I’m already “dressed.” Wearing sweats, though. But not the pants I slept in. Lately, I have a low tolerance for that greasy, just-woke-up feeling before showering.
Nobody else is up, yet. It’s just me and the kitties.
And, yes, my living room is a nightmare. Kitchen, too. I cannot keep up.
I suppose I could spend less time doing this and more time doing that.
Aislyn cries and whimpers in her sleep. That’s why she has a dream catcher on her wall. It seems to have gotten somewhat better over time. Maybe it’s something she’ll outgrow. I hope so.
I suspect both kids suffer from anxiety.
I (momentarily) considered not having children. With mental illness in your family, you worry about passing things down.
In the end, I did the selfish thing and got pregnant. I figured, however my babies turned out, I’d take care of them.
But it’s very hard to care for a person with schizophrenia. They live a tortured existence, and many of them attempt suicide. It is extremely difficult for them and their caregivers emotionally. The ones who also suffer from paranoia may come to distrust those who love them the most.
My mother turned on my father, then me. Most of her siblings.
They often hate their medication, and, in fairness, there are some pretty bad side effects. They may refuse to take the meds and end up in the hospital. Or worse.
This is why I dutifully take my medication…except apparently for my Abilify, which I need to get off my ass and get. I recognize that I need it, and will probably never not need it.
This is why, not all that long from now, Desmond, then Aislyn, are going to know about their deceased grandmother’s struggles with mental illness. And my struggles with depression and anxiety. And why it’s okay to need medicine to function as well as you can.
If I make them aware early enough, if they ever struggle with the same issues as me or, God forbid, my mother, they’ll be okay with taking medication.
Why am I thinking about these things so much? I guess I just worry about my kids. Desmond is getting close to adolescence, which was the most difficult time of my life. And he’s been so sad, lately. It breaks my heart.
On top of the anxiety, they both have the medical issue, of which they are both aware and, unfortunately, ashamed. As a child, I never had this problem to the degree that they do. It is causing them no small amount of emotional strain; I can see it in their faces.
All I want is for them to feel happy and safe. And loved. That’s the bottom line.