A case of the crazies

I done gone round the bend again, folks.

It's yet another nervous breakdown. I've been so strong recently, have been able to handle the mess that is my life. But it finally got to me, I guess. And Sproing is a major contributor to my insanity, as usual. I think he's getting worse. He refuses to do what he needs to, is rude to me, argues about every single thing I say. Some may say that's fairly normal for a 13 year old, but I say thee nay. I know normal 13 year old behavior, and this is much more intense than normal. He's a very intense young man.

His social worker was here Monday evening. I told him about some shit that went down with Sproing Monday morning, and I lost it. Anxiety attack. Crying, wringing my hands (really? isn't that cliche? It's a nervous reaction, no joke). And I've been on edge ever since. Every little thing sends me into anxiety mode.

Oh, and Sproing was acting out with his oppositional behavior in full fury. That was the first time the social worker had ever seen him in full blown mode. He was surprised.

I was able to get in to see my therapist this afternoon. She suggests we give the boy two options: take medication willingly and without fuss (because right now he refuses to take any meds) or go back to the psychiatric treatment facility. I will discuss that with Superman this evening after supper.

I called the agency that directs the boy's mental health care, talked to one of those ladies. Told her what's going down. Told her that he's driving me over the brink. She asked a few questions, I told her a few things that probably didn't make sense because I don't make much sense when I'm in anxiety mode. Then she suggested, very nicely, that perhaps I should have my meds adjusted. ... Wait. What? Sproing can go willy-nilly doing whatever he damn well pleases regardless of what his parents say, and I'm the one who is the problem? Yeah, I have a problem with that, thankyouverymuch. If I were stronger I'd have told her how insulting that is. I was, however, strong enough not to immediately burst into tears.

I'm confused. Can't make simple decisions. Keep forgetting stuff. Get nervous and flighty when I have to talk to someone. Can not concentrate. And I'm so damned depressed. Everything I see looks dismally depressing. I asked Light this afternoon if I enjoyed Indianapa, because I don't remember. She said I seemed to. From my current perspective everything is dismal, even my memories. I hate depression.

If there was more I planned to say I don't remember.

I can't think!

There are so many things my mind needs to contemplate. It's the time of my life, my age, my stage of development, whatever, when I need to figure out a few things.

What does it mean for me to be a woman? How does that work in my life? What am I supposed to do with my misogynous impulses?

Who or what is the Divine Spirit, the Deity, and should those words be capitalized in this context? What is true about the Supreme Being (or Beings)? How does that differ from what I've believed all of my adult life? I have a need for spiritual nurture, but I don't know how to do that anymore. I miss it, but when I have participated in spiritual worship recently, it seems to not fit right.

What am I supposed to do with my intellectual curiosity? I'm back in college now, and I love it. But right now it doesn't seem to have a point or purpose. Where am I headed? There are so many areas I want to explore. I look at websites of graduate programs and see such a wide range of studies that interest me. I am 47.5 years old. If I want to put this education to profitable use, I'm going to have to narrow my scope.

I don't have time or energy to work on these questions. The daily domestic turmoil precludes deep thought. Hell, the daily domestic turmoil upsets my mental / emotional balance so much that I can't decide whether to have raisin bran or frosted mini-wheat for breakfast.

The pressure is building. My soul cries out to be allowed to grow. Significant elements of my life are squeezing me, restricting my capacity for contemplation and growth. It's crippling.

I am slowly suffocating.

from an Undisclosed Location

I am being intervened.

I didn't mention it in last Friday's post, and honestly I don't remember if I had already planned this trip, but it has been my intention to visit Cameron and Lady Grace when the summer semester was over. On Sunday I met them at their church, a lovely little Episcopal church about half way between my home and theirs. (It's kind of a long drive for them to get to church.) After services we went to their house, and I planned to stay Sunday night and go home Monday evening. Well, that didn't exactly happen.

Yesterday (Monday) Cameron took me to the home of one of their friends, a gracious and lovely woman they call Backporch Priestess. Cameron had told me that Backporch Priestess and I were meant to be friends. Since we had plenty of freedom in our schedule (read: there was no schedule), she took me to meet Backporch Priestess. It was lovely.

Backporch Priestess is one of those "real" people. Unpretentious, open-hearted, with (I discovered) an uncanny perception. We talked, laughed, shared stories, had a lovely time. When Lady Grace got off work, she came over and joined the party. Backporch Priestess made dinner (delicious, of course), and I was peaceful and happy.

Of course, and because it is one of the reasons I have retreated to Cameron and Lady Grace's place, we discussed the current unpleasantness with Diva and Sproing. OH! and Lady Grace is in grad school studying to be a therapist, and she knows stuff. She (and I think Backporch Priestess, maybe) did an internet search and found a place that Diva might be able to go; a wilderness-ish therapeutic school/program thing for troubled children that takes kids as young as Diva and Sproing. (Many places like that take kids 13 and older. Diva and Sproing are 11.) Lady Grace also found some support networks and other resources that may prove useful. I just didn't know what to look for. Like I said, Lady Grace knows stuff!

After we finished dinner, Lady Grace said "I need to tell you something, Java. We are staging an intervention for you." Huh? Here's the thing: Backporch Priestess is very insightful. She has some experience with mentally/emotionally fragile people, and evidently recognized some danger signs in me. She said my hands were shaking while I was talking about the kids. I didn't realize that. Cameron told me that when she first saw me on Sunday her immediate thought was "oh, she looks really bad." And did I mention that last week, on a few occasions both Diva and Sproing, independently, looked at me funny and said "Mom, are you ok? Are you sick?" They noticed that I don't look right. (I haven't noticed, but then I rarely look at myself. I'm not sure how I manage, but I almost never look at myself in the mirror even when I'm standing in front of it, brushing my teeth or combing my hair.)

Cameron and Lady Grace had called Superman. They arranged with him (probably told him point blank) for me to stay here another day. I expected to drive home last night, but it was made clear to me that this was not an option. So I slept here again last night. I will be here all day. Lady Grace is at work, and Cameron and I will go to Lowe's (I'll tell you about that in a minute) and then back to Backporch Priestess' house this afternoon. I hope to go home this evening, really. I'm about out of clothes, and I miss my husband and my own bed. But it is very nice being here, and feels amazingly good knowing that these lovely ladies are so concerned for my mental health.

And let me tell you about That Which Must Be Done. Lady Grace came into possession of a glider rocking chair. She has wanted one for ages, and recently rescued one that was slated for the dump. It is broken, but fixable. Yesterday morning as I was drinking my coffee and relaxing, I studied the chair from across the room. It intrigued me. I approached the chair and, with swift gentleness, laid it on its side. I didn't want to startle or alarm it, but I did need to study its undercarriage. It seems docile enough, and didn't put up any fuss. The linkage at one of the joints in the glider mechanism is missing. Another one on the same side was very loose. It's just a bolt, screwed into a thingie with a free-turning jacket, allowing the glider to, well, glide. I was able to remove the loose bolt and its two washers. Cameron put them in a plastic baggie, and we will go to Lowe's later today to buy another bolt and washers, and a socket wrench with which to reassemble the chair. (I think these girls lose a few lesbian points for not having a set of socket wrenches, but I love them anyway.)

I have an appointment with my therapist on Friday. I was supposed to see her last Thursday but she was out sick, as I think I mentioned. I need to see her. Really. I think when Cameron gets back (she's gone out to run an errand or two) I'll borrow her phone (mine is dead; I didn't bring my charger) and call my therapist's office to see if I can get in to see her tomorrow. 'Cause it's kinda urgent, really. I seem to be doing much worse than I thought.

Right now I'm not thinking about much. I'm not worrying. I'm relaxing. There is nothing I can do right here right now, and the whole point of me being here is to relax. So I am. The only thing I really want to do is fix the glider rocking chair. That will make me happy.

I will now go scare up a cup of coffee. Stay tuned for more exciting adventures in the "Java Goes Crazy" series. The next installment will probably be posted from home. I hope.