Motherhood Vs. Suicide in the Media

It was a sad day when the world lost Robin Williams. I myself, have never been one of his bigger fans. I can’t even remember the last time I saw one of his movies, but I have fond memories of seeing his movies as a child. He will always be remembered as one of the great performers. He brought joy into countless homes and raised the spirits of children everywhere. From my understanding, he was even kinder in person than he was portrayed in movies, which is saying a lot.

As always, the death of a celebrity of this caliber has hit the media hard. Especially because he was so beloved among several different generations. But this is a special case. Robin Williams, has apparently committed suicide.


I recently read a blog post by Matt Walsh. I started following him because he had a great post about stay at home moms, but since that post I have come to realize… he is a bit of a dick. He uses his blogging platform as an excuse to say whatever he wants, no matter how hurtful. I admire his honestly, and his ability to shrug off negative criticism, and I don’t disagree with everything he says. Just most of it.

This is the offending post; Robin Williams did not die from a disease

I agree with a few points. But overall… I believe depression, and whatever else Robin Williams may have suffered from, is a disease. I don’t know how it gets in, what causes it, but studies will tell you it’s not just in our imaginations. It is a physical ailment, with physical symptoms and chemical altercations. Yes, people who commit suicide do it on purpose. They plan it, they act it out. But is it really a choice? Matt Walsh believes it was a choice.

Depression, anxiety disorder, borderline personality, multiple personality, schizophrenia… they’re Daemons. They possess you, they control you. These disorders aren’t choices. We don’t choose to be depressed. We don’t wake up one day and CHOOSE to hate ourselves, the world and everything in it. I don’t know why we have these disorders, but we don’t choose them, they choose us.

I can’t speak for everyone. But when I get hit with depression or anxiety like hitting a brick wall at high speed, I don’t have control. Something takes over, all sense is lost, I don’t make choices. A Daemon takes control and I’m no longer in control of my own body. A small part of my brain will be screaming at me, telling me to put the razor blade down, to take a deep breath, to step away from the situation. But that small part, is not in control anymore. Something else is.

If I were to ever kill myself, it wouldn’t be me. I would think of my son, my husband, my mother, everyone who’s lives would be affected by my actions. My Daemon doesn’t care about any of that. Nobody can convince me that this Daemon isn’t a disease. Anyone who tells me I can control It, doesn’t have a Daemon of their own.

Matt Walsh says he’s upset by all the memes out there talking about how Robin Williams is now FREE. He thinks there is no peace in it, because you leave behind chaos, you devastate your loved ones. The Daemon doesn’t care about our loved ones. It is a selfish son of a bitch, and It gets what It wants. If It wants to be free, It will be free. Robin Williams is free. He doesn’t wake up every morning and wonder why he couldn’t have just passed away peacefully in the night. He doesn’t interact every day with people who don’t understand him. He doesn’t have the Daemon on his shoulder, constantly nagging at him to just end it all, every second of the day, fighting It. He is free of the nagging. He is free to never wake up and feel that dread of facing the world another day.

I do agree, however, that speaking so highly of his action, and glorifying suicide does send the wrong message to our youth. We don’t want them thinking that suicide is a glorious deed. It isn’t, and I don’t encourage or condone it in any way. I don’t want any more loss of life. But the Daemons will always find hosts. All we can do, is hope that people get help in time, and they see enough beauty in the world to fight the Daemon and keep It from taking control. I am thankful every day, that my Daemon hasn’t won yet.

walsh quote

Matt Walsh believes this, and still thinks depression isn’t a disease. Like Robin Williams could just choose to be healthy. He had all those great things, but the Daemon wasn’t content. It is a disease, it is a cancer, that doesn’t care how successful you are, how many people love you. If the Daemon decides it’s time, the person who takes the pills, uses the razor, or jumps…. isn’t them anymore. They are the Daemon. It chose for them. A person who dies of cancer doesn’t make that decision, the cancer does. To me, they are one and the same.

This is my opinion, speaking as someone who battles the Daemon every day. But I don’t expect absolutely everyone to understand, and I respect that other opinions are just as valid as my own.


Motherhood vs. the things I don’t say

I am on a never ending quest to fix myself. I don’t see a professionl, I don’t take mood altering medications. Part of being a borderline is pushing people away, making sure all of your relationships are unstable, expecting people to leave you. When I understand this, I can take steps to prevent pushing people, one of which is being more careful about what I say when I’m angry. Another part of being borderline is being angry a lot. Airgo, I spend a lot of time very carefully selecting my words. And a lot of energy holding back. 

Take this week for example. We are potty training our three year old. Many attemps have failed, this time we are sticking to our guns, and saying the diapers are just gone. 

It has been an extremely hard week for me. Every second I am trying not to explode. And I feel like I’m not getting any help. 

Yesterday my anxiety level was through the roof. Here are a few of the things I almost said to my husband yesterday and today. 

“Are you going to get out of bed and help me or am I going to go slit my wrists?” 

“After the god aweful shitty day I had yesterday you can’t get your ass out of bed this morning so I can get a little fuckin sleep?” 

I feel like all he does is sleep, and all I do is potty train. 

I’m so tired of the two of us pretending I don’t have a problem. Just because I’m not currently getting help doesn’t mean I’m better. I need to do something drastic like bang my head on the wall so hard I have a bump for weeks, or threaten suicide, before I can get any help with anything.

That might be a post for another day. Today I’m talking about the things I don’t say. I didn’t say any of those things to him, or many more, and I don’t tell him I feel like he ignores my problem. I want to say “you married me, you chose to have a child with me, knowing this is who I am, and that I will need help sometimes.” But i don’t. 

I don’t say these things, because I don’t want to hurt him, and I don’t want him harboring resentment towards me, I am trying to avoid a meltdown of our relationship. I don’t want to push him away. The nineteen to twenty four year old me would be saying these things without a thought, but she was friendless and depressed, so she had to change. 

Motherhood Vs. Perspective.

Some days are good. Some days are bad. Lately there have been more of one than the other. 

I’ve been seriously considering finding a doctor in the area that can get me a prescription. I stopped taking what my ob/gyn had given me, they were expensive and I felt like they weren’t working at all. There’s been hardly any change since I stopped them several months ago. My husband wouldn’t have even noticed if I hadn’t told him. I need to have a real sit down with a real professional. Not that the ob/gyn wasn’t a pro, but her expertise ends with postpartum, and that’s not what I have. 

As I mentioned in my previous post, I’ve been doing some reading. I’d like to better myself, my understanding of my little slice of the world. Being a stay at home mom, the struggles of day to day life. I just finished All Joy and No Fun by Jennifer Senior. There were many wonderful things brought to light in the book, but in the current state I’ve been in, the last bit of the book struck me the most. 

I wonder why I’m unhappy, why I find life with one little three year old so challenging. Even normal parents, without personality disorders, face these kinds of dilemmas. All day long, I’m in proximity with my son, and rarely have any actual FUN. Why is that, he’s the light of my life, the reason I live and breathe. But I don’t find being in his company fun? 

Apparently we have two selves. A remembering self, and an experiencing self. The remembering self looks back in fondness on things that the experiencing self found not so entertaining. “Our remembering selves are in fact who we are, even though our experiencing selves do our actual living for us.” Sure, I don’t have a lot of fun being cooped up in the house with a three year old, day in and day out, but that’s not WHO I am. WHO I am, is a mother who looks back on the most mundane tasks, and remembers with fondness how excited he got when he found a toy he’d thought went missing. When he does a task he didn’t think he could do, and jumps up with a big smile and flings himself into my arms for a celebratory embrace. When he sings the alphabet song for the tenth time in a row, I find it grating on my nerves, but look back at it and think “Wow, he’s such a smart little guy, I’m so proud of him.” Our memories make us who we are, and my memories are brimming with proud moments, hugs and kisses, and his big smiles and silly sayings. 

This revelation also concerns me. He’s getting old enough, that I think he’ll maintain some of the memories he has now. If memories are who we are, who will I be in his memories? Will I be the mommy who encouraged him, helped him learn, got into tickle fights and spent lazy afternoons with him on the couch watching Blue’s Clues? Or will I be tyrant mommy, yelling at him for the hundredth time not to do head stands on the couch, telling him in a stronger tone than necessary that chips are’t a dinner, and he has to eat real food. At an age where he’s learning how to push boundaries, the day is full of ‘no,’ ‘get down from there,’ ‘If you don’t do what I say I’ll take your game away.’ Doing a little math, I figured that if the average parent modifies a child’s behavior every three minutes that they’re together, and I spend every minute with him from wake up to bed time, I will correct, yell at or otherwise discipline him two hundred and sixty times a day. 

Are those the memories he’ll hold onto, the ones who decide who I am in his memories that carry over to his adulthood? 



Live like you were dying. 

That’s what  I’d like to do. Communicating unconditional and eternal love every day. Make the snowy static of the outside world fade away. In my son’s memories, I want to be the mother who loved unconditionally. Who had patience for days and a gentle hand with everything. Behind closed doors, I might be falling to pieces, collecting myself so I don’t punch a wall or worse. But when he’s looking, when he’s creating memories, I want to be the WHO I’m supposed to be, the best mother I can be in his eyes. I want to make memories worth keeping. I want the experiencing self and the remembering self to find a happy place in the middle, where they can both be happy in the respective nows. 

It’s a lovely thought. And a really great goal. But I know, as soon as my kid comes in my room at seven in the morning and the day starts like all other days, and drags on like all other days, I’ll lose some of this willpower. I do believe, that medication would help. The right medication, from the right doctor. Maybe, it will help me keep some of this new found perspective. 


Motherhood Vs. Understanding

I doubt anyone noticed, but it’s been a long, LONG time since I wrote anything. I go through phases, where things are going good, I don’t feel the need to vent. Sometimes things get busy, I don’t have a lot of time to sit at the computer. Sometimes I go through highs, where all I want to do is work, work, work. I make things, I clean, I decorate, I don’t sit at the computer. Then there are times where the anxiety builds, I want to vent. I’m in a low, where my productivity is down, I sit at the computer. A lot. 

This is one of those times. 

Being as sedentary as I have been the last week or two, I’ve decided to pick up some books. When I’m in a low I like to read. I can move as little as possible and still feel like I’m accomplishing something. When I read fiction, I feel like I’m escaping my own life, and I love that. When I read non fiction, I’m educating and bettering myself. I like that too. The two books I purchased today are non fiction, I’m focusing on bettering myself during this low. Also both books were featured on The Colbert Report, he interviewed the authors and I knew immediately that I wanted to read them. 

I only started this one today, and honestly am only twenty pages in, but I can tell you already that I love it. Just within the first twenty pages I can tell this book is going to address a lot of the challenges I face as a modern day housewife.



The book starts off spouting statistics of modern day parents compared to those from the seventies. Household dynamics have changed. Both parents work, people are waiting to have kids, waiting for careers or financial stability. It also compares households to those before the second world war. Where children used to have uses in the home as secondary caregivers and uses in the workforce like farming, they no longer serve those purposes. Now there’s more pressure on children to grow up to be valuable members of society, putting pressure on both them and their parents. 

But aside from that, the thing I’ve been thinking about most is this statistic. 

Every three minutes? Where is this magical land and how can I get a ticket? 

Maybe my son is just chatty? Every three minutes sounds like a vacation, and I’ve only got one kid! I am a stay at home mom, so I do hear it ALL day and not just the hours that I’m not working or sleeping. But my son is always talking to me. Asking me questions he already knows the answers to, telling me he wants this or that. Saying “Watch this!” which is NEVER good. That means he’s about to do something dangerous and stupid. I’m fine with him talking, I love that he’s so smart, but if you don”t respond, if you take more than two seconds to respond, he repeats. And repeats. And repeats. And repeats. Louder and louder, then finally he’s in your face. Tugging on your arm. Every three minutes? I don’t think so, it’s constant. 

I’m torn. I feel blessed that my son seems to be very smart for his age. He just turned three about four months ago, he knows the whole alphabet in uppercase and lowercase, he can sing the song, and he’s starting to draw the letters. He knows most of the numbers from zero to thirty by sight, but doesn’t count them straight through yet. His hand eye coordination is good, his memory is amazing, he can sing in tune better than most adults I know, he talks at a much older level than he is. Overall I’m very proud. I have nothing to compare him to, but I think for a three year old he’s kind of amazing. 

But I would LOVE it, if he were quiet for three minutes at a time lol. 

My husband and I were talking just the other day about the family dynamic. Much as the book discussed, families used to serve a purpose. Have lots of kids, put them to work on the farm, have them help raise the younger kids. I imagine the family from 19 Kids and Counting has more parents than siblings. The older girls and boys raise the younger ones probably more than mom does. I came from a small family, it was just my parents, my brother and I. My mom worked, sometimes two jobs, and went back to school, twice. While my brother and I were both probably under thirteen years old. 

So the whole concept of stay at home mom turned out to be a little weird to me. I was kinda thrust into the situation. We made the decision to have a child, but the decision to leave my job was made for me. I was sick all through the pregnancy, with dehydration and all that jazz, think Kate Middleton’s pregnancy. I missed so many days of work that they let me go. Said ‘see ya’ and escorted me out of the store without even asking if I had a ride home. Four months pregnant, without a ride home. Luckily it was summer, and my husband only worked about a mile down the road. So I walked, and contemplated what life would be like without a job. 

I never even considered going back to work. I was always a home body, loved WORK but hated being away from home. We could only afford one car, so transport and finding a sitter would be a pain in the arse. So I was officially dubbed ‘Stay At Home Wife and Mom.’ But it was weird. I didn’t grow up seeing any of these things, I saw a mom who worked her ass off all day, did homework with baggy eyes at the kitchen table all night, and still got up to make us breakfast before school. My mom was an amazing role model. But she wasn’t a stay at home mom, so I never saw the completely different set of challenges that poses to a woman. 

Of course, my challenges are a little different than the average stay at home mom, because of my borderline personality. 

The two books I’ll be reading will help me understand some modern day challenges of modern stay at home moms. All Joy and No Fun will address why I feel so fulfilled, but also so lonely and not very happy. The next book, HomeWard Bound, will address the new revolution of stay at home businesses and independent living lifestyles, such as gardening, canning, making your own items instead of buying from large corporations. 

I just need to find time to read. Because, I have a hyperactive chatty three year old who wants my attention ALL the time. 

Motherhood Vs. Going Numb

I already know that I don’t think and feel the same ways as other people. I really wish I did. Sometimes I find myself going completely numb, I think it’s a coping mechanism, because feeling numb is better than the alternative. 

I get this way sometimes when I’m babysitting my niece. She’s teething, and she’s spoiled. When she’s here I can’t put her down. So there’s five hours where I can’t do anything, even go pee, without her going nuclear. If I put her down she screams. Lately she’s been inconsolable, you can give her teethers, try to feed her, walk with her, change her diaper. When there’s nothing you can do, you just listen to her scream. I go numb, instead of getting mad. 

My son is almost three. He’s been going to bed regularly on time since he was about one. Just last night he’s started this new thing where he screams until I go in there. When I ask what’s wrong, he says “Nothin.” I kiss him and walk out, and he screams again. I don’t like giving in to bad behavior, tantrums, crying. (Unless he honest to God needs something) So I let him cry. 

Last night I finally gave in and went into his room and lay on the floor for forty five minutes until he fell asleep. Today I was in there for forty minutes and he was still up. I don’t want that to be a habit, so I kissed him goodnight and left. He’s still screaming. He’s been in bed since eight thirty five, and it’s now ten twenty six, and he’s still crying. It doesn’t help that my husband keeps going in there. Now my husband is at work, and my son is screaming for dad. 

And I’ve gone numb again.

In my head, I’m banging my head on the wall, I’m punching windows to make my knuckles bleed, throwing things, screaming obscenities at the top of my lungs. It’s so hard not to do all those things right now. Going numb is the only way to keep them from happening. From hurting myself or someone else. From screaming. My husband has called it ‘checking out.’ I know he doesn’t like it, because if he’s home that means he’s the one who’s trying to fix the problems. Make the crying stop. I don’t think he understands my alternative. The alternative is seeing red, blood pounding in my ears, breaking things, and hurting myself. 

No picture for today’s post. There are no pictures for this. 

The Birthday Card

The Birthday Card

This card is perfect, because back when my husband would attend parties, he’d go by the alter ego Captain Awesome.
And he is pretty awesome.

Groceries? What’s that?

We’re not good grocery shoppers. We either go when we’re hungry and get EVERYTHING we see, or we just meander down the aisles of the grocery store wondering what the hell to buy. 

I’m not a bad cook by any means. And I like to cook for my family. But I don’t do it often, for one big reason. My husband and son won’t eat it. Then I’m sitting there eating alone, with more leftovers than I can eat before they turn green and fuzzy. We just don’t like the same foods. 

Today I decided to hell with it. I made a list, for realz! 



We decided since I was cooking stuff the hubs probably wouldn’t like, we invited his dad, step mom and little brother over for dinner.  These things stress me out like you wouldn’t believe. They’re coming into my home, eating my food, watching my behavior. I’m always worried about being judged. I’m from a tiny family, I can count everyone on two hands. There wasn’t a whole lot of gossip. But the husband’s family is HUGE, and prone to gossip. 

So I’m freaking out, I’m running out of time to get the chicken in the oven, and realize I grabbed the wrong cans of beans. There was a moment, there was swearing, and I almost punched the fridge, but I didn’t. Deep breaths, think. My husband offered to go to the store and get the right beans. And he called his dad and pushed dinner back a half hour. Sometimes, he’s so awesome. 

I made a heck of a good meal, everyone was happy. The house was clean, because my husband helped me clean it. I’m wondering why he’s building a pile of brownie points? But anyway I’m pretty sure there’s not going to be any gossip about me tomorrow. So I think it was a success. And I’m looking forward to making meals for the rest of the week. You know, because I had a list. Because, every time I make a list of dinners they get made. Every night. 

Not sure if you picked up on the sarcasm in my text. 

I made this, which is awesome. I didn’t get a picture of mine, I was in too much of a hurry to feed everyone. And I kinda feel like people think I’m weird for wanting to photograph my dinner. 
Click the pic to see the recipe!