Tragedy

I can’t even describe what’s going through my mind right now… On Tuesday my dad called and asked what the last name of a friend of mine was. I told him I didn’t know what name she would go by, as her husband and her were no longer together, so I gave him both names. He said that someone with the same name as her was in a car wreck over Memorial Day weekend.

I got off the phone and scoured Facebook. Neither her, her parents nor her brother had been on Facebook recently enough for me to think they would see a message from me, but I sent on to her anyway. I then Googeled every news station between my town and the Missouri state line.  I found multiple articles on the wreck but nothing concrete enough for me to know it was her. I went back to Facebook and compared names and ages. There was a baby in the car with her that didn’t make it. Later articles stated that there was another baby, who was 6 months old, in the car and was taken to the hospital. Today, I found an article, compared names and ages, and it is, indeed my friend.

Her, her boyfriends infant daughter, and her 6 month old daughter were in the car when my friend lost control. The car hit a sign, slid down an embankment, struck some trees, and landed on it’s side. My friend and her 6 month old were taken to a hospital for treatment, but her boyfriends daughter didn’t make it.

I can’t even describe the pain I feel. Her and I have been best friends since preschool. We went to school from then all the way through high school together. Despite some mishaps, we both graduated on time and together. I saw her in the hospital when she gave birth to her baby boy. I was a bridesmaid at her wedding. I helped her in her dress, helped her with her hair, helped her pee, fixed her dress at the alter, and gave the toast at the reception. Unfortunately, I haven’t met her daughter. I didn’t even know her and her husband had split up and that she had a boyfriend.

Life moves so fast sometimes, that you lose track of the people who have been there forever. You forget who has really supported you and stood by you through everything. You lose touch with the people who should be the first to know things. And that’s what happened between her and I. She has been my friend through ups, downs, high school, drama, boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, divorces, and pregnancy. Remember those people who have been there through all that and more, keep them close. You never know when something like this can happen.

I apologize for such an sad post today. We will finish the 30 days tomorrow. I do not have any solid information form her or her family. After finding out about the wreck, I messaged her on Facebook, called both numbers I had for her, stopped by her house, and called the hospital she was at. I’m not pushing this issue, as her boyfriend doesn’t know me and if it is her, I’m sure he wont’ want a stranger up in their business at this point in time. Hopefully, I will have some information soon. 

Day Seven

Day Seven. This may be my favoritest post yet in this challenge. Today’s truth is someone who has made your life worth living. There are many people that bring joy to my life. There are many people who I love dearly and can’t imagine them not being in my life. But there is one person, actually one little boy, who means more than word can describe to me. That would be my three year old son, Trey.

You guys have heard a little about what happened here, but not the full story. Just that his dad left me and I was all set to be a single mom when he came back and it just was craziness. Well. There is more to the story. You guys also know that I have depression and anxiety. What you don’t know is that when not on medicine, I get pretty down.

When his daddy broke up with me the first time, I balled my eyes out and asked God to give him back to me. I cried so hard that my dad, who didn’t trust me with medicines for obvious reasons, had to give me Dramamine so I could calm down enough to sleep. When he walked out the second time, the same thing happened. I cried and begged God to give him back to me. Little did I know, that feeling of abandonment and hopelessness would only get worse.

After I moved out of his apartment, we didn’t talk about anything but my amazing little boy. But then, right after he turned one, we decided to try and work it out again for him. Stupid me, thought it would work. Our relationship quickly faded back into what it was. Then one night I was up long after everyone was asleep. (I was living with my then best friend and there were some people over.) I asked him something, I don’t even remember what now. I can’t remember what he said either, I just know it crushed me. That night was the first night I seriously considered hurting myself.

But, as I sat in the dark living room, by myself, I thought about the baby asleep just on the other side of the wall. I thought about the way his face lit up when he saw me, him taking his first steps, him saying his first word, and all the milestones I would miss if I were to do anything. The love I would miss out on if I left my amazing little boy.

Every time I get down or have a really bad day, I go home and I cuddle my baby. The baby that will never understand just how much mom loves him and how much mommy needs him. This three year old, bouncing, frustrating, loving, exasperating, amazing little boy definitely made my life worth living.

This is my little man on his nanna’s horse, Carlos, wearing his uncle’s hat. His poppy is leading the horse around but you can’t see him. My step mom cropped him out.

 

 

 

Haunted at 17 (But Not By Ghosts or Anything Cool Like That)

So in my pursuit of interesting blogs to read I came across a post titled “Haunted at 17”. Now when I read this, my first thought was “Whaaaaaat?! Someone is haunted?!” Clickety click click…. I found distraction99’s blog. The series she is doing is called the Haunted at 17 series. (Go check it out. It’s pretty awesome! Libba Bray, author of the Gemma Doyle series is in there!!) It’s not, in fact, about being haunted by ghosts or anything, but about physical things that haunted them. Like their hair, and sex, and a past that was better than the present.

Me at 17 and about 3 months pregnant.

It got me to thinking. What haunted me at 17? Well, many things, frankly. And these things were somewhat different from the beginning of my senior yearto the end of it. I was haunted by fear. Fear that I wouldn’t get into to the school I wanted (Oklahoma State), fear of leaving everything I knew to chase my dreams. Then it was fear of being a single mom, fear of not being a good mom, fear of failing myself and my unborn child.
Senior year is supposed to be a time of having one last hurrah with your friends. A time for obsessing about college essays and scholarships and ACT scores. A time to say goodbye to the beloved teachers you had, and rejoice in never seeing the ones you didn’t ever again. For me, that’s how the first two or three months went. I mean I worried about that stuff through the whole year but after September, I had some more pressing matter on my mind.

Now I was never regular when it came to my…lady stuff. (I know, too much but I have a point, I promise. Do not click away!!) So when I was late and pretty much couldn’t remember when my last…lady thing…I didn’t really give it much thought. Until I almost blew cinnamon roll chunks all over the dash board of my dad’s truck. (And I can guarantee I would have been the one cleaning it up, no matter how sick I was.) Instead of heading to school, we stopped at my grandmother’s which was on the way. Once there, and after my dad decided to let me stay home that day, thinking I had the flu or a stomach bug, I texted my best friend and told her we needed an emergency sleep over with a pregnancy test that weekend. Before I could do that, however, my dad and step mom took me to the doctor to make sure I didn’t have the flu after the second day of almost redecorating the inside of my dad’s truck with yet another cinnamon roll.

Here is where my fear of deans and professors turns into fear of disappointing the one person I loved more than anything in the world. My hero. My protector and savior. My daddy.

So when my flu swab came back negative, my dad walked into the room and said “you have morning sickness”. I said yup and broke down in tears. After confirming my eggo was, indeed, preggo, we set up a meeting with the baby’s father, who had dumped me a few weeks before. (When I describe what the guy meant to me back then, people tell me I sound like a bad country song. So I will spare you that horror.) A few months later he’d walked out of mine and my son’s life, only to decide to come back when it was convenient for him.

Here is where the biggest fear, that still haunts me almost three years and another baby later, comes in. The dear of being an utterly terrible mom. The fear of failing my child(ren).

Over past two years, I’ve had people tell me I’m a great mom despite the challenges I face with depression/anxiety and a baby daddy that, I swear, is only around to make my life complicated and hard. I still have the fear of letting my kids down and damaging them somehow, but I just take it day by day, and hope they end up with more sense than I did.

A Day in My Mind

So in my about me section I said that I was diagnosed with depression during my junior year of high school, which was in 2008, but I didn’t really elaborate anymore than that. Well. Now I am.

I feel like I should explain a little of what happened before I was diagnosed:

My parents had divorced in February of my freshmen year, which was in 2006. During their fighting and problems and finally the divorce, I would stress out to the point where I would literally be throwing up. It was to the point that my dad took me to the doctor. Once my doctor explained what was going on it was easier to control. After the divorce my mom married a crap guy, which increased the stress (no more throwing up though) and caused more fighting. To the point that I was pushed down a hallway and, as a result had a busted vein on the front side of my arm and a scar near my elbow. Luckily that was all that happened during that fight and the arguments that occurred after.

After about eight months, my mom found out what a crap guy my step dad was and moved us to Little Rock, Arkansas where a lot of my family lived. I fell in with the wrong crowd while there and almost flushed my dreams down the drain. Thankfully, after everything, my dad realized if he didn’t step in, things would just get worse and worse. So he moved me back to the town I grew up in.

Here’s where the depression really starts to show:

My dad is a loud person. Plain and simple. He talks loud, he laughs loud, he commands attention loudly, he even works in a loud place. (He’s a diesel mechanic, hence the loudness.) But when I started crying just because he raised his voice a mere octave above his norm, he and my step mom thought something was wrong. At first the thought it was just because it was that time of the month. But when it was happening two and three weeks before and after, something just wasn’t adding up. The final straw was when I was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor with my laundry basket balling my eyes out before school just because I couldn’t find the shirt I wanted to wear to work that night. Some days, if I wasn’t crying, I was yelling at everyone and getting royally pissed off at everything that moved. When I explained what was going on to my doctor, she put me on an anti-depressant called Lexipro. It was later changed to Zoloft due to being pregnant with my first child.*

I no longer take medicine for my anxiety and depression. It’s rough sometimes. and I have my good days and bad days. Sometimes, I still break down crying because I can’t find what I need or because I just can’t handle being yelled at. Most days are okay. Many times, though, I find myself struggling to keep a level head and not scream and yell at everything. Recently, a therapist told me that the screaming and yelling is how young adults express the feelings. Which makes a lot of sense, as most days I will start screaming and be mad at the world for hours, just to turn around and start crying because I feel bad for yelling.

But I’m getting a little off track. The point of this post, like most people who have depression and write about it, is to let those people who are overwhelmed and don’t know what to do that it’s okay. You aren’t alone. There is someone going through close to or, sometimes, the exact same thing that you are. If you need help please reach out and ask someone. Yes. It’s very hard to ask, sometimes I even have trouble talking to my dad, step mom, and my husband about what’s going on. But there is someone who can help. Trust me. Just ask. And know that everything is going to be okay.

So. If some melancholy or sad or not up beat and happy posts pop up on here, I’m having a bad day. Everything will work out but I’m having a day. I thank you in advance for your understanding and support.