Maybe I'm the asshole

 I love a good lazy Sunday. Catching up on housework for a bit and then spending the rest of the day relaxing or eating brunch with friends. Doing a little day drinking.  Practicing self-care-Sunday. Taking a nap. It’s usually on days like this when I get to see how much we’ve put off during the week. 

For example, we have a fun game in our house that we like to play where we see how many times we can open the lid of the trashcan in the kitchen and smash down the garbage as far as it will go in an effort to hopefully repeat that same maneuver enough times during the week that you only have to take out the trash twice—once a week if you push down hard enough. I mean, like get your back into it. Jude is really good at this game. It could possibly be the only exercise he gets each week. He’s even perfected his move by using a clean paper plate to cover the top of the trash so his hands stay clean. We have a lot of fun games like this—like cover up the clean clothes on your bed with your bedspread so you don’t have to fold them, or hide dirty dishes in your room so you don’t have to load the dishwasher, or move the table in the kitchen over so it covers the spot where you dripped your chocolate milk and didn’t feel like cleaning it up right then because you’re playing video games. But then on Sunday, all of these games have to come to an end and actual cleaning has to take place so you can do it all over again during the week.

Speaking of coming to terms with your Dumpster-fire life on a Sunday, it seems my last blog post about depression stirred some feelings for people. I was surprised by the number of people that reached out to me via social media, messenger, or text and told me what they were going through with their children or themselves or a family member. It’s been eye-opening for me because writing about what it’s like to live with someone with severe depression helped me realize why so people have sort of disappeared from my life after Robby died. For a long time, I was really mad at some people because I felt like they turned their backs on the kids and me. I thought after Robby died, I’d have people over here checking on us and making sure I was invited to their parties and events. But then I’d see crap on social media about how they were out living life and seeing other friends or whatever and I’d say something to Veronica about it. Usually, it was after a glass of wine and it would go something like, “Fuck those people.” I know that’s not very nice, but it’s the truth. And she’d tell me I was over-reacting and that she didn’t feel that way. She’d say, “They are probably still sad about Robby, and they don’t know how to be around us. It’s hard to be around people when you are sad. I know. And I’m not mad and you shouldn’t be either.”

Well, damn. She’s a smart girl. And I’d like to take a little credit for all the thousands of dollars I have spent on her therapy except when she ‘reads me,’ she’s usually 100% correct. And it’s humbling.

After she calmed me down, I’d feel a little bad for feeling that way. A little bad, lol. I’m still angry sometimes and I never know what will bring it on. And some of you are probably reading this and wondering if I ever said, “fuck you” about you. Honestly, there is no telling. That's how emotions work. Sometimes they make no sense to anyone except you. 

It’s kind of funny what we think about but especially what we think others think about us. And like my mama used to tell me, they probably aren’t thinking about you as much as you think about them because they are thinking about themselves and trying to survive like the rest of us. 

Why do we waste so much energy creating these scenarios in our heads where we wonder who is mad at us? Who is talking about us? And it’s a vicious cycle with depression because you’re too depressed or you have too much anxiety to see people or reach out to them, but then you feel guilty and like the worst friend in the world and that makes the distance even greater because you don't even know where to start once that fog lifts a little. But we never tell people that. We never say, “I’m a fucked up mess right now so please listen to the music while I try to get my shit together.” We put on a smile, post our obnoxious things on social media, and just hope everyone thinks we are fine. We’re fine, right?

I never really put a lot of thought into why people were keeping their distance from me. That’s a lie. I put so much time into it. Like a stupid amount of time and I can tell you, I was wrong every time I tried to guess why I wasn’t hearing from someone. And now I know the answer was there all along, and I didn’t listen to it because I think I’m smarter than my daughter. I think I have the world figured out and it’s my job to teach her how things work. But she gets it. She knows why people keep their distance. Why they sit in their homes and close the shades and never pick up the phone to check in but spend a crazy amount of time on social media posting memes and being funny. Now I can see that behind that Wordle post for the day, is most likely a very depressed person, barely capable of being able to get out of bed in the morning. They have the energy to hit 'like' on your post about finding the best grilled cheese sandwich in town, but they can’t find a way to ask you how you are doing, let alone put their arms around you and hold you while you cry a little. They can’t say they love you, but they can post a photo of their dog on the couch wearing glasses and get all those laughing face emojis to feel somewhat normal for the day. They can wave and smile when they drive past but they can’t stop the car and roll down the window to have an actual conversation. They’ll turn down your offer to meet for dinner because they say they are tired, but what you don’t know is they are tired because they haven’t slept for three entire days because their anxiety is off the charts and every time their head hits the pillow, a million thoughts come in and keep them awake all night. 

And I guess it’s none of my business what you are going through and what it does to your relationships. Your day is bad enough without knowing that I’m at home saying “fuck those people” to my daughter. But being honest about her depression helped me see that something she said one night during one of my wine-infused pity parties was pretty spot on—maybe you're the one with the problem? Maybe I am. Damn you, overpriced therapist. 

Maybe my friends that I have felt abandoned by are just trying to survive through the week and rather than take the time to address what’s going on, I’m taking that clean paper plate and smashing down on their problems in an effort to keep my hands clean and avoid the hard conversation. I keep smashing it down but at some point, the trash gets to the top and you have to address it or lose those relationships. Because if I wanted to know, I guess I could always ask. I mean, that’s what I would tell my children and my friends to do. Just ask them. Pretty simple. Maybe I am the asshole. Maybe not. (I totally am, BTW). 

But who really cares who is right and who is wrong in this situation? We are all just trying to survive in our way. We all need love and I’m sorry if I was an asshole to you. If it makes you feel better, sometimes I’m an asshole to myself and I should probably give myself more hugs and forgiveness on a lazy Sunday as part of my new self-care routine. And you should do the same. Starting now. 

Broken hearts, smashed glass, and dealing with depression

 Alright, another week down and things seem to be going pretty well right now. Or course I know I shouldn’t say stuff like that out loud because that’s when things start not going so well. Like the other day, I was getting a suitcase out of the attic for Veronica so she could go away for the weekend with her new boyfriend. Yeah, I know. I’m not sure how I feel about that either, but she is 21 now and she really needs to get out of the house more, so if grabbing a suitcase out of the attic helps, I’ll happily do it.

She followed me to the garage to retrieve the suitcase and I looked over at her and said, “This is going to be a great trip, sweetie.” Then of course, when I pulled the rope to open the attic hatch, I noticed a box of Christmas ornaments had somehow fallen and wedged itself in between the slats of the wooden collapsible ladder that I have to pull down and unfold to access the attic. Veronica was standing beside me and noticed it as well. She handed me a nearby mop and as I tried to hold the box still with the mop handle, while unfolding the ladder, the top of the box opened up and the ornaments rained down on my head. I closed my eyes and ducked my head and listened to the sound of glass breaking all around us. And when I looked back up, I opened my eyes just in time to have the ladder swing out and smack me in the face. And I thought, yep, that’s so on brand for my life right now.  

Veronica just stood there with her mouth open and then finally asked, “Mom, are you OK?” I kind of laughed and said, “Yeah. Just get the suitcase and let’s get out of here.” We left the pile of broken ornaments on the garage floor and walked back inside the house. I quickly decided I’d deal with it later. I didn’t even want to start looking at what was ruined and what survived. Veronica told me to just leave the broken stuff for her and she’d fix it when she got back from her trip. If you know Veronica, aka The Duchess, you know an offer like that is pretty rare most days. But I could tell she meant every word.

I guess out of the three of us, she’s taken Robby’s death the hardest. If I’m being honest, she wasn’t exactly doing well before he died. She had dropped out of college near the end of 2019 and was later hospitalized for her depression. Rather than sitting in class and walking around a college campus like most people her age, she spent her days at a mandatory outpatient program to try to get a handle on her depression. She then started volunteering her time at a local wildlife rehab facility and seemed to finally find her place in the world taking care of animals that were in worse shape than her and things seemed to be getting better for her. Then Robby died. And I felt like we were right back where we started. Staying in bed all day in a dark room. Isolating herself from everyone. Lots of crying. Lots of anger. But I guess the silver lining of experiencing how death affects a family, she no longer wanted to kill herself and put her brother and me through that trauma. She didn’t invent grief or depression, so I know she’s not alone in how she deals with things, but it’s hard to watch. It’s especially hard for a mom to watch. And trying to help is overwhelming. Everyone is quick to offer suggestions and advice--and most of it sucks. You can’t kick out your adult daughter when she’s down no matter what Dr. Phil says about tough love.

Robby had become her dad. She even asked him to adopt her so she could have his last name. They had a close relationship that could be very complicated at times since they were both the most stubborn and outspoken people I’ve ever met, but they loved each other very much. He was a good dad to her, and she was his little girl. He took her to her first father-daughter dance, sold Girl Scout cookies at her booths, and protected her at high school every day. And to make the loss of her dad even worse, a lot of Veronica’s depression stems from the bad relationship she had with her bio dad—the same guy that turned his back on her many years ago. Sometimes she’ll say something about how she’s lost two dads. I’m not really sure how anyone is supposed to cope with being dealt that hand in life.

Every once in a while, I’ll have someone reach out and ask how the kids are doing. With Veronica, my answer is usually one of two responses: This is a good week or this is a not so good week. I try to be honest about it even on the days when I don’t feel like talking about it because I’ve realized how many other people are struggling with their own kids her age or even struggling themselves as adults. It’s comforting to know you aren’t alone. The amount of depression and anxiety among young people is staggering and sometimes as adults we don’t get it. And if you don’t have sympathy for it, you may just blame phones or bad parenting or social media or a lack of exercise or some kind of crap like that.

And as a mom, you can be a super-mom and give your kids all the love you have to give along with boundaries, a good therapist, and the occasional surprise of Kispy Kreme on a rainy Sunday, and they still turn out not OK. And for some moms, that’s just not acceptable and they feel like complete failures. I know I have. It’s like this idea that if you work hard, good things will happen for you. But the truth is, you can do everything you think is right and give your children all the love and time and money you have to give and still fall short. They’re still depressed. They have no interest in working or going to college. They don’t take care of themselves the way they should. They are angry at you and blame you for their problems. And sometimes they hug you and say they love you and they don’t know what is wrong with them. They would rather sit at their computer talking to people they’ve never met than sit at the dinner table with you and make small talk. But it’s not personal even when it’s coming from the people you love the most in this world.

And you know what? It’s OK. Sometimes you can do everything you think is right and you still end up with chaos. Just like how you can take a box and pack away your precious Christmas ornaments and put them up in a safe spot. But that box can somehow get bumped when your back is turned and find its way to an open hole in the ceiling of your garage and rain down on your head and break all around you—and when you think the worst is over, a ladder pops out and smacks you in the face to remind you, but wait, there’s more. And sometimes you don’t have the strength to deal with the mess and you have to walk away and close the door until you are ready to sift through the pieces and figure out what is still OK, what can be glued back together, and what just needs to be let go of because you’re going to spend too much time trying to fix something you can’t fix right now, or maybe ever.

I’m hopeful Veronica will keep moving in the right direction so she can live a life that is full of happiness and fun memories. I’ll continue to do everything I can to help make that happen. But for now, she’s gotta figure this stuff out and keep working on it. I can’t fill that void she feels right now, and I don’t know if that void will ever be filled, but all I can do is love her. That’s all any of us can do. Love these kids and the other people in our lives that are suffering with all our heart and hope that one day is better than the last and the next is something they look forward to, and maybe one day, they’ll love themselves as much as we do.