i need help...

did mom just kick us out?

do we ever get to go back? 

these are not the words i want my kids to think, but these are the questions they asked each other just the other night.

i should back up a few months to tell y'all how this started.  

this picture was taken a few days before i kicked my kids out of my house.  i'm the one in the middle.  this is how most people know me; a happy, smiling, engaged and dedicated mother, friend, sibling and daughter.  i hold a full time job.  i'm your typical soccer mom.  i have wonderful supportive friends and family.  although i'm a single mom raising two teens, in general my life is pretty awesome.

the past three months i've been living in my own private escalating misery.

three months ago i went to my lady doctor because things in my body were changing.  lucky me, i've started "the change" at 42.  after some diagnostic tests to make sure there wasn't any other reason for my symptoms and some discussion about options, we decided to try a mild birth control pill to balance my body.  the good news is that the birth control pill relieved all of my symptoms; the bad news i do not tolerate synthetic hormones.

twelve days in, i had my very first panic attack.  it was mother's day, i was at my dad's house with family.  i could feel something happening, but having never experienced a panic attack before i wasn't sure what was happening.  my chest was tight, i was pacing all over my dad's house, i was opening and closing my hands into a fist repeatedly, an overwhelming sensation of distress was washing over me.  the waterworks started, i started hyperventilating and the only solution that made sense to me was to leave.  so i grabbed my keys, walked out of my dad's house and left.  i didn't say goodbye to anyone including my children, i just left and drove away.  when i finally stopped driving i text my dad to tell him where i was and asked him to bring my children home.  

i emailed my doctor the next day to explain what happened.  i was told my panic attack was not a normal reaction to the medicine.  the doctor asked that i continue taking the medicine and let my body adjust with the hope that things will level out.  this made sense to me; i've introduced something new to my body.  i should clarify that i rarely take anything; i've never smoked anything, i'm not a regular drinker, i rarely drink soda, i don't take pain relievers unless i'm really in pain.  so the concept of introducing a foreign chemical into my body, having an adverse reaction to it and giving my body time to adjust made perfect sense.  so i continued taking it. 

for the most part i was functioning just fine.  came to work everyday and was productive, kept up with my housework and daily duties of being a mother, kept in contact with my friends and family, and actively participating in my relationship with my boyfriend.  what nobody realized, except for my kids, was that i was falling apart almost daily.  i did the things i knew to do when i'm feeling overwhelmed: engage in activities that are just for me, write lists about things that are going well, change my focus to the positive, indulge in treats that i don't usually partake in.  unfortunately none of these things were working and my emotions were starting to spin out of control.

i started making irrational emotionally charged decisions, i was crying, the ugly sobbing cry, almost daily in my bed at night, i was feeling edgy and irritable daily, i wasn't sleeping well, and every little thing was setting me off.  i would flip out on my kids and yell at them for the most ridiculous things. i broke up with my boyfriend out of the blue, demanding my stuff back, showing up at his work and leaving his things.  i miss him, it wasn't at all what i wanted, but that is where we are at.  i yelled at an employee in my building.  i am not a confrontational person in general, but i flew off the handle at him over the HVAC system.  it was very unprofessional and again completely irrational, but i couldn't control myself.  in that moment i felt totally justified. 

i thought my daughter had gone missing when i couldn't a hold of her at work.  so i drove in a panic to her work; sobbing, gasping for air, calling her repeatedly and of course imagining the worst.  i got there and she was still working, just working later than usual.  i waited in the parking lot for her sobbing.  she looked at me like i had lost my mind and to be honest that is exactly how i felt.  i didn't know what i was going to do if her car was there in an empty parking and she wasn't. who was i going to call?  where was i going to start to looking?  the idea terrified me to the core.

which brings me to the beginning of this post.  nothing major happened with my kids, but i was agitated, angry and extremely emotional.  i tried to express myself rationally, but i was ramping up, i could feel the emotions building and yet i couldn't control it.  i yelled at them to get out of my house, slammed the door in their faces and locked it.  i walked to my room sobbing, sat on my bed rocking back and forth, hyperventilating and muttering "i need help. i need help. i need help."  what had i just done?  i didn't want them to leave, in fact i absolutely hate it when they are gone, i simply couldn't deal.

i felt like i was losing my mind.  i couldn't see solutions to the problems that i was facing without an explosion. i was feeling so distraught by the end of the day i would cry myself into a fitful sleep, only to wake up the next day already feeling anxious and edgy.  with all the recent media attention regarding suicides, there seems to be a common phrase "just ask for help."  in theory this does seem like a really easy thing to do, yet it is a remarkably difficult.  i didn't want anyone, not even my closest of friends or family to see me in that state, but i also didn't want to continue feeling like i was completely alone.  all i really wanted was for someone to scoop me up, hold me and tell me it was going to be okay.  the problem is that i was so ashamed i had isolated myself, so nobody knew i was struggling.

i've stopped taking the medicine.  my symptoms are quickly coming back, which i will gladly take.  i'm still ridiculously emotional, crying daily but the level of constant anxiety is starting to ease. i'm sleeping a little better, but not soundly.  shame is a powerful emotion, i'm still upset with how i've handled myself and the decisions i've made.  i treated people i love poorly and unfairly.  all i can do is say i'm sorry and pray for forgiveness.