Antique emotions

This morning I got out of my bed and responded with the sense of great responsibility to the angelic voices of my daughters’ voices that beckoned me.  After changing a diaper and assisting my toddler with her routine morning care, we headed downstairs and I had hardly thought about the near absence of the usual grogginess and lack of motivation I often feel; I just knew that this day was going to be THE day.  Its been months since I can recall having any inkling of a morning without heavy somnolence that would plague me throughout most of my day. This mental silence was a long awaited delight, but also frightening.  I’m sure it was the depression speaking, but that silence was quickly interrupted by the thought of ” I wonder how long this is going to last?!”

Its been months since I can recall having any inkling of a morning without heavy somnolence that would plague me throughout most of my day.

This thought sure put a damper on a long awaited victory, but I was able to successfully distract my mind from retreating backwards with the busyness of making a bottle and nicely placing a store bought breakfast as elegantly as I could, on the tray of the high chair; at one time I enjoyed cooking pinterest’s array of beautifully photographed food from enticing recipes, but that is a memory now.  I have accepted the notion that as long as my children are fed and I include the recommended amount of fruits, veggies, grains, and fats, no matter if my husband cooks or publix caters our prepackaged dinners, I am not lazy or a bad mom (learning to dispel depressions’ oppression of my actions). After the kids were filled with food, danced to the tunes of Disney junior, and entertained me to exhaustion, it was finally nap time. Let’s have an honesty moment; sometimes I can’t wait for midday naps, because even though I was having a rare day of mental silence, I could feel the clarity fading and I needed a break.  But then my old friend migraine creeped in; so much for a break.

Debilitated with pounding pain to the right side of my head, I was able to fall asleep without the prescribed chemistry I’ve lived for to count sheep daily (counting my blessings and finding the positive); this has always been the only way to get through a migraine for me.  After waking from my nap, I surprisingly felt a little light headed, feeling the mental clarity slither back in and I suddenly had some motivation to indulge in an old passion of mine; vintage shopping.  It felt good to WANT to do something I used to love doing.  I denounced the feelings of lack of motivation that tried to creep in as the whole family got geared up to hit the road to spring hill tn for the annual swanky plank vintage market; what a difficult feat, but I got to the car and we were on our way.  I must admit, the 45 minute drive was filled with good family time and beautiful scenery; I had a little enjoyment and was living in the moment for a change, not worried about when will I ever feel like looking forward to anything again.

It felt good to WANT to do something I used to love doing.

The vintage market was what I expected.  I wanted every old treasure from centuries ago and didn’t have a u haul needed to bring it all back to Nashville.  So I simply settled for a couple of wooden gems and smiles from my husband and kids as they enjoyed the sweet heat of Tennessee; I especially enjoyed my smile that felt a lot less forced this time.  I was in my element; touching history and creatively coming up with ways to repurpose things and thinking of places to give the old gems a new home. The day seemed better then most others, except for a few hiccups here and there.

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Swanky Pank Vintage Market, Spring Hill, TN

As the vendors broke down their tables and packed away their jewels, we quickly visited remaining tables we hadn’t scoped out and then decided to continue the day’s adventure; after all, I was feeling better then usual and I welcomed the mental challenge, taking a known risk.

My husband has been a lover of pizza since I’ve known him and he was eager to try a pizza place off the beaten path of Nashville.  The restaurant was on a quiet street surrounded by few business chains, but looked like any normal establishment, on the outside, from the 1980s.  It looked old, though I’m a fan of old things, not restaurants, but my husband wanted to give it a try so I obliged. It had to have been around 88 degrees at that time, at six in the evening, but Derrick parked close to the restaurant, so the daunting task of getting the kids out of the car in such great heat to go into the restaurant didn’t seem as bad; it became a daunting task, because I felt the fatigue from the heat and the familiar haze revisiting.  When we walked into the restaurant, I immediately thought about the migraine of old that I survived earlier in the day, thinking that hopefully that was the only old experience for the day, but I was wrong.

When we walked into the restaurant, I immediately thought about the migraine of old that I survived earlier in the day, thinking that hopefully that was the only old experience for the day, but I was wrong.

Let’s be honest once again. Before depression ever entered my life, I had an occasional run in with anxiousness, you know, the “normal” feeling of a need to clean something if it appeared to be too dirty.  This anxiousness came and stayed often before depression, but it never interrupted my day to day life.  Well, I spoke too soon when I thought that the migraine would be the only old friend to grace my day. This time anxiousness was ever present and came with a vengeance.

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My heart felt like it was coming out of my chest, every where I looked was a dirty threat to humanity and every step I took into that restaurant felt like I was being hit by lightning and I could feel the effects through my whole body.  I was miserable.  But there was nothing wrong with the restaurant, it was just old.  Old seats, ugly forest green paint on the wall and just simply old like any restaurant you would revisit from your childhood.  It seemed to be a hit, because almost 3/4ths of the restaurant was filled with happy customers.

It was just me, I was the ONLY one freaking out internally.  I tried to calm my thoughts and the jitters of the effects of what seemed like lightening hitting my body, but the anxiousness quickly turned external. Everything bothered me, from my toddler briefly acting as if she were a frog jumping on the floor with her hands, to the chipping of the paint on the chairs we sat on.  I was in crisis mode and my husband knew it.  It’s natural for a mood such as mine to affect other human beings, especially close human beings like my husband.

It was just me, I was the only one freaking out internally.

He, along with my children, ate in peaceful gratitude as the sounds of nfl network played on the tv behind me.  I sat there, closed my eyes as the intensity of these feelings increased and tried to remember what I had learned in therapy; mindfulness.  I concentrated on the sound of my infant babbling.  The feel of each of my breaths were forceful and vibratory as I tried to control each exhale.  Mindfulness has been difficult for me to perfect in my low states, but thank God that after a few minutes of concentration, I was able to sit with my family and eat in a much more bearable state of being.

My children were not phased by the nightmare I just endured and my husband sat in silent frustration of how helpless he feels when I am suffering; I’m sure he was frustrated that we couldn’t have a normal dinner too, filled with occasional laughs and only silence at the sounds of chewing food in enjoyment.  That may be the depression talking again though.  I felt defeated as we left the restaurant.  A better day turned for the worst and my adventure for shopping for antiques turned into a day of experiencing antique emotions.

Derrick and I always push through those low moments and find solitude in our love for each other and faith that masks the horror of my low experiences, but I still felt bad for once again being a burden (depression never ceases at seizing my thoughts).  The last thing I needed to do when we got home was do ANOTHER task, but I can never shake mom mode no matter how low I feel.  Both of my girls needed to be bathed and I defied the need to rest and took the risk of spiraling down into that mental valley for the sake of my children.  I didn’t rush the experience of allowing them to splash and play together.  I gave them their time and rested my mind and myself on the bathroom floor as I watched them play with such excitement.

Derrick and I always push through those low moments and find solitude in our love for each other and faith that masks the horror of those experiences, but I still felt bad for once again being a burden ( depression never ceases at seizing my thoughts)

The day was not totally lost, because although I took a risk and did a task that has debilitated me in the past, I was able to get through it successfully while staying above sinking ground.

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