Conservatorship

Today, a court decided that it would be in Pierce’s best interest to grant Tim and I conservatorship. This means that from this day forward, we are responsible for making any and all decisions regarding his welfare. It doesn’t really change our current way of life. Pierce has been dependent on us for nearly 21 years. But somehow, hearing a judge say that we were terminating his rights made his future feel determined and permanent. This is a process that we should’ve started three years ago when Pierce turned 18, but we were either daunted by the task or in denial that it actually needed to be done. We haven’t been challenged by many people when we’ve spoken for Pierce, but it has happened, and I can see this will be an issue as he continues to age. This is one more step in the journey to set up care for an adult son with autism. We still need to get the ball rolling on social security benefits, create a special needs trust, and figure out health insurance options. I opened a bank account for Pierce today. I had to show the court documents as proof that I can legally make financial decisions for my adult son. He will have a bank card with his name on it, but the account belongs to me and Tim. The home renovations that we’re planning to start soon will be in two phases. In phase two, we will give Pierce a more private place to live downstairs, in case living in a group home down the road doesn't work out. It will be similar to a mother-in-law suite.

This time last year, I was so mired in the bog of depression, I had no mental energy to be proactive in planning for Pierce’s future or keep track of graduation/college requirements for Reagan’s upcoming senior year. In counseling, I told Tim and my therapist that after 20 years of being the parent that stayed on top of things, knowing everyone’s schedules, what papers needed to be signed, how much money each child owed for clubs, youth activities, etc., I was tapping out. I’d gotten the kids through childhood, now I needed someone else to take over. Tim didn’t hesitate, question, or complain. He just said, “absolutely, yes, I will take the lead.” He took Pierce to get a picture ID (since Pierce doesn’t drive, he still didn’t have a legal form of identification at the age of 20). He researched college application deadlines for financial aid and housing for Reagan. He kept track of her schoolwork and grades and attended parent meetings. He got in touch with a lawyer and completed all of the paperwork that was necessary for us to seek conservatorship. I feel guilty for forcing Tim to take on such a burden, but I’m so grateful he’s been strong enough to carry it. 

It is sobering to have an official declaration that Pierce is not capable of making health or financial decisions for himself, but it’s also reassuring to know that his future is less uncertain than it was a year ago. This takes away a little of that panicky feeling I get when I think about what lies ahead for Pierce, me and Tim, and Reagan. I think we are slowly but surely headed in the right direction.

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

May is Mental Health Awareness Month. I've decided that it's time to share a little about what's happening in my world right now. I've been transparent in the past about my battles with depression. I've been more reserved lately, because I just haven't had the energy to discuss my current situation. But since I know that our secrets keep us sick and that there's power in voicing those things that keep us shackled, I'm finally writing this down and making myself vulnerable again.

To give the Reader's Digest summary for those that haven't read my posts in the past about my history, I've struggled with depression since my teens. I have a very strong family history, with two suicides on my mother's side. My third diagnosed depression occurred in 2003. I was told then that I may need to be on medication indefinitely. However, in 2015, I noticed that I was forgetting to take my meds some days, even though I was feeling better than I'd ever felt. I decided maybe I'd try to live life Prozac-free.

Last year was really difficult for me. Pierce's graduation from high school was totally overwhelming as we now have to figure out how to parent an adult with autism. Reagan's junior year has been challenging for ALL of us. Then, winter hit. It was one of the most cold, gray, and wet ones in recent history. Winter has always been tough for me, even when I was on meds. I look forward to Spring every year; as the plants and animals awaken, so do I. Only this year, the awakening didn't come.

I had no interest in attending the Nashville Lawn and Garden show. This is, for me, a highly anticipated event. I missed it for the first time in about 12 years. The things that used to bring me such joy (singing, gardening, dance workouts, church) became laborious.  I was crying every day, but since my job is in retail, I crammed all that sadness down as deep as I could and put on the happy customer-friendly face. I thought that Spring should be bringing me all the happiness that winter sucked away from me, but it wasn't happening, and to me, that meant that I was broken. When I started thinking that I would be in a better place if I just didn't wake up tomorrow, or imagining dying in a car crash and feeling relieved that my pain would be over, I knew it was time to tell Tim that this was more serious than just "winter blues".

I don't have a happy end to this story yet. I'm back on medication, this time for life. It's a higher dose than I was on before. The crying has stopped, but the sadness is still there; I feel kinda numb and unable to express my feelings. I think the higher dose is also interfering with my sleep. It may need some tweaking. Spring in the garden center is BONKERS, and this Spring has just been all around harder than previous ones (depression aside), for various reasons. At the end of my day, I have nothing left in the tank for anyone or anything. I've been going to bed around 9 every night. Instead of a restful day off, I'm attending counseling every week. It's emotionally draining. There's A LOT of junk to unpack. Tim has been incredibly supportive, taking time out of his busy work schedule to accompany me on appointments.

Much like a high-functioning alcoholic, I consider myself pretty good at wearing the mask of normalcy. Many of you may have seen smiling pictures of me over the last few months and never knew anything was amiss. Like the picture above of me wearing a wig at a birthday party. Yep, I'd cried that day, and didn't feel at all like going to a party. But I did. I'd remind you that Robin Williams had such an incredible gift of making people laugh, but inside was a tortured soul that ultimately put his suffering to an end. Not that I'm comparing myself to the genius that was Robin Williams, but you catch my drift. Be gentle with me. Patient with me. My faith is shaken and I'm quite fragile, even if I seem to be handling things well. And most days, I don't want to talk about it. I'm working hard to get better. I thank God for the positive people in my life right now who are constantly whispering, "You're going to be okay" when I'm incapable of believing that myself. Please don't suffer in silence. Call your doctor or the suicide prevention hotline for help (1-800-273-8255).

Knock On Wood

My husband and I were chatting in the kitchen Monday morning. Being self-employed, he's home for a while most mornings, and on my days off, I'm around for a couple hours before I run off to work out and get my errands accomplished. This is when we remind each other what's on the agenda for the day, and on Mondays, the weekly outlook. I decided to reveal something that I'd noticed lately: I've barely taken my daily doses of Prozac over the last few weeks. It wasn't a conscious decision to stop taking it. I quite honestly had forgotten it every day. There have been many days in the past that I've forgotten a day, 2-3 at the most, but I always notice that I'm feeling really tired and then realize that I've skipped a few doses when I sit and think about it. My doctor and I had decided nearly 12 years ago that I'd likely be on Prozac for life, given my personal history (it was my 3rd diagnosed depression at the time) and my family history of depression and suicide. 

Tim scooted his chair away from the kitchen table and turned to face me. He told me that he'd been reluctant to say anything for fear of jinxing things, but that life seemed to be so great right now. Our kids are well-adjusted and happy, his business was going well, our marriage is strong. I've been working out (and enjoying it!), and I have a job that I love. He said, "You just seem so happy." I took a deep breath, and said, "I AM happy!" Just saying the words out loud moved me to tears. But I couldn't help myself; I leaned over and knocked on our butcher block island in the kitchen.

Just like Tim, I've had a fear of giving voice to my happiness. We've all seen the thriller movies, where you're close to the end and the heroes are saying, "Whew! The worst is over; nothing can stop us now!", only to have one final conflict, the biggest they've faced throughout the movie. And we in the audience are saying, "Idiots! You're jinxing yourself!!" It seems that if I say out loud that I'm happy, Satan will bust up in here and say, "Haha!! That's what YOU think!", then all Hell will break loose. Maybe I have a hard time admitting life is wonderful because I don't want to sound cocky or overconfident, or worse, appear to have it all together. Our life here is FAR from perfect. As we were having this conversation, Tim and I were in front of the picture window in our kitchen that gives us a clear view of our very nasty pool that is in serious disrepair. And, because our mower is once again on the fritz, we have the longest grass in our neighborhood right now. Another thing that keeps me silent is knowing that so many people I love are not happy and are struggling just to keep their heads above water. Telling everyone how happy I am would be like flaunting my good fortune. I'm afraid I'd sound selfish and foolish. 

No matter how happy I am, I don't know if I'll ever shake the feeling that the bottom could fall out at any minute. Perhaps it's from the years of having so much illness in my family. I never know when a phone call or text will come in alerting me of the latest health crisis. I've been trained to never get too comfortable with stability. So, I'm taking a big risk here and telling you all that yes, I am very happy right now. Almost deliriously so. I'm working out regularly, because I found a class that is FUN. I haven't lost much weight yet, but my body shape is changing, I'm stronger, and I have more energy. Most important of all, I feel better about myself. My job at Bates Nursery is tougher this spring than it was last fall, but I'm still loving it there, even when I come home and collapse on the couch and tell the family they're on their own for dinner because I'm too exhausted to think, much less move anymore that day. I especially love when I get to help customers put together plant combinations for their pots or landscape. I'm learning so much more than I have from the gardening books I've read over the years. Tim has been and continues to be my rock and the best possible partner for me. I'm still totally in love with him. My kids are AWESOME. I know all parents think that of their kids, but mine really are. Reagan told me the other day of a friend who is always fighting with her parents and how it concerned her. I had to tell her what an abnormal teenager she is that she DOESN'T fight with us. Praise God she's just like her dad, the peacemaker, and not like I was at her age. Pierce continues to do amazingly well in the life skills program at Brentwood High. He inspires us all and is loved by so many. No matter the challenges, he still makes us laugh constantly. He really is a joyful guy. Am I completely done with Prozac? I very seriously doubt it. Even on drugs, winters are always terrible for me. But if I can make it through 3/4 of the year drug-free, I consider that a HUGE breakthrough. I've never been into the "name it and claim it" spiritual practice, but today, I'm laying claim to my joy, my contentment, my peace. And I'm not going to fear what Satan might do to me by saying all this out in the open. 

POSTSCRIPT: On Facebook last week, I tossed around the idea of starting a series on gardening, using knowledge I already possess and the wealth of information I'm gathering at my job. Several of you were in favor of this idea (bless your hearts), so I'm gonna do it. In fact, I think I may just start a separate blog for this purpose and keep this one for my musings on other aspects of my life. Stay tuned! Now to come up with a catchy name...

Heart Of Darkness: Part 4

It took it's sweet time, but Spring has finally sprung, and I am practically giddy! While the thought of all of the plants over at our old house that need to be dug up and transplanted to our new place is quite overwhelming, I am bolstered by thoughts of the numerous possibilities for this new canvas. Like a butterfly, I'm emerging from my cold and dreary cocoon of winter, and I'm transformed by the warm sun on my face and soft dirt between my toes. I don't know if I'll ever feel as good as I did as I came out of this depression 10 years ago, but there are glimpses of that euphoria. 

My recovery was far from overnight. Antidepressant medication is not a magic pill. It still takes about 6 weeks to take affect, and that was certainly the case for me. My mother came to live with us during that time to help me recover. With her here, Tim and I could spend some much needed time alone together, and our relationship healed. She allowed me to take naps whenever I needed one, which I couldn’t do before she came. I talked to a therapist for a couple of months, but didn’t feel like she was helping me much. It became very important for me to talk with my friends and Tim. Tim and I could grieve together the fact that our child is autistic. I became really close with a few friends, something I had found hard to do in the past. With these friends, my "hens", I felt there was nothing I couldn’t share with them. They listened when I needed to talk about my struggles with Pierce. I made sure that Tim was talking about my depression and how it was affecting him. I didn’t want him to hide anything around his friends for my sake. I encouraged him to talk to one of his friends from church that had struggled with depression before. This friend was able to share some things with Tim about depression that I had not voiced yet. It was helpful for both of us. For a long time, I was unable to talk to God, because I felt so ashamed. By telling our friends and family about what I was going through, we had many people praying on my behalf. I read many books on depression, and kept my eyes open for health stories on the internet dealing with the subject. I made more of an effort to tell Tim when I had reached my limit with the kids. He would encourage me to take a long, hot shower or bubble bath, while he took over with the kids. He would also encourage me to get out, especially to scrapbook, since he knew it was a passion of mine and a creative outlet for me. It was important for me to distract myself with something I enjoyed. I would listen to calming music as I did housework, or while driving in the car. After about 2 months of treatment, I noticed that I felt happier than I had felt in a very long time. It's a very difficult feeling to describe. I had not been able to comprehend just how deep in despair I was, until I wasn't anymore. I thought, "So THIS is what it feels like to be truly happy! THIS is normal!". It was a joy so intense, that at times I felt my heart would burst! I could laugh again, honest-to-goodness, pure laughter. I'd been hurting for so long, I couldn’t even remember a time when I had felt so happy and at peace. Medication does have it's drawbacks. One of those for me is that I'm not near as emotional as I used to be. It's extremely rare for me to have a good cry over something. It takes a lot to make me teary. The funny part about that is that Tim and I now are total opposites. HE is the one to tear up over something sappy and sentimental or sad, while I sit back and tease him mercilessly. Ha!

I just can’t stress enough that there is hope for you if you are suffering. The first step is admitting you need help. If you see a friend or loved one is at risk for depression, please don’t hesitate to talk to them. Don’t be afraid to risk a friendship; you may be saving her life. However, choose your words wisely. You could make her feel more guilt about her situation by telling her how she needs to fix her life. Trust me, she already feels more condemned than you could know. Don't offer advice, just offer to listen and help any way you're capable, and if you've been where she is, TELL HER SO. Make her feel she is NOT alone. That is one of the biggest lies that Satan can tell. The best thing you can do for her is pray. Educate yourself, especially if you have teenagers. Learn to recognize the early signs of depression. You may be able to stop it before it starts. Thanks for reading, and thanks so much to everyone that has offered me encouragement, both while I was suffering, and while I've shared my story. If you have a story to tell, share it! Depression should be taboo no longer!!

Heart Of Darkness: Part 3

I had this post in the planning, but the suicide of Rick Warren's son over the weekend has people talking, especially in the Christian community. So, my blog post about depression is joining many out there this week, which, I think, is a discussion that is MUCH needed. I'm a huge believer in finding the silver lining, and I think that is what's happening here. There is a stigma concerning depression among Christians, and it needs to stop NOW. If we start talking about this, more people can get the help they need.

First, let's look at a few biblical accounts of depression. Moses began to feel burdened by the wailing of the Israelites in the desert and called out to the Lord. In Numbers 11:14-15 he says, “I cannot carry all these people by myself; the burden is too heavy for me. If this is how you are going to treat me, put me to death right now- if I have found favor in your eyes- and do not let me face my own ruin.” The Lord responds by calling Moses together with 70 of Israel’s elders. Verse 17 says, “I will come down and speak with you there, and I will take of the Spirit that is on you and put the Spirit on them.  They will help you carry the burden of the people so that you will not have to carry it alone.”

Elijah had just successfully defeated the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel, but his life is threatened by Jezebel. He ran for his life to Beersheba. He journeyed into the desert and prayed this prayer to God: “I have had enough, Lord! Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.” The Lord provided him with food twice. An angel said to him, “Get up and eat, for the journey is too much for you.” He had compassion for Elijah.

Job has a whole book detailing his depression and suffering. Lamentations is another book full of laments written by Jeremiah about his distress over the destruction of Jerusalem. And finally, Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane was certainly distressed. Mark 14:33-34 reads, “He took Peter, James and John along with him, and he began to be deeply distressed and troubled. ‘My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,’ he said to them. ‘Stay here and keep watch.’”

So, is depression spiritual weakness? Well, I believe the answer to this is in the scriptures. In all of these examples I’ve just mentioned, not once does God rebuke. Instead, he shows compassion when these men are emotionally distraught. In the story of Job, his friends are convinced that he must have sinned and brought all of this pain on himself. God rebukes Job’s friends. Job 42:7 says, “After the Lord had said these things to Job, he said to Eliphaz the Temanite, ‘I am angry with you and your two friends because you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has.’”

Depression is part of God’s design. He knew that we would have losses in life and that we would struggle with them. Depression helps us release that which we have lost. Grief, sorrow, and despair are all God-given emotions. As I researched and read after receiving my diagnosis, there seemed to be a debate over medication. Does a Christian with depression really NEED medication? Shouldn't they just pray harder and study scripture more and eventually God will bring them out of it? I can’t tell you how hurtful this is for a fellow Christian to hear. A depressed Christian is not a spiritually weak person. Depression is medical condition. The brain is chemically unbalanced, and this is repaired by anti-depressants. Do I believe that God could take away a Christian’s depression with prayer and petition? Of course; I couldn’t be a Christian if I didn’t believe that God can do any and all things. However, we would never dream of telling a diabetic that they wouldn’t be dependant on insulin if their faith in God was what it should be. Who would tell a cancer patient that they don't need chemo or surgery, they just need to spend more time in prayer?! Why is depression different? At the same time, I don’t believe some magic pill is going to take your depression away. Depression is best treated with a combination of therapies. Counseling should go hand in hand with medication. Talking to anyone is part of the recovery. You can’t expect to get better while keeping everything bottled up inside, even if you are on an antidepressant.

Because of my family history, and because I've had 2 prior bouts with clinical depression, my doctor feels, and I agree, that it's best that I stay on an antidepressant, possibly for life. Call it a crutch, if you must. But when I find myself sliding into that pit again every winter, even ON the medication, I know I'm making the right choice. I'll talk more about my recovery in the next post. Gotta go; the warm weather is beckoning me outside, and there's yard work to be done!

Heart Of Darkness: Part 2

Fast forward to 2002. Summer of that year was very hard. Pierce was losing all of the skills he had learned that year in school. We were still being told that he just had a speech delay, and that it would be gone by Kindergarten. By the time school started again in the fall of 2002, his teacher could tell something wasn’t right. About that time is when I started having trouble sleeping. By Christmas, Pierce's teacher suggested we get a psych. evaluation for him. I had absolutely no interest in celebrating Christmas that year, but I had to for the kids. I start to hate being around other moms. They would talk about their normal children, and I felt I had nothing to contribute to the conversation. I started to feel so jealous. I couldn’t stop going to events, because people would wonder if something was wrong. I wouldn’t want anyone to talk about me. I’m a pretty good actress (or so I’ve been told), so I would go to scrapbook night, or a Pampered Chef party and no one suspected I was screaming inside.

Winter of 2003 was an especially bleak one. I have a pretty detailed account in my therapy journal, but I'll spare you and give the highlights. On January 14th, the 3rd report card came out. There, in black and white, was confirmation that Pierce was in serious trouble. In addition to our struggles with Pierce, I started to think I'd never see the sun again. We had lots of snow (a total of 17 inches here in Nashville, which is a big deal for us), and cancelled school. On January 16th, 8 inches of snow began falling while kids were in school. Everyone has a story about that day. Total chaos. Once school was finally cancelled, it took me 2 hours to get to there, and another 2 hours to get home. In February, Reagan got the stomach flu and became so dehydrated that she had to spend about 24 hours in the hospital. These incidents may feel like no big deal to you, but for me, they were pushing me closer and closer to my breaking point. In March, we began the process of having Pierce evaluated for autism. I've already explained in previous posts the grieving process that happened during this time. I wasn't grieving a child lost in death, rather the loss of my dreams for him. I started to feel like a monster. I didn’t want to adjust to having an autistic child, I just wanted a normal child. I hated myself for feeling that way. I didn’t feel like a devoted mother and a loving wife. I wasn’t sleeping at night, so I was exhausted all day. I also started to feel pain in my joints. Because of my extensive family history of Lupus, I began to worry that I may finally have succumbed to the disease as well. All I felt was despair. I would cry out to God, but I felt like he wasn’t listening to me. I would go to church and to Ladies Class and leave in tears. Occasionally this was actually being said, most times it wasn't, but what my sick mind was hearing was that I wasn’t good enough. If I just prayed harder and studied harder and trusted God more, my pain and hopelessness would go away. I would ask God, “What am I doing wrong?”. Eventually, I reached a point where the only thing I could feel was numbness. I had no more tears to cry. I couldn't hear God or feel His presence, and I had no energy left to try to speak to Him. The pain of depression is crippling, but to feel nothing is absolutely terrifying. I may have had a few thoughts of suicide, but mostly I just wanted to run away. I wanted to jump in my car, leave everyone and everything, and just drive, as if I could drive away from my demons. Finally, by the end of March, Tim tried to get me to talk about why I was so distant. I told him that I felt absolutely no love for him at all. That's when he knew I desperately needed help. 

Tim and my mother encouraged me to talk to my doctor about everything I was experiencing at my upcoming annual checkup. I had her test me for lupus and check my thyroid, but she was pretty convinced that I was in a deep depression. When depression goes on long enough, it can start to cause you physical pain as well as mental anguish. She felt like that was what was happening to me. Sure enough, the lupus and thyroid tests came back normal. I told a friend, one of the very few I had confided in, that I wasn’t sick, I was just crazy.

Heart Of Darkness

Today is the second day of my kids' Spring Break. It is currently 34 degrees and there is a light dusting of snow on the ground. This winter has seemed to just drag on. Saying "I'm over it" is quite an understatement. I have joked before that I believe I'm solar-powered. The seasons most definitely have an effect on my mood. I first realized this one winter several years back. It was 10 years ago that I was diagnosed with clinical depression. I'm so much better than I was that day in my doctor's office, but it becomes more and more clear that this is going to be a life-long struggle for me. After all, this was not my first battle with depression. And as I started to heal and reflect, I could identify many red flags that popped up all throughout my life. The following is a "Reader's Digest" condensed version of my history. I've decided to break it into 3 parts, so as not to bore you all in one sitting.

Family history was not in my favor. I never knew either of my grandfathers. My father's father was many years older than my grandmother, and he died from diabetes about 4 years before I was born. My mother's father, however, was an alcoholic and drug addict. He took his own life when my mother was only 16 years old. Nearly 8 years later, mom's older sister also committed suicide. My mom was diagnosed with depression when I was in high school, and both my father and sister have been diagnosed, as well. It's probably safe to say that, in my youth, I was rather prone to melancholy. During my teen years, it became quite obvious, as I've stated in an earlier post. I was withdrawn and had very low self-esteem. I liked to listen to depressing music and watch sad movies. I read Stephen King, and I liked poetry by Edgar Allen Poe and Emily Dickinson. I wouldn't want to be identified as weird or freakish, so I refrained from going all "goth". I had some thoughts of suicide, but they were pretty fleeting. I feared pain, so I was too chicken to actually go through with anything. As I've said before, Tim came along and rescued me. He was such a happy person. We dated during my senior year of high school, and then I tried college. I was miserable. I cried every day. I begged my parents to come get me. The pressure was overwhelming. I even had a panic attack late one night, stressing over an English paper that was due. During my freshman year, Tim proposed. We decided to get married that year. I was pretty happy to quit school and get a job so that Tim could finish. A couple of years after we were married, I started to feel regret that I had given up on college so I decided to try again. This time, the stress was tremendous. I only lasted two weeks. I felt like such a failure. My mother, familiar with the warning signs of depression, encouraged me to talk to my doctor. He referred me to a therapist. This was my first clinical depression. I was treated for about six months.

I’ll fast forward a couple of years to 1998, when Pierce was born. The birth was total chaos. I was on bed rest in my 7th month, and went into labor at 35 weeks. He was breech, so I had a C-section. He was in the NICU for 5 days. It was such a whirlwind. I tried to nurse, but I wasn’t able to. I was in tears constantly, but I just assumed it was natural for a first-time, sleep-deprived mom. I didn’t tell my doctor. I wanted this child; I couldn’t tell my doctor that I was feeling overwhelmed. So, I sucked it up and got on with life. In 2001, Reagan was born. Pierce hated the new baby, which was so disappointing and stressful to me.  I couldn’t leave him alone with her. I did once when Reagan was 2 weeks old. She was in her bouncy seat that was sitting on a chair in the living room. I walked into the kitchen, and she began to cry. Before I could get to her, Pierce ran over and flipped the bouncy seat off of the chair. Luckily, Reagan wasn’t hurt. This time, my doctor could sense that I wasn’t handling life very well. She put me on an antidepressant. I gave it two weeks, and it didn’t work. I called and asked if I could switch to something else. I did, and this medication made me want to peel my skin off! She wouldn’t prescribe anything else for me; she instead referred me to a psychiatrist.  I couldn’t imagine getting out of the house on a regular basis with two children and trying to talk to a therapist, so I gave up. Again, I trudged on.