So today was ok, got up and went to church, but right after the people descended upon me, I got out as quick as I could and went and waited in the car. I can’t deal with the people anymore. We have not been going to church much for the past 6 months or so, and even less since me quitting my job. I can’t stand everytime we go and at least 1 person is always like “Are you ok? Feeling better?” NO! I’m not feeling better… I had a nervous breakdown and tried to kill myself and quit my job and now stay at home all day and try not to be around anyone but my family and people that I am close enough to that I previously felt comfortable to have into my house. ( we DON’T have people over…. especially not family. If you’ve ever come over to my house you are the rare exception.)
I don’t think that I’m becoming agoraphobic I just can’t deal with people on a large scale anymore. This was something that was becoming increasingly more difficult for me even previous to my hospitalization. It has gotten some what worse since quitting working, but I am not afraid to leave the house, I don’t have a problem going to the grocery store. (except of course if I have to take Angelina by myself) But I am FINE as long as I don’t have 27386478594 people trying to talk to me and ask me how I am and tell me what I need to do about Angelina’s skin, and what their cousins girlfriends brothers sisters daughter did with her kid who had eczema. Coz, seriously, we haven’t been dealing with her skin and scratching for the past 5 years and tried just about every cream out there…prescription and non. Along with oatmeal baths, and baking soda baths, and rubbing her in olive oil (actually got that from some old lady at Publix) and giving her vitamin E, or vitamin A, or trying every possible anti-histamine known to man. And funnily enough..the thing that seems to work the best..and with the least amount of screaming bloody murder..is plain ol’ Petroleum Jelly or A&D ointment. The problem with plain ol’ Petroleum Jelly is that it’s very greasy and gets all over the place so can only really do it at night when she’s doing nothing but lying in bed getting her sheets slimy with the stuff.
But I digress, I just can’t deal with it anymore. I have no patience for all the little old ladies that mean well, and I know they mean well, but just really make me want to either A) tell them to shut the &$*^%&^* up or B) run away and hyperventilate in the car. David got mad at me today for running away and waiting in the car. But I felt like there was a rubber band that snapped around my chest as soon as people starting asking me questions. I have to try so hard to try to act “normal” even though a lot of the people know that I was in “The Hospital” but seriously..let’s give someone who had a nervous breakdown more stress by asking questions that we really don’t want to know the answer to. It’s like the normal small talk is: “Hi, How are you doing?” “I’m doing fine, how are you?” “I’m doing good.” “Alright, then, well, SWELL!” In my life it’s like: person 1: “Hi, are you feeling any better?” Me: “yeah, I guess” P1: “that’s good to hear. Are you still working?” Me: “No, I have been staying at home” (somewhere around now the rubber band has attached itself to my ribs and I am ready to either become hysterical or try to leave gracefully by saying something like “I need to go find Angelina, bye!” But really the underlying conversation is something like this: P1: “Hi, are you feeling any better?” (secretly thinking… I wonder if my roast beef is burning at home?) Me: “Yeah, I guess.” (inside my head: No, I’m not @^%#$*&^ ok. If I were OK I wouldn’t have tried to kill myself, quit my job, stayed at home and applied for disability and tried to avoid all the people like you who ask me these stupid inane questions that get me all panicky when you don’t even really care to know the REAL answer.)
And David thinks that I’m just being melodramatic. Well sure I am, but it’s organic, it’s not staged it’s not something I can control, it’s not mild unease. It is all out If I HAVE to do this I will be unable to breathe, will hyperventilate, will cry uncontrollably, will end up curled in a ball under a table in some random classroom at the church..or the trunk of my car. I am not doing it to try to gain attention, I seriously just can’t deal with it..and if anything I am trying to fade into the background as much as possible so people will just leave me alone. *SIGH* So after that we went to Lisa’s play which was cute, we came home, I took a nap. Me and David played online for a bit. Then his mom called. She says” Dad said that someone at church told him that someone from Angelina’s school called DCF on you guys.” and she’s just giving us a “head’s up” Now the problem I see with this is
A) I’ve already talked to her school in the past about her medical conditions and her absences, and was told that she was ok and that if it got to the point they needed to contact a social worker they would inform us in writing first.
B) The person who supposedly knew this information is not someone who works for DCF, is not in anyway listed as an emergency contact person for Angelina through the school, so I am wondering how he would know about it before anyone else. (And coincidentally [or maybe not] this is the same person who told us like a year or so ago that some of the ladies at the church wanted to call DCF about Angelina’s skin, and he asked if we needed money to take her to the Dr. Of course, we do take care of her. We can’t bind her hands to keep her from scratching or watch her every second of every day to make sure she’s not scratching. Even if we apply all the creams that she’s ever been given BY A DOCTOR. It still isn’t going to make things better if she can’t stop scratching. Her skin itself is NOT that bad. It is her incessant scratching herself RAW and ripping her skin open in the process. )
C) I find it a little suspicious that we have not been to church in AT LEAST a month. And today we decided to go. And TODAY is when David’s dad gets told (at church) that “The School” called DCF on us. I am waiting for them to show up. I hope they do come. My house is clean-ish. Angelina is fed, and clothed, and bathed, and sees the dr regularly. She has prescriptions for all her medications current. We put stuff on her skin. She goes to school regularly as long as she is not sick.
She has missed a LOT of days of school. but I always send a note with her. With the way her asthma is and from past experience of her ending up in the PICU with double pneumonia because I thought it was “just a cold” and sent her to preschool anyways when it was just a cold..and it ended up in her chest and landed her in the PICU. TWICE. All because we didn’t want her to miss school. School is important..her health is more important to me. If I take her out of school for 1 or 2 days to make sure she is not getting more sick I will gladly take the heat for that..because I will never let myself off the hook if those 1 or 2 days of absence are instead replaced with 5 days in the hospital and 2 weeks off from school to be home recovering from pneumonia that started out as “just a cold” or “just a sinus infection” I dunno. I think I’m being a good mom by being pro-active. I have called the school anytime that she has been out more than 2 days in a row to let them know what is going on. they always tell me “Oh, it’s ok. Just make sure to send a note when she returns”
I am PISSED. I am so pissed that other people can’t mind their own &%$*^%*& business and stay out of mine. and I hate that my mental illness feels like it plays a role here. Do people think that because I am mentally ill that I can’t figure things out? or that I don’t know that they are trying to discriminate against me? or that the stigma surrounding mental illness is wreaking havoc on my life? Or maybe I’m just being paranoid. This sucks. I have had a good couple of days recently. And this just popped my balloon of almost contentment. SO FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!! How can I get better if people just can’t leave me alone to lick my own wounds? Don’t cut me, don’t hit me where it hurts, don’t tell me I’m a bad mother, or that I don’t take care of my child. That child is the main reason that I am still alive today. And the reason why I checked myself into the hospital instead of swallowing a bottle of pills. Because her life may not be a bed of roses living with me, but I know that it would be so much worse for her if I died. It was so much worse for me when my mom left when I was Angelina’s age. And my mom didn’t die. And when I blamed myself she was still there to tell me that none of it was my fault. And I still have SO many issues. And then of course having to deal with my messed up step-family that showed up two years later and completely fucked up the other part of my life that was ok until that point. I’m done. I’m really done. I like people better when I am at home and away from them. Every time I try to re-integrate myself into the masses it seems utter catastrophe strikes. I’m done. I’m tired of other people trying to “help” me. don’t do this to me.