Unfortunately, nobody knows. Sometimes my "grief" hits me like a ton of bricks. I don't term it depression because generally I don't consider myself depressed. Generally, I'm the happiest, most upbeat person I know. But I have days and some days I have moments, literally moments, of overwhelming sadness that makes me want to break down in tears and immediately curl up into a ball and just sob, sob, sob. I've done mood stabilizers, anxiety meds, and even medications specifically for depression. They all make me feel numb and not like ME, so I've opted to struggle through the moments on my own. I hate the irrational part of me that can't just let things go. I despise the part of me that dwells on and on and on and on. Repeating the same worries and concerns over and over again. I hate that I feel like I can't talk to anyone about it because it seems so bothersome and over the top. I feel like the moments are farther between. I think I've been on this journey through the mountains and valleys long enough to at least be able to talk myself off of the cliff with reminders that "this too shall pass."
My more constant struggle lately is with resentment. Resentment for every other mother out there who has 2, 3, 4 beautiful children who entered this world unscathed and who hit all of their milestones and won't see the insides of an operating room until they suffer heart attacks or knee replacements in their 50s if ever. *facepalm* It's shocking, right? Revolting? Of course I wish no will ill to those sweet little faces that surround me. My resentment stems only from my own deep desire for normalcy. Yes, we have our own normalcy and things go along just fine. I'm learning to accept my life and be thankful for my part in the lives of those around me. That doesn't stop the occasional growing pain in this extremely overwhelming role of Mom that I have been given.
Even as I write this, the guilt of all of the other mamas I know out there who are struggling with bigger issues than I right now waves over me. I know, I know. This is the hand I've been dealt and it could be worse. I know. That doesn't stop my irrational mind from immediately yearning because I also see that it could be better or wandering off into a push/pull struggle of why me? why not me? why me? why not me?
Jax just passed 17 months and we have yet to hear his voice. This is turning into an irritatingly touchy subject for me. He's a baby, right? So it's COMPLETELY normal for him not to be speaking, right? That's what I keep hearing, yet the professionals in our lives are throwing red flags at us left and right. As hard as I try to squeeze the neck on that little devil anxiety (so hard that his head might just pop off), I can't get the nagging to stop. We have a speech evaluation in July and then a developmental evaluation with an autism screening in August. I'm talking myself off the mountain on a fairly consistent basis right now.
Somedays the world seems pretty unfair...today is one of those days.
