But it's also tough being the one that deals with the one in pain. Both sides are awful. Vincent deserves a lot of credit for dealing with what he had to deal with. He said it was the loneliest he's ever been cause he would sit on the couch and watch TV with me but it was like I wasn't there. I wouldn't talk or make jokes or snide remarks. Nothing. Just a mannequin that was just there. What is the point of being married??

  So for anyone going through this right now, I'm sorry. It's rough. I don't know what to say except that. Medicine and therapy worked for me but it doesn't work for everyone. But just know that I relate to both sides. Neither one is a position of envy. Both are an awful place to be. But hopefully, like me, you get through it.