Me – A Selfish Mother & A Frigid Wife

Sad.

Unworthy.

Out of Control.

Angry.

A selfish mother.

A frigid wife.

Bitch.

Easy to abandon.

Imposter.

Trapped.

Resentful.

Bitter.

Possessed.

Alone.

A terrible friend.

Untrustworthy.

Confused.

Second Fiddle.

Less.

Inconsistent.

Weak.

Helpless.

Overwhelmed.

Pathetic.

Incapable.

Hopeless.

Raging lunatic.

Slacker.

Typical Katie.

These are the thoughts that have gone through my head for the past 18 months about myself and my life. These thoughts gradually worsened until, one day, I found myself crying uncontrollably while curling my hair. I was terrified of the rage I could feel bubbling just under the surface.

I could be better.

I should be better.

Why can’t I stop?

I made an appointment with Women’s Health. I sat in my doctor’s office, for the second time in 6 months for the same issue, and I told the truth. I didn’t tell him what I thought he wanted to hear. I didn’t put on a brave face. I wasn’t strong (or at least my version of strong). I had visions of him calling to have me carted away, kicking and screaming.

Crazy.

Broken.

Scared.

Six months prior, he had made the suggestion that I call Mental Health to talk to someone. I never did. This time, I sat with him as he made the call to the Crisis Team. I was given an appointment to the Psychiatry Department later that day. My husband, honorably, took the rest of the day off of work to care for our children so that I could care for myself.

Crazy.

Broken.

Scared.

I sat in the waiting room answering some of the most difficult questions I’ve ever had to answer. Tears continued to fall freely, though I wished them to stop.

Everyone is looking at me.

I wish I was invisible.

What is wrong with me??

An hour of therapy later, armed with a wad of used tissues in my hand, literature on building healthy boundaries, a laundry list of meetings I can (and will) go to, a recommendation for medication, and raw, bloodshot eyes, I left.

Vulnerable.

Exhausted.

The smallest ray of hope.

Throughout the day, I looked at posts and texts of care and concern. I listened to voicemails from loving friends. I got home and was enveloped in a warm hug from my husband, and smiles from my eager-to-love children.

Humbled.

Grateful.

Loved.

I don’t know where this journey will take me, or what it might mean for this blog, but it’s what’s best for me… for my marriage… for my kids. I know I am going to be proactive, even when it’s hard. I’m going to say yes to help, reach out when I need it, and rewrite my internal dialog. I did the right thing.

Me.

Raw.

Trying.