in the living room

while sitting here watching yet another VH1 Top 100 Videos of the 1980's (because we just can't enough nostalgia at our house), another ad from The Agency was shown during commercial break, sandwiched between a Tostito's spot and a Saturn clip that made us want to go get a new vehicle.  right now.

i sat riveted, waiting for the adoption spiked heel shoe to drop.  it never fails me, the shoe.

the attractive young woman touting adoption closes her monologue with this: stay in touch with your baby...if you want.

i threw a flip flop at the television.

Chris rolled his eyes, still staring forward.  "you mean if THEY want", he muttered.

i looked at him, laughed, and gave him a fist-bump (yes, we're known to do that in moments of our awesomeness as a couple). then i shook my head and laughed some more.  

The Great Pink Elephant Analogy

much like how The Great Dorito Analogy hit me like a ton of bricks, my boss tossed another one at me on Friday, while we were catching up on things.  sometimes it's really great working for a small business: we're more like family.  she knows about the Kiddo, about certain circumstances in my life that make living and breathing difficult.  and she's eternally supportive.  i'm ridiculously lucky in that regard, considering we just got through a very rough patch, and she could have made it unpleasant for me.

"i'm driving again!" i exclaimed.

she looked at me blankly, not comprehending.

"um, yeah. i haven't driven in months.  guess you didn't know that, huh?"

i went on to explain that i certainly wasn't going to verbalize, at the time, the things i wasn't doing.  it was one thing to know that they were watching me toboggan downhill, but to have them actually understand that i was withdrawing from life, well, that would have been TMI.

she cocked her head, shading her eyes from the sun.  "its like there's a huge pink elephant in the room, and everyone sees it.  you just think everything's pink, therefore normal."

well, raise my rent.

specifically when it comes to adoption, Chris is really the only person in my life who understands how difficult (and sometimes traumatic) participating in open adoption is for me.  if i'm sad or grumpy, and tell him that i'm "having a crappy adoption day" (not that there are "great adoption days", mind you), he understands exactly what that means.  and maybe i'll talk about it, maybe not.

but i haven't really talked it about in detail, specifics, in quite awhile.  compounded with the miscarriages, the pink elephant on my life doubled, tripled, quadrupled itself without me even noticing.  indeed, everything looked pink and "normal".

while the elephant hasn't diminished in size, i have a little perspective.  i can see the other colors in the room.

Adoption Blogging: Old Skool Style

in the hospital, they don't let you have a pen.  or a full sized pencil.  there are boxes of golf pencils available, but they keep a point for only about 20 minutes, which is frustrating to the "holy jebus i've got a lot to get out of my system" type of blogger/writer.

being able to write about specific events without having to worry about who might be reading it or who i might anger in the process was extremely freeing.  because i don't post a lot of what i feel here because of those two very important reasons.  and the reason why i "slash & burn" many of my older posts retrospectively.  fear of retribution.

throughout my life, i've just wanted to make you happy.  you, the reader, can apply that you to yourself or just the universal "you".  the result is still the same.  for instance, i wanted so desperately to be the mythical "good birth mother", which is why many of my posts are about specific incidents, altered in minuscule ways to protect the obvious, rather than specific feelings.  because if i talk about anger, i might alienate some people, and i sure wouldn't want to do that, even though its my truth.  i've been playing it pretty safe in many regards when it comes to blogging about my experiences with open adoption.

i haven't written consistently, journal style, since i was about 23 or so, when my writing was fueled by caffeine, lack of sleep, 2am-8am work sorting boxes for the Big Brown Shipping Co and my regular changing shift job at the MegaBookstore.  but it was real, warts and all.  and it was cathartic.  and i may just have to start doing that again.

this could be the start of something good

i had my first "real" therapy appointment today.

when i first sat down with "Carol", i told her straight away that i had put off therapy for so long because i'd been waiting for the Magic Adoption Counselor to materialize out of thin air.  obviously, that's not realistic.  but i let her know straight away that i was unsure about how to proceed.  

we touched on the Big Issues, so she could get a general idea of where i was in my head.  and i discovered, when i left, that she "got" me.  she pinned and drew from me the Real Reasons why some incidents occurred the way they did, and why, possibly, some relationships are the way they are.  some of her observations are things that i wrote about a few months ago.  so at least i was on the right track.

all in 45 minutes.

she doesn't know much about adoption.  right now, i'm okay with that.  while that's one of the Big Issues, it's simply that, just one.  i can see myself learning to trust Carol, being able to open up a bit.  i've seen glimpses in the past 10 days of who i really am, the Barb that has gotten buried in a landslide of emotional mud.  and i see that woman making more regular appearances with a lot of work and some time.  we're taking it "slow".  there's no hurry.  i feel, for the first time in ages, that i've got all the time in the world.

8.5.09

so i had my first Outpatient Therapy yesterday.  it was what i expected, having done this thing in the past.  an hour and a half or so of full background: personal history, family history, drug/alcohol history, major and minor details of all kinds.  since i've been repeating the same items for about two weeks regularly, it came easily and without much thought.  i only had to think about one question, that came early in the session: what do you want to achieve in your therapy?

even though i knew in my head, it took me a few minutes to articulate my goals.  that i needed to unload & work through the major events.  to come to some sort of resolution with a few of the issues.  stress management.

i was upbeat, nay, almost perky throughout the Q & A.  my sense of humor, both natural and a bit of a defense mechanism, ran amok in spurts.  again, having been through all of these questions so often lately, i partly keeping myself entertained.  i realized that i could be perceived as being "flip" or "glib", but after the fifth time of being asked in a different way if i had thoughts of harming myself or others, i leaned back in my chair, looked at the intake counselor, and said, "yes, i can contract for safety", at which point she stared at me and started to laugh.  "you certainly know what you're talking about, Barbara", she mused.

when the intake was through, i waited to meet with my psychiatrist, who would be monitoring my medication.  the intake counselor met with the shrink to brief her on our meeting, and i waited in the lounge area with Chris.  i was feeling positive, and we muttered exchanges of immediate thoughts.

the psychiatrist ran through some of the same questions, and i was careful to maintain eye contact, to not fidget, as we discussed the medication i was presently taking, and what i had taken in the past.  about 15 minutes into our meeting, she looked over her glasses at me and remarked "you're quite a savvy woman, Barbara".  i have a history of this sort of thing, depression/anxiety, being treated for it.  they knew this.  i know the lingo, the routine.  and i want to get better, so why not cut to the chase?

she ran through my bloodwork, the 6 or 7 vials that were drawn the night before i entered the Behavioral Hospital.  the shrink hmmm'd and muttered over some of the results, asking me health questions and dropped a bombshell on me.  that i might have another form of mental illness.  might.  we'd keep an eye on that, revisit the medications in a month.  while she was almost breezing over that news, my stomach bottomed out.  and we moved onto other topics.

we spoke briefly about adoption and she fed me, unfortunately, the lines that have kept me out of proper therapy for so long.  "well, when he's 18, there IS a possibility for reunion.  it happens, you know".  i felt my blood pressure rise, my face turn red.  i kept repeating to myself internally that neither of these women were going to be my therapist.  this was simply intake. neither knew my story, just the most basic of details, patter that fell from mouth out of habit, without emotion.

when we reached the miscarriage bit, i was again irritated by the doctor's responses.  the "my sister's husband's cousin's wife had X amount of miscarriages, adopted a beautiful baby and then lo and behold! she got pregnant! and she was nearing 40!  it happens!".  my anxiety was rising a little, i had started biting the insides of my cheeks, and the left foot that was crossed in a ladylike fashion over the right started to click softly with my flip flop.  while i was paying attention to what was being said, i started my internal mantra "she's in charge of monitoring my medications, not my therapy".

i was silent on the way home.  as we sat in traffic on the causeway heading onto the island, each of us smoking, classic rock playing softly on the radio, i started to get a little angry.  a little agitated.  the "possible" diagnosis that lingered in my head.  the standard responses to both surface issues of adoption & miscarriage.

while the rest of the afternoon was a bit hairy - some tears, a little hyperventilating - Chris and i talked for hours while we watched the Phillies pummel the Rockies on tv.  i was able to go to bed in a much better frame of mind.  and still looking forward to therapy.

my first actual therapy appointment is on Monday afternoon.

(note: i realize that these last two posts are not in the same vein as the others, meaning not "all about adoption". please understand that my adoption issues, and what has stemmed from them, are the main reason why i'm seeking help. this is simply the first toll booth on the road to getting better. i appreciate, more than you know, your support. many of you have been reading this blog for years. so thank you, most sincerely)

Contracting for Safety

i've had a rough few weeks.  few months.  few years.  it all came to a bubbling boil around the 25th of July or so, when i suffered what is now called a Mental Health Crisis.

despite my blogging, however infrequent it is these days, and my small email discussions, i still retain my lifelong "stuffing" habits.  and its been quite unhealthy.  unhealthy enough to land me in the ER several times in one week and finally, voluntarily, in a Behavioral Hospital for about 6 days.

i wasn't suicidal, that's never really been my speed.  but i had ceased to function, at work or at home.  irrepressible tears that couldn't be stopped by family comfort, or distraction, or even medication.  a small intervention was necessary, and when it occurred, i was actually relieved.  i shook, and cried, and croaked out that i needed help.  and the calvary arrived.

apparently my friends, family & boss had been watching me sliding steadily downhill for well over a year.  different loved ones would mention periodically that i might want to talk to someone.  i'm awfully stubborn.  i could deal with it all on my own.  i could take care of it. clearly, that wasn't the case, as those around me stood helplessly as i was evaluated by the psychiatrist at the hospital for the second time in a week.

when i met my treatment team on the Unit at the Behavioral Hospital, it was pretty routine.  family history, drug/alcohol history, personal history.  even though i was pretty heavily medicated, i still shook, still cried endlessly as a talked about the Kiddo, the miscarriages.  i was impressed that they all said up front that they knew very little about adoption in general, and some hadn't even heard of open adoption.  it was better than having them feed me some pat lines of bullshit.

when my medication was adjusted to an anti-anxiety and anti-depressant, i started to feel like myself a bit.  i talked with the other patients, spoke up in the groups, talked about what i was going through, using the generalities of Grief, Loss, Stress & Guilt.  very few people knew about the Kiddo, and the miscarriages.  it seemed unimportant in the grand scheme, as the Unit was really just a short term weigh station for long term care or outpatient therapy, which i already had set up a few days before entering the hospital.  and that i'm really looking forward to starting on Wednesday.

i've been battling the Depression & Anxiety demons since, well, forever.  probably since i was a child.  i was first diagnosed around 1992, and took medication for several years.  and it worked. and i felt better. so i stopped.  typical. i resumed it around 1999, felt better, stopped. typical.

one of the counselors took me aside after a group, reinforcing to me that i deserved better than the punishment i was handing myself daily.  that i deserved a better life.  my husband deserved to have a wife that was present. and somehow his words got through my thick, stubborn skull and i realized he was right.

and the Kiddo deserves better from me.  for me to be healthy and happy.  i don't want his last memory of me to be a puddle of tears and utterly stressed, which i imagine IS his last memory, almost 3 years ago.

as honest, emotionally and in the short stories of incidents that have occurred, as i have been on this blog, there have been many things i haven't been able to convey.  real anger, real hurt.  i've always felt, truly, like i deserved to hold onto these feelings, that it was my deed therefore my punishment.

i wrote almost constantly on the Unit, in a composition book, using tiny "golf pencils" that only held a sharp point for about half a page or so. it was all about adoption.  i wrote about the last time i saw the Kiddo, how the visit actually went.  and a few days later, i wrote him a letter, coming from a much better place.  it is unfinished, i had run out of time during that session, and that's okay.  i probably won't look at that writing again: there's no need.

i also discovered how much i am loved during this time. how much my friends, my family need me to be well.  and that i want to get healthy.  in so many ways i've been shutting out so much life, and keeping myself in this box.  

i'm slowly coming out of that box.  and it will take work.  and it will be difficult at times. and i'm prepared for that.  looking forward to it.  the end result is worth it.  i'm worth it.  my husband is worth it.  my friends and family are worth it. and the Kiddo is most certainly worth it.