So, this is the end of what, without any hesitation, was the very worst year of my life.

I could recap. I think i will for my own posterity because it's been a really crappy year.

January 2007 - hospitalized on the psychiatric ward for five days.

July 2007 - suicide attempt

September 2007 - end of a sixteen year relationship

December 2007 - hardest holiday season ever

There. It's done. It can only get better from here because i can't handle anything worse. The hell i saw in 2007. May 2008 bring peace and joy for my family.

And yours.

xx
jess

It is so hard to continue writing here. The whole story. I wish i could talk about it, iron out the wrinkles, pick off all the little bits of lint that persist on my black work clothes no matter how many times i roll the lint roller over my body. A little bit of touch that feels so magical in a time when i am lacking human contact.

I have hit the wall. In terms of working. I've had enough. I am so tired. So bone weary tired. The running start on my separation having slowed to a sprint. Running the race for who can get through all of this the least hurt. The least betrayed.

I drop the kids off with their dad on friday morning then i run until monday at 8am when i pick them up. Usually working six shifts in the interim. Counting out the tips, squirreling away the larger bills. Preparing for the slow months. The months after the bounty has fallen off the tree and there is nothing left to harvest.

And then i pick up the kids. And i love them so. Stealing kisses from parker. Little hugs and thank-you's. And then i am so tired. I fall asleep for three hours after dinner. Waking to them playing in their room. Laughing. Feeling comfortable in their new home. Feeling better every week with two homes.

I wrote this one year ago:

The idea of being able to say goodbye to an emotion, a longing, a feeling that is tearing you up inside.

And yet, you are still here.

The very best thing about this detailing of my life, this writing from the heart, is that i can look back when i am full of doubt. Or lonely. I can look back and remember where i have been. I can see a future that is different.

I can wade through this time of turmoil and change. I can be comforted that i did try and make a change.

Let's talk about my children. They are awesome.

I haven't said that enough lately. That used to be my thing. Back when i could feel it. Awesome!

There is no question that i have screwed up. Believe me, i know that. When i sit at my computer, christmas lists to my left, bills to my right and a bank account at $0 on my computer screen i know exactly where i am.

When people crank call me, or crank blog comment me, or don't talk to me - i know exactly what my life has become.

Maybe i do feel sorry for myself. I do. Today i do. The best thing i can do is hide in my bed. I had a couple ativan that i used up, one by one, at each pick up from school this week.

I knew this would happen. I knew it would take awhile for all of this to really sink in. When shane was asking me to make decisions, change, sign separation agreements, weeks after we separated - i knew - i knew it would be much harder. At some later date. And here i am.

And i know i did something wrong. I know i did a bad thing. Sometimes the heart, or loneliness, make you do bad things. Search for compassion. Search for someone to make you feel like a real person again.

I worked hard on my marriage. I did everything i was supposed to. I asked to go to marriage counseling. I asked to be loved. I asked for flowers. I asked for the garbage to be taken out. I asked for a little help.

This is not all my fault.

I am telling you what i did wrong.

I am ready to move on.

My kids are awesome.

Tristan is in a play this weekend, a pantomime. It is sold out - five shows. I am very proud.

Toby is learning to read. I am very proud.

Eliza learned to knit, with needles, this week. I am very proud.

Parker is thinking kindergarten might be okay. I am very proud.

Some things never change. A poem from my book of poetry i published in 1994:

And today

i think about suicide again
walking into the ocean
it would, of course,
make no difference

my lover is away
and i am lonely
because it's not the steps
to him
but, the steps away
that are long

i wonder how many mornings we have sat
at that table
over strong coffee
smiling

this space
is ours
the table
is simply a table
without that.

Today i am staying in bed all day. The kids are gone. I feel the immense burden and sadness falling on me now.

It has been two months of running. Racing. Fleeing.

Now i am settled. Now i am finally standing still.

All i can do is lay in bed and hide from the world.

All i can do is cry.

All i can do is take this day as my day of mourning.

All i can do is try to sleep.

The long weekend is almost over. Thanksgiving continues it's two day celebration. I have done two services of turkey at two different restaurants. Today i will do one more.

Smiling, chatting. Families celebrating and giving thanks. Eating massive plates of turkey and gravy and stuffing. Feeling generous.

I always tell my customers about my children. Chat about school and activities. Plying them with wine and cider.

I was invited out twice this weekend. I couldn't go. Partly because of this rotten cold i've been hanging on to. But mostly because my social anxiety is strangling me a little.

I'm used to having someone by my side. A child. A husband. Someone to take the spotlight off of me. I am not ready to be the only. To be pitied. To take sympathy. To talk about myself.

Instead i have been retreating to my condo. Sleeping. Thinking. Reflecting.

I'm not sure how i am going to be able to make friends. Be a friend. In this new way. It will come.

hello friends,

i have been without internet access for five days.

i am newly separated. single mother. new home.

kids with me now, until friday.

i will not talk about the status of my marriage. save for today.

just an update. more soon.

jess
xx

This questioning, this self-doubt. It has to stop. I fell asleep in the school tonight. After a meeting. I was just so tired. The unreasonable part of me thought "i'll just have a little rest on this couch, and then i will write! I will write the great american novel. I will write the best damn book proposal anyone has ever seen. I will be great. But, i am so tired. I will close my eyes just for a moment. A wee moment as my grandpa used to say."

And then. Shit! It's 12:30 and i just slept for two hours on the couch in an elementary school. No writing was done. I drove home in a panic. Expecting my poor worried husband to be sitting up for me. But, i guess i have worn him out too.

I am on this winding road, similar to the one we drive to campsites, wondering, wandering. Lost in my mental state.

I am going to swear tonight. Just so you know. If you are sensitive, go somewhere else NOW!

Fucking hell.

I knew it was coming. I knew when i walked in the door, every single night, and my husband was waiting nervously for me.

No matter how many times i called, or said, "don't worry" or "go to bed" he is always there.

He says it's because he cares. But, really, the feeling is exactly the same as when i was a teenager. YOU ARE BEING WATCHED. Don't fuck up jess.

But, the thing is i'm not a kid, i'm a grown woman. I have four children who i've birthed and (am) raising. I am a good mother, not perfect but that doesn't exist.

I have made some major mistakes, but not too many minor ones.

I hate my life happy as much as i did sad. I wish it would all just be normal again. But, how can it be normal when you live with me?

But. But! All i want is normal. I want to be me without judgment. I want to be free from my suicide attempt. I know it's too soon. But, i can't get better without some space.

I have a giant cold sore on my mouth. Again. My outward sign of stress, or perhaps too much kissing.

The latter would be much better. The stress of being well, of working so hard to hike up my britches and continue on is difficult.

"It's been a month. Shouldn't she be all better by now? Yes! Let's stop asking how she's doing and embrace the standard 'everything is great' standard response."

It's not that everything isn't great. It is moderately good. That is better than it has been in a long time. The thing about school on the horizon is that it forced you to embrace every single minute of summer there is left, despite whatever crappy weather is thrown your way.

I am working friday through sunday, two weddings! Yippee. Then on monday i'm taking the kids camping all by myself. I can hardly wait.

A beautiful day. Finally the sun was out. Perhaps just for a day. Whatever global warming is creating monster temperatures elsewhere has left my little westcoast basked in rain and abnormally low temperatures. It's like the warm-up for the long, dark winter.

The kids are getting ready for the beginning of school in three short weeks. It boggles my mind to think the summer is almost over, when really it has only just begun. In another in a long series of things that i feel bad about in this summer of 2007 i always worry that i don't do enough for the kids. Not enough fun.

I am not ready to get back into schedules. Early mornings. Packing lunches. The constant headache from lack of sleep. Being the president of the school.

I would homeschool if it didn't involve the schooling part, just the summer vacation all the time.

Little to nothing to say today. In a flux. A state of being better, but not really sure how that looks. Still unsure about the future. Taking every step cautiously. Wrapping my heart in a pillow, lest i fall. Hoping for some extended relief from the burden of pain. New friends and new projects underway. Continuing to make changes. To make my life better.

Planning the very late birthday party/slumber fest for my oldest daughter. Wanting to make it perfect for her. Realizing that more and more i am losing all control of her life. Unable to filter and shelter her as much as i used to. Knowing the difficult days are coming for her. That she is becoming a preteen.

I know it seems strange. The lifting of the fog. The sudden change.

I am trying to embrace it. This happiness, things going right. I am trying to believe i deserve this. That this is real.

The thing is when you have bi-polar disorder or something like it. When you are so closely watched. When you are introspective and self-aware. You find yourself laying awake at night terrified that this is not better, this is a manic episode, or hypo-manic. Something bad is still happening.

I am not really happy, i am still crazy. Just at the opposite end of the spectrum.

Happiness can't be just happiness and sadness will never be just sadness. That shadow of doubt will constantly hang over me.

I will tell you this about my softball weekend. It was fun. Super fun. I won a trophy - "Most Inspirational Female." I haven't won anything since i was a kid. It felt nice.

I am tired of everyone worrying about me. Seeing them talk in hushed words to my husband. Being judged for my actions, having my actions judged.

Suddenly playing lots of softball makes me manic or lacking moderation.

I have always been an over-achiever. I like to do the things i like. I like to do them a lot.

I need help writing.

What do you want to know? Go ahead throw me your worst. I'll answer as many questions as i can. Send em in via comments.

Life has been a rollercoaster. In a good way.

I have been working hard on fixing things. Making this life worth living. For me. I've got the kid thing down. I know they are happy. Criticism of my parenting skills will not bother me. They are happy - sometimes bored, sometimes sad, sometimes very noisy - but, at the end of every single day i know they are happy. Having me as their mother may be difficult at times, but i pour everything i have into this mommy gig.

Now i need to do the same for me.

In the past week shane and i have spent long, difficult moments talking about our relationship. A week ago i was ready to move out. Even finding a house to rent. Then we started talking about all the problems with our marriage. We agreed to go to counseling. We agreed that we still loved each other. We agreed this is worth fixing. Or, at least, trying to fix.

In all that talking we have become happy again. The problems are still there. But owning up to them. Not sweeping them under the carpet. Saying the words out loud. Doing those things has made the mountain seem a little bit more like a mole hill.

You can fix what's not broken.

This weekend in an effort to push my body to it's limit i will be playing nine softball games in two days at our annual tournament. Then softball will be over for another year.

This is my very favourite video ever made. It looks exactly how my weekend will look. Except for the rain.

I have very vague memories of what happened saturday night. I do remember being loaded in the ambulance and as it pulled away the paramedic standing over me yelled for the driver to turn it up to level 1.

Then i have this foggy memory that, as cliché as it sounds, was an out of body experience. I was watching as the very large paramedic lay over top of me, trying to control a seizure and put an I.V. in. I had blood dripping down my arm from several failed attempts. Then he screamed that my pupil was blown.

I sat there thinking "that means i'm dead. right?" I remember seeing that on television.

And then i thought.

I thought, "i'm not scared."

I wasn't thinking of any kind of god. I was thinking of my children. How i had really screwed up this time. I had destroyed everything i loved.

Then for a brief moment i was in the emergency screaming. And i was scared.

And then it was morning and i woke up. Battered and bruised. But alive.

My life is, obviously, a mess. My marriage is under incredible stress. People don't know how to act around me. They don't even want to talk to me.

Except my kids. They are happy i am here. I am happy to be here. I am worried about the consequences my actions will have on them. I hope that with time they will understand.

Dear world,

I wish i could tell you everything is okay. All these months i have wished and hoped for wellness. I have gone about it in all the wrong ways. I have abused my body and my brain in an attempt to achieve numbness.

Instead my life snowballed into a searing pain that i felt i couldn't escape from.

On saturday night i attempted suicide by an overdose of prescription medicine. Luckily, while semi-conscious i called a friend who sent an ambulance. I had many seizures and came incredibly close to being successful.

I am thankful that i am still here. I am scared for what the future holds. My secret is out.

As i lay in my hospital bed all i could think of was my children and what an idiot i was. When i was swallowing the pills all i could think about was them. Somehow rationalizing that they would be okay. When i woke up i was so happy, so blessed that i could see another day. See my children again.

I am sorry for those of you i have worried. I am going to recoup, regroup and get my shit together.

jess
xxoo

I am finding myself in such a strange place. I suppose it's all this introspection. All the therapy.

I just don't want to talk to anybody. I crave solitude. I just want to be alone. To deal with my demons without the harsh eye of loved ones. I don't want to be loved. The crushing responsibility of it.

Being cared about means you have to step up. You can't destroy yourself.

The kids and i have been having wonderful days. More time in the water than out. Summer days make me happy.

If i could just live through the nights. If i could find a way to talk about my murky thoughts. I wish i was easier to live with. I wish life could be so simple as building sandcastles faster than the breaking tide.

In my world crap is not a swear word. It's a state of mind.

Summer is nice. I like the kids around. The chaos. The disorganized schedules. Sleeping in. Running out the door with a cooler full of snacks - waiting for the day's adventure to begin. Freckles blooming.

I am constantly surrounded by children. It lets my mind roll around in childhood bliss while the kids are awake. I forget who i am for moments and hours at a time.

Then, at night; while the house sleeps the deep sleep of days filled with constant action, i sit and i think. I feel. I feel the small tingles in my brain that remind me of the poison i take to try and contain the swell of depression and anxiety. I sit lonely.

I resist bed. My sleep filled with twitches and anxiety fueled dreams that leave me sweaty and tired in the morning. I resist running out the door. Driving around desperately searching for myself. Where have i gone? When did i lose myself. When did i lose my fierce optimism. When did i become disenchanted by life in general. Who am i going to be when my kids are grown. Who will i talk to.

What will i be when i am old.

Tomorrow is the last day of school. Celebration Day.

I am so sad to be saying goodbye to 11 amazing kids. As president i make a speech and give them each a tree to plant to remember the time at our school. I can't believe how much i adore these kids. How much the moving on hurts me.

I'm excited for them. The beginning of lives ahead of them. But really? Really i don't want things to change. The school is so perfect right now. Amazing kids, amazing teachers.

I have had such a great year here. This is what has gotten me through.

On sunday we begin our summer camping adventures. I'm excited about that too. Warm days and chilly nights around the fire. Friends and conversation.

Life is good. I need to remember that.

I am underwhelmed by a few (very few) malicious coments. It makes it so hard for me to be honest.

I have, above all, tried to record an honest account of what it is like to be me.

Not you. Not depression. Just me.

I feel, so often, like life sucks. Not just in a "poor me" kind of way, but in a broader sense.

My goal in life, and to teach my kids, is that life is hard, people sometimes suck, but in the end it is family and friends that will see you through.

I am trying to say that i have had a hard day. People questioning who i am, what my intentions are. And all i want to do is hang out at the beach.

And life it keeps getting in my way.

I'm going to let it all hang out. For a few moments. I can delete this in the morning.

Save as a draft.

Last night i asked my husband if he still wanted to be married to me. He said "i don't know. I don't think so."

And i woke up this morning and he was gone.

And i took my kids to school. Bound for field trips and fun.

And i went and had skin cancer removed from my arm. Parker watching, intently, as blood dripped. He was interested.

And then we returned to school. For playmates. And fun.

And my husband came home. And i hate him.

What am i to do.

I do want you to understand.

My hipster darling, internet.

Wriggling around in my 30's skin.

I am lingering in my long kiss.

Tonight?

If you asked me how my life is. It is filled with drama. Insecurities.

My husband passes by me like a stranger. A simple "i'm going to bed."

A simple "i hate you."

How did i get here. How have i become the plague of human spirit when i spend my days playing red rover and blowing sad noses.

There are so many things they never told me about being a mother. It started with pregnancy. All the bumps and bruises. And the skin tags. Had you asked me ten years ago what a skin tag was i would have looked at you with a deer in the headlights stare. Something like "a tattoo?"

I've been feeling like my life is like a stack of cards. A supreme tower. And someone has removed a crucial card. The one that is holding the whole thing together.

I've been in a state of flux since being in the hospital. Feeling like every move i make is judged. Is she okay? Don't upset her. Is she losing it?

I don't think that is ever going to change now. I've become special. Different. The people that know keep me at a distance now. Afraid. Mental illness is scary.

I feel like i've fucked it all up. My perfect life. I've become untrustable.

I can't be trusted with myself.

Never mind the fact that i can taste the fear. The fear of being back in the hospital. Losing my children. I can no longer just be moody. PMS is a spark of depression. I have to live a lie now.

I live in fear of judgment. Of loss. And this is far more depressing than life was before.

And i have these stupid spots of carcinoma. And skin tags. Just teeny, tiny little ones. I pick at them. Nervously.

Someone said to me this weekend "jess, you've already started your life and it's a big one."

It struck me. I have been so inside my head lately. Questioning. Thinking. Not understanding the bigger picture. Not seeing. I have been living my life for so long with this feeling, this anticipation - when's it going to start? When am i going to feel like a grown-up. Is this really it. Has youth already passed me by.

I have been feeling overwhelmed by my life.

This feeling that i just want to escape. The constant needs of all my family. The kids needing me so much. All the time. My husband needing me. I find myself fleeing every evening. To the school. To work.

It's not really an escape. Sitting alone in the 100 year old schoolhouse. It's lonely and suffocating.

I am really looking forward to going to chicago. I am most looking forward to the travel part. I love being alone in airports. Knowing that nobody knows me. Feeling important. Like somebody. Out in the world.

Not a lonely mother in the country. Clueless. Friendless.

It seems that the bear has moved into my yard. Sightings are a near daily experience. He's darn cute and grumpy. If you yell at him to "shoo" or bang pots and pans he looks up from whatever delicacy he's found to munch on, gives a little grunt and continues his solitary foraging. I kind of like this new creature wandering around, keeping us hostage in our house.

Tristan, toby and eliza are busily planning their massive birthday party. I have been so busy with school stuff that i have let them create this monster that i have no way to get out of. They are each inviting fifteen kids - that makes 45! - with three friends each spending the night. I figure i'll get it all over with in one day. One very crazy day.

I haven't really thought about it. I am living life one day at a time right now. Good days, follow bad days. They seem to be evening out. Every day that goes by and i continue on this sole searching journey i understand a little bit more about myself. The things i need to change, the things i can change and the things i want to change.

I think the biggest understanding i have come to with my heart and my head is that this is all up to me. My problems are my own. Not yours. Not my families. They are mine and nobody, but me, can try and make all this a little better.

As this year of depression comes to a close i can't believe the way sadness has no bottom. Just as i think i can't feel any worse, that i can't handle anymore, something else comes along and i sink even lower. But, every morning when parker wakes up with his sweet little stretches and moans beside me and his "i yove you's" and kisses right smack on the lips i can feel my resolve, my strength, my incredible love. They have gotten me through.

I've had a day. Some gloomy health news has left me knocked on my ass.

My poor broken ass. The fifth time really is the charm for the broken tailbone.

I have lived for the past twenty years contemplating suicide on a sometimes daily, weekly or monthly basis. Yet, all of the sudden, when the choice is taken away from me. The "everything should be fine, but the mortality rate is around such and such %" speech. Well, i'm not okay with that.

I have so much to live for. So much living to do. Celebrations to be had.

I am going to be fine. I need to be fine. I have four kids. This year couldn't kick my ass anymore.

I know you want to know how i'm feeling. How i am doing.

I feel censored by family reading this. I wish you wouldn't. Fading beauty is my only ticket.

But, screw that. This is my place. I pay for this. My space. My hipster place.

I re-broke my tailbone last week. The pain has reminded me of all my insecurities. I can't run and play like i want to. I have no excuse to avoid people. I can't sit. I can't run. I can't do cartwheels.

I booked my ticket to BlogHer today. Fuck.

Since i've been dumped by my psychiatrist and my social worker i feel. I feel sad. Everybody leaves me. Just at that moment i'm ready to tell you everything, to cry, to be human, you are gone.

Why can't anyone take that breath and then come back to me.

Happy Birthday Eric. I love you.

It has been a lovely long weekend. Now, will tuesday just get here already so that i can send my kids to school. The way they fight. It drives me crazy. Dealing with hitting and screaming is my biggest shortcoming as a parent. I just don't know what to do about it.

Except, new hair.

Will somebody please just save me from these daily chores.

The laundry.

The dishes.

The food. My god, they eat so much food. It makes them beautiful and perfect, but it is so tiresome.

When will it get easier?

My therapy last wednesday and a change in my medication has left me unable to write.

I have been rolling over some questions i was asked. Stewing. I also have insomnia and i'm exhausted.

Back real soon.

I think the biggest misunderstanding about depression is that a person has control over it.

That i should be grateful for what i have - just get over myself. Believe me i am grateful and i would give every penny i have to just get over it. Shane asked me the other day how i was feeling.

Since being in the hospital, which is such a humbling and embarrassing situation to be in, and changing medications my sadness has changed. It's not right there on the surface anymore. I no longer well up with tears at the thought of any mildly sad thought. It's deeper now. It's more all consuming. I just can't brush it off. I can ignore it, but happiness and laughter completely elude me now.

I am working harder than ever at keeping it all together. Keeping the house clean, doing laundry, taking the kids on adventures. Ensuring that everything around me is not falling apart.

My children are happy. They frolic about in the yard, enjoying the sun that has finally appeared, making up games. Being kids. Oblivious to the giant, often frightening world around them. They have everything they need, including plenty of love from me.

I'm not sure why i feel this need to defend myself, or more aptly my mothering skills. But, when i open myself up to this giant world of advice, criticism and friendship it's hard to hear the negative things.

Will somebody, just please, please come and save me. Take me away on your magic carpet.

Make time stand still while i am gone.

And then return me.

Unbroken.

I have begun my behavior modification therapy. Which, as far as i can tell, involves looking into my brain and finding all the ways it's broken.

We are looking at my "Core Beliefs" and "*Filters."

* "A filter is an extremely stable and enduring pattern of thinking that develops during childhood and is elaborated throughout an individual's life. We view the world through filters." (Young, 1999)

Not surprisingly i scored very high on many filters that are bad. BAD. Highest on the list were self-sacrifice, vulnerability to harm and illness, emotional deprivation, and defectiveness/social undesirability.

Of course i am pessimistic, at best, about all this hocus-pocus and nobody wants to know how screwed up they are. Do they? I know i'm supposed to be learning from this. Looking at these "filters" and understanding why i feel the way i do. All i see is that i am socially undesirable and vulnerable all wrapped up in an emotional straightjacket.

I have lots of homework. Mood logs to fill out. I just have so much trouble being honest. Seeing the benefit in all of this when it leaves me swirling in a muddy pit of despair.

In good news my feelings of heightened depression and lack of passion (in every aspect) are side effects of withdrawal from effexor and, most probably, not a side effect of the lexapro.

But, i still have softball. Three games a week of pure adrenaline, muscle burning fun.

I have been thinking about my time on the psych ward. How really, really terrible it was. It may seem like a time to relax and reflect. It really wasn't. It was a place where everybody is waiting, counting down, till the day they can get out. Just outside the windows, one floor down, there was a lovely garden terrace. I would watch the hospital staff go out and enjoy their lunch in the warm sunshine. Wondering if they knew how lucky they were to be out there. And now i feel lucky every morning when i go out and the sun is warming the gravel on our driveway. I take that first step off the porch and think of all the things i have to do to make sure i never end up back on that fourth floor.

While i was there i was desperately bored and terrified. There was nothing to do to take my mind off of it. So, i wrote a little musical number. A theatre impromptu. We turned up the radio loud. It was an old blues station. We danced up and down the halls. We pushed the grandma's in their wheelchairs. And we laughed for a few moments.

I have gone back to visit a few times. Once i brought bubbles and we laughed as we chased them around the television room. Then i brought a blow-up beach ball and we played a mini round of soccer. Grandma cheering us on.

I have been having a tough few days. A tough few months. I guess, it's coming up to a tough year.

My new medication isn't really helping with the depression. My anxiety is fine. But, i feel low. Very low. I am afraid. Afraid that this is what it will be like forever. I try not to think about it. To let go of it.

I think a large part of it is the therapy. I guess this is the long road. It just seems so fucking unfair that in order to feel better you have to feel worse. Opening up to strangers. Telling them all your dirty little secrets. It's unsettling. Talking for an hour, then left to deal with the backlash of emotion that comes in the days following.

I know i need to take better care of myself. I need to eat better, sleep better. I should get out in the garden that is exploding in my yard. Amazing how all those flowers come back. Every year. Each day when we come home from school, as the kids pile out of the car, we stop and look at what has grown in the past twenty four hours. We stoop down to smell the blossoms. Pointing out the colours. Choosing our favourites. Eliza inspects her fairy house which sits amongst all the blossoms. She tends to it every day. Re-arranging the house and the little rock path leading up to it. Leaving them gifts. Wondering when they will leave her another note.

We have these moments. These perfect moments. All the time. I hope they will remember them.

Not the days like today where i hid in my room all day. Sleeping. Thinking. Avoiding. Blaming it on my sore throat and cough. When in truth i couldn't face the day. I couldn't face them. I want them to see me. Not the me i have become.

Therapy day.

It's exhausting really. Trying to be truthful. But you have to trust someone to be truthful. It takes time i suppose. Right now we are in the "getting to know each other" stage of our relationship. My therapist, my case worker and me.

They sit and ask me many, many questions. Sometimes i talk for a long time. Today we talked a lot about the kids. The different demands and challenges of each of them. I could see it in their eyes though. That question you all are thinking too. "What the hell was she thinking having four kids?"

I was thinking of love. I was blinded by love. The moment each of my children were born i felt a deeper and stronger sense of the meaning of love. The kind of love that you only read about. The kind of love that makes you wake up in a panic in the middle of the night because the mere thought of something bad happening to one of them had skipped through your heart while you were sleeping. The kind of love that makes life worth living. The kind of love that you want to be constantly surrounded by.

And so we talked about my children. How my love for them overshadows everything. Pushes me to the brink of exhaustion. That love is what is driving me to such sadness, yet at the same time pushing me towards a better, stronger future.

I've been trying to sleep. I went to bed at 9 hoping for a good rest. Rest. It just will not come.

As i lay there watching parker sleep softly beside me i couldn't help but feel the terrible burden of such perfect beauty. These children of mine. I am so afraid of being a disappointment to them. I try so hard to face each day as a new day. A day that has the possibility of being better than the one before.

In 2007 i have had pneumonia, a friend killed himself, i broke my tailbone, i was hospitalized, i totaled my car. I was talking to someone about it all. She said i had angels flying around me. Keeping me safe.

I suppose that may be true. It doesn't feel like it late at night.

As i wander the house, quietly shuffling from room to room, watching my gaggle of kids sleeping quietly under the glow of little nightlights i whisper in their ears little promises. Promises of love. Of safety. Of the best i can. Sorries for boring days full of rain and no energy for puddle jumping. Sorry for short tempers. Or worse, sorry for nothing, the joy that has been sucked from me by medication and sadness.

Toby made the connection between depression and my friends suicide. He has been worried. We spent an hour after dinner sniggling in bed, taking turns tickling each others backs. Practicing our new signal for "everything's okay" - a kiss on the forehead. That's a lot to ask of a seven year old boy, but he gives me those kisses every single day now. They keep everything okay. Parker too with his hundreds of kisses smack on the lips and eliza's sly little "i love you mommy's" that come at every unexpected moment. And tristan, listening to her giggle in her bed, talking to herself about her day.

So, i guess it is okay. I am doing the best i can. I just wish it felt a little better. A little more real.

I've just returned from my first appointment with my psychiatrist since my hospital discharge, which i was nervous enough about, but i walk into the room and surprise! There's another woman. She's my case worker. And. And! We need to go over everything again for her.

"Let's see. Overdose "fingers" serious attempt "fingers" 1994. Ten years gestating, lactating. Depression summer 2006. Effexor 150 trial. Headaches, sleeplessness, weight loss, brainshivers. Effexor weaning february 2007. Overdose "fingers" not serious "fingers" two weeks ago."

"so jess. How's life been since then?"

So we talked. And talked. And talked.

And he said "How come you laugh whenever you should cry? Are you going to cry? Ever?"

"When am i going to see you in emergency again?"

And so we talked. And then we talked about toby.

And! Ha-ha! I cried.

And we talked a bit more, made a few more appointments and he sent me on my dragging my heart along the pavement way.

I'm not sure what to say. I'm lost in this place where i have sliced myself open top to bottom for you.

Here i am. Easy, lost and free.

I have this little button ----> there to your right. My family is in financial crisis. It goes well with mental crisis. I went to buy easter eggs for my kids egg hunt and found insufficient funds ring up on all my bank cards and declined on all my credit cards.

I would really like to go to blogher, but the ads won't cut It. So, I'll only mention this once, but if you find yourself so inclined or curious to meet me - please help me with that blogher button.

Humbled i am.

I am having trouble beginning this life again. I am very depressed. To the point that every single day sits daunting in front of me, every night.

Nights are my problem. Nights are when i call crisis lines and ambulances. But, know what? The day comes and it's all okay. I have kids and school and play dates and laundry. And softball!

I am doing my best. My best is not good enough yet. I still want to curl up in my bed. Have my mom cook and clean, kiss the kids as dad heads them off for school, wake up late, welcome children home and retire back to bed.

Life doesn't work that way.

Shane has been amazing. I have to give him every possiblethankfulness for that. I can see and feel the worry pouring from every inch of him. I am just not me. He knows that. I am a walking, talking jess - missing the life that made me who i was. Frustrating, joyful, fun, maddening, loving.

I am waiting for my new medication to work and the effexor to leave my body. I have dizzy spells, which sometimes have to do with wine, but often just hit me out of the blue where i tip over like a drunken hussy at 2am. (Which, happily for shane, i have been known to be.)

I'm just not sure if this is my body or my brain anymore. I'm not sure who i am or who i'm supposed to be.

My man is worried about me. Just to let you know again this is how he feels about me.

He's a wonderful husband. He loves me. He writes songs about me.

But, he drives me crazy. Crazy mental. He is so mad at me. Mad that i have thrown this rock into our gently flowing lives. That i am stubborn. That i stay up late. That the way he wants to help me isn't the help i want.

I want softness and understanding. Love and empathy. Kisses on the forehead. Scratches on my back.

He is my better half. The part of me that keeps me going. That supports our family. The one with the biggest spazzes. The one who organizes softball.

Things are not as bad as they seem. It all takes time.

We don't have the money for blogher. Click on those ads won't you?

I'm rooming with jenijen.

When i was released from the psych ward at the hospital my doctor told me of two stories.

The short long road. And the Long Short road.

He told me he was giving me the short long road. Meaning he's was giving me the short road in the hospital as long as i promised to follow the long road to recovery. He said there was no shortcuts, no dead-ends and no cul-de-sacs.

I have one chance.

And then the long short road.

"You see these people you've made friends with?" he asked me.

"they have been here a long time."

"there is no way out for them."

"When we let them out the short road leads right back here. Or death."

"do you understand? this is your chance. i left you here for five days without privileges for a reason. have you learned that reason?"

I guess i did. There was a man i met. He was bi-polar and committed to starting his life again. He went out every single day for 5km walks with the activity coordinator, then he was driven to the gym. He would work out for 1/2 an hour and then come back for dinner. I would watch them. All the people allowed to leave walking up and down the sunny street to the hospital. This man i met, his medication made it impossible for him to sweat. So he had to watch his exertion and his fluids. On friday he went to the gym and passed out. His heart rate was nearing 180 BPM. He was brought back by ambulance. Taken care of somehow, and brought back to the ward.

He paced the halls for hours.

A funny aside about him was that everything was confidential.

"Where do you live?"

"Confidential."

"What gym do you go to?"

"Confidential."

"What's your real name?"

"Confidential."

Anyway, he was all set to go home on his first overnight stay in preparation for release from the hospital sometime in the confidential future. He was very worried. Because of the gym incident. But he paced. And he paced. And then he packed his bag and he left after dinner.

He never came back. He killed himself at home that night.

I am home.

I am okay. If okay is this weird world where life goes on after you've been locked up in the psych ward.

I will write more. Soon.

Thanks for all your well wishes, corny as it is to say. I read them all on my cellphone.

I will be fine. I keep telling shane that. I tell myself that.

I have done nothing but sleep. And listen to Bright Eyes, which is probably the worst choice.

I have many stories. Soon.

(Note: This was also typed from Jess' handwritten notes. Still no computer. Typo's and punctuation still my fault. -- Shane)

Today is my third day here. Thursday I was still high all day from the clonazepam, so I don’t remember much of what happened except for being very scared.

Yesterday as the day wore on I started to make friends with some of the people here. Every life has a very interesting story and every life is filled with sadness and joy and love and hate.

The night I was admitted a young boy named Jessie was also admitted. He was left in a locked surveillance room for the night and woke everyone up banging on the door screaming “I want a shower!” Over and over. They let him out to shower and then for some reason let him down stairs for a cigarette. He stole a wheelchair, rode it down the big hill to 7-11 and nobody has seen him since.

I am the only one on the ward not allowed outside. Escorted or not. This place is not a place to make you happy or feel better. I suppose it is what you might expect. Boring. We mostly stay in our rooms or sit around in a lounge-type area waiting for the television to be turned on at 3:30. We sit and talk sometimes about medications we are taking or joke about escape plans. We quietly discuss all the ways we have tried to kill ourselves, each scare a badge of honour. We sit and wonder what is going through Sarah’s head.

Sarah is our resident schizophrenic. She has been here since November 2005. She has good days and bad days. On good days she’s a lucid, intelligent lady who can tell you about the job she used to have as a biologist (etymology), how she volunteered in the community garden.

On other days like today she will start out fine and then all of a sudden come heavy footing down the hall with a hair band pulled over one eye pirate style with her glasses over top obsessing about something in the nurse’s station. She wanders around the glassed in, locked-tight office tapping lightly on every panel, starring up at a black plastic bag taped to one of the ceiling panels. She will wander the halls all day, doing this dance around the station with lots of “fucks” and “fucking crazy people” in between. Her crazy manic ranting getting louder until it reaches a roar at midnight when I suspect she finally passes out.

My two favorite people are Brendan and Jessica. He’s 19 and she’s 22. He came in after taking a massive overdose of some mood disorder medicine. He was in a coma for several weeks. He sleeps a lot and wakes up late. Then he sits in a chair in the lounge and talk to whoever happens by.

He’s now totally medication free. They don’t really know what is wrong with him, but his whole body is full of cuts and scars that he has self-inflicted. I haven’t seen anybody come and visit him. He hasn’t told me much about himself. He’s very interested in my iPod and I’m fairly sure he wants to steal it. I like him anyway. He’s got these gentle, sad eyes that speak to me. They speak to me of a sadness that nobody can make better and nobody can understand.

(Note: This was typed from Jess' handwritten notes. She still doesn't have her computer and wanted to make sure you knew I was responsible for the typo's and poor punctuation. -- Shane)

I don't have a computer so the thought of writing a blog post out on a piece of paper to be transferred later seems rather daunting and kind of ass-backwards.

I am in the mental/psychiatric ward on a 48 hour hold, which they have already extended by another 48 hours, so I will be here until at least monday.

I saw my G.P. this morning and she actually let me have some clothes, no shoes. I really feel as if I have made a terrible mistake being here. I miss my children immensely and am worried about the toll this will take on them.

I have to earn privileges but I am not really sure how in a place where everybody scares me. People are divided into two groups; the elderly in dementia and younger people who sleep in video monitored rooms and are schizophrenic. Funnily enough I feel like an outcast in high school. I can tell there are chairs that people sit in, chairs that are "theirs". I am scared of upsetting someone and getting the crap beat out of me.

I have used up all my resources at home, as far as taking care of my kids. Soon there will be on one left there to watch them, as grandma dawn has to leave soon. Shane has to work. I want to go home and I am unsure how to make that happen. I want to see my children.

I have been here since 10pm wednesday on a 48 hour hold. After so many visits to doctors and emergencies and failed calls to crisis lines i was fed up.

On tuesday night afetr not being able to get through to the crisis line for an hour shane called an ambulance. At 4am the doctor released me with nary a worry that i had no ride home or way to get home. I sat alone in the waiting room begging every janitor and security guard for a quarter to call home.

Finally, i took a risk that my credit card would work and headed home in a taxi. By wednesday evening at 9pm i was huddled in the corner on the deck in tears, dreading and fearing the next day. We called a friend to come watch the kids and shane brought me into the hospital again. I was at the point where i could feel myself, without a doubt, in a crisis.

In the waiting room it is impossible to communicate a mental crisis to the triage nurse unless you have (a) overdosed or (b) say "i'm going to kill myself if you don't let me in there." I didn't do either and was placed in the chairs behind a long list of other people.

As time wore on something in my head, and i can't tell you exactly what, got incredibly tired of the back and forth of bad help, bad medicine and bad feelings. And i began to overdose on my clonazepam. I started taking them four at a time. I had this stupid idea (and if you are reading this and on the verge of suicide or have suicidal thoughts it was a really fucking stupid idea) that i would just take them until they took me into the back room. I guess it took awhile and i just appeared drunk. I don't really remember. I don't remember anything.

I remember waking up in the morning, on the psychiatric ward, no clothes, no shoes, no outside and a very angry psychiatrist who won't talk to me. He tried but i was still all woozy so he stormed out giving me no priviliedges till monday.

Shane just snuck in my laptop and i managed to find two lines of wireless in a back corner, but my nurse caught me with it and i fear it will be gone soon. Except the schizophrenic lady is having a really bad night and keeping everyone busy.

Thanks for all your thoughts,

jess

i am in the hospital, see you soon.

jess

xxoo

So, that's that.

I'm on an Adam Sandler kick having watched "Punch Drunk Love" last night and "Reign Over Me" today. Both, probably a fitting way to close out what will forever be known as the hardest week of my life.

I have spent so many hours in counseling this week that my brain is weeping out my eyes and my heart is broken into millions of sharp shards. Each one causing me to double over in pain whenever i think about it.

I met with my new psychiatrist for two exhausting hours on friday. Everything i ever thought about psychiatrists was proven wrong by this very kind man who coaxed every little rotten, horrible secret out of me.

We talked about my life. My whole life. All the little things, moments and events that seemed insignificant at the time but added up to a gigantic mountain of grief and ended with him saying;

"my god, i feel depressed just having listened to all of that, no wonder you're such a hard shell."

Best of all? He told me it wasn't my fault. I didn't do anything wrong to become who i am. I have made mistakes. I haven't asked for help when i should have. But, goshdarnit i'm a good person.

And, i'm not bi-polar. We're just not buying that.

Instead i fit into these three intertwined circles. The first, Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Social Anxiety Disorder, the second, Seasonal Affective Disorder and underlying depression, and the third, personality (my life.)

I need to concentrate on five things - food, sleep, exercise, fun, and medicine and moderation (go together.) On the medicine front i am continuing on 75mg of Effexor for two weeks while i introduce Cipralex - 5mg to start then 10. I also need to eat and i need to sleep. Exercise and fun are starting next week with the beginning of softball season. I need to moderate and wean off clonazepam and exercise moderation in alcohol.

And so? And so that is where it all begins. Again.

I will see my psychiatrist every two weeks for the next few months. And? And i am never going to emergency again. Did i tell you they wheeled in - right next to me - a guy who had just slashed his arm open elbow to wrist one inch deep?

What a week.

You know that theory? The fight or flight response?

Normally i would consider myself a fighter. I've had a few run-ins in my life that required me to have some sort of backbone and i have definitely learned over the years the need to be strong willed when it comes to children.

But this week? It has left me with this overwhelming desire to flee. Fly away jess! Fly away home to a place that is comfortable and warm. Where things will always be the same. Where you don't have to confront your feelings and your fears. Your lost desires. Admit grief over things you have no control. And, most importantly, you don't have to go over the same painful story every single day to a different person every time who has that damn file in front of them that says exactly what you said yesterday and every day before that.

Except the lost in transcription part. At the doctor today he asked me what shane was up to, work wise. I explained same old, same old.

"Wow," he said "because here it says he's trucking at night."

That would be a busy shane, but the idea of him behind the wheel of a big rig did give me my first real laugh in days.

Tomorrow i get to see my new psychiatrist. My doctor assured me he's not crazy like all the other psychiatrists. He will give me a diagnosis, drugs and behaviour modification therapy. Sounds like i'm headed into the lab at some medical school. I wonder how long it will take me to ring the bell to get more drugs.

Fucking hell.

I am in hell.

Will someone please just come and kiss me on the forehead and tell me they like me just the way i am.

I am so tired. I am tired of the "i don't like it when you..."

"The problem with you is..."

"What you need to change is..."

"You're biggest problem is..."

Shane, being the optimist, keeps calling me encouragingly and telling me this is the best week of my life.

I have four beautiful children who are well liked, socially adept, loved. Teachers tell me they can see it. It's my greatest accomplishment. Yet, i get no acknowledgement.

I have suddenly become "the crazy one." I don't like it.

It is not the best week of my life. Possibly the worst.

I am trudging through. Two more doctor appointments to go.

I think i can. I think i can.

You know that icky feeling you get when someone starts talking about, or even worse, asking you questions about a topic that makes you particularly uncomfortable? It may be "the healing touch", or your sex life, your income, or even your "feelings."

On saturday night as shane and i were driving home from a party i started talking to him about how i had been feeling. That i had the feeling that my control over my emotions was slipping out of my grasp. That my anxiety and depression were getting the better of me. I guess i was asking for help. I told him, in a half joking manner, that if it weren't for the kids i probably would have killed myself by now.

He drove me straight to emergency. I cried the whole way. The closer we got the more the feeling of dread washed over me. I agreed to go for him. I knew it was probably the right thing to do. Knowing what's right and doing it are two very different things.

We checked in and waited. Both of us nervously tapping our toes, remembering all too vividly the last time we had been in emergency under these circumstances. The thirteen years that had passed in between seemed, in those hours, to be just a few days. Eventually, i got called into the back. I waited another hour or more and then got up and walked out.

Shane screamed at me in the car all the way home. He called my family. His mother was already at our house, babysitting.

When i woke up in the morning. A massive intervention swooped down upon me. Everybody was worried. Alarm bells had been set off and i found myself in the most uncomfortable of situations. Having to talk about my feelings. With lots of people.

Shane drove me back to emergency in the early afternoon. Much more calmly we talked. We came up with a plan. That was sunday.

Today i spent another six hours at the hospital. They wanted me to stay. I didn't want to. I told them that being away from my children would cause me much more anxiety than any rest i might get in a hospital.

But, i am on the fast track to many services, including a psychiatrist appointment later this week and a PERT nurse phoning me every twelve hours to make sure i am "OK."

I don't know that i am OK. In a way i feel much worse. Forced to confront all this shit swirling in my head. Forced to accept help. Forced to say that i need help.

The doctor today did feel that most of this is a combination of withdrawal symptoms and withdrawal from an anti-depressant that was actually working, despite my feeling that it wasn't.

So. What did you do this weekend?