I had a good relationship with my mom growing up. She was two different moms for her two different families. She had four kids one right after another and I can't speak to the kind of mom she was to them. I just know there is a lot of resentment and anger about their childhoods. Then after 5 years, she had my brother and then five more years and me.
By the time I came along, she went to work at the Hospital. Mom and Dad had money by then and things were a little better. So, I had fun with my mom -- trips to Utah, trips to Northern California, shopping trips to San Diego, etc.
When my parents moved to Utah, my mom started to change or so I thought. I guess what happened is that a lot of the old demons came back to her. I knew she suffered from depression and learned that anxiety was also a problem for her.
I had very little patience for it because that is not how she was when I was growing up. My words of wisdom were "change your attitude" and "get out more." I think I dropped the "why don't you choose to be happy?" a couple of times. I did not understand how she could change so much. I was never going to be like her and I knew that I would NEVER take medicine for my moods. Another line . . .
About 16 years ago, I started feeling a little depressed. It was something I had noticed that had gotten a little more noticeable after the birth of each child. In 1998, after going to Family Services for marriage counseling because I had found Marty on a pornography website and was devastated, I was prescribed prozac. We never shared the exact reason for going to counseling, i.e. porn., because it was "too embarrassing." So I moved one line and started taking prozac.
My relationship with my mother deteriorated throughout the years and I just didn't worry about it. My mom passed away on New Year's Day, 2007. I have always been grateful that I was there because I was able to wash her face and her hands and arms in the same way that she used to for me when I sick. It was such privilege to be with her during her last hours and I did get to say I was sorry. I didn't get to tell her "I understand," because I didn't.
Soon after her death, it became clear that I did have anxiety and a major depressive disorder. I have been to the emergency room three times with possible heart attacks, only to find out they were panic attacks.
In November of 2009, I started not wanting to leave my house. I felt safe there. Almost every time I left the house for one reason or another, something would happen that showed me the outside world was not safe. I stopped living life -- I didn't go to church. I would set up on my couch with my viewmont blanket and my cat. That is where I stayed.
I still don't like to leave my house, but I am a little more successful at it by now. I have many regrets about this anxiety, but one that stands out is that I now "understand." I would love to be able to tell my mom -- I get it. No one, that has not experienced anxiety can understand what this is like. I have tried to describe it to Marty and my kids, but its hard for them. I try to be patient with their lack of understanding knowing that is what I did to my mom.
I am sad that I have to go through this. Sad that I learned too late to tell my mom, I know! Sad that my kids and Marty have to put up with this issue. Anyway, I am working hard and have been working for about a year now and I do see some progress. Not quite after the tears, but at least towards the end of the tears?
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