Still Trying To Send Me To An Early Grave

Yesterday Declan had a seizure at preschool. He was full of the joys of spring when I dropped him off. Three hours later we got a phone call saying to come in immediately as he’d started having convulsions during lunch.

For some reason it shook me up a lot more than the previous ones have, of course excepting the first. The ladies at preschool did a fabulous job, and I don’t doubt their capabilities for a second, but the mama bear in me keeps on thinking about how my little boy was scared and sick and I wasn’t there for him.

This morning he was once again completely fine, we played in the garden (when I took this photo), he helped me hang up the laundry, he got told off for picking my flowers. A completely average day… right up until at dinner time when he collapsed on the chair next to him, rolled his eyes into the back of his head and once again started convulsing.

He goes from being completely fine, then comes the fever and within an hour hes having another seizure. It’s reaching a point where I’m scared to be alone with him just in case it happens, I know how to deal with it, but I don’t think there is anyway I would remain as calm as Dan does whilst he treats him.

I just want my babe to be healthy and well. Not to have me hovering over him because I’m scared of what could happen if he gets too hot. I want him to be normal.

The Daily Battle

I stutter occasionally. I will be mid sentence when my brain decides to stop communicating with my mouth and I get stuck on a sound. It tends to flare up when I get tired, stressed or just mentally unstable in someway.

It happened today, and as I stood there stuck on “Ra” for thirty seconds I thought how similar it was to my mood swings. I battle to take myself to stability in the same way that I try to claw my way to a word that makes sense, only getting more frustrated that there’s a missing connection that is getting in the way of what I want, only getting more embrassed that I can’t do a function as basic as speaking or being happy.

When I fall into a pit, or even worse – the cycle of miserable followed by the manic happiness and energy levels through the roof, leading to a bigger comedown than an entire crate of Ketamine, I don’t want to be there. My brain is saying that it doesn’t make sense to be crumpled in a heap and sobbing because I burnt the toast, I know logically that I shouldn’t explode at the kids because they spilt some drink, I know I shouldn’t despise my husband because I can hear his breathing. Yet I do.

Just like the stuttering it’s absolutely exhausting trying to drag myself out of that, but with depression it isn’t a case of focusing and trying to chane the word that I was about to say. It’s a very self aware battle to take myself from darkness into a functional life, knowing that there’s a good chance that I will be back there tomorrow and the battle will continue on.

There isn’t much point to this, there’s no happy ending or fabulous conclusion where I say how much this helps me grow as a person. I hate it. I hate not functioning as a regular person, I hate the lack of understanding from people who simply can’t understand why I don’t wake up one morning and just decide to be happy, I hate that it’s reached a point where I really believe my lack of stability is affecting my ability to raise my children.

I really would just like to find that switch that evens it all out and makes me normal, I’m not asking for perfection, just something closer resembling the average person. I want to be average.