I am not proud of these days.
These are the days when I wander inside myself, knowing there is something I should be doing, something I want to do. But I can’t figure out what that is, cannot identify what I want. I am lost inside my head.
The children are hungry. They ask for a snack and I allow them to forage for whatever they want. I have no idea when was the last time they ate. Maybe they had some cereal a while ago? Yes, maybe.
They ask me a question. I know they are asking me something, know I should answer. I say “yes.” And then they are doing something that is not allowed and I tell them to stop and they look at me, confused. “But you said we could.” Did I? I guess so.
Dishes are stacked on the counter. The dishwasher is full of clean dishes, and I know I should empty it, know it would take just a few minutes. But I don’t. I don’t care. I just don’t, and dirty dishes multiply.
I cannot engage, cannot respond, and most certainly cannot initiate. The kids become clingy, seek my attention, misbehave. I know it is because they want me. But the more they want, the more obvious it becomes to me that I am inadequate. I can’t be needed. I turn on another movie and hope it will hold their attention for a while. So they don’t notice that I cannot pay attention.
I know now what this is. This is not laziness. It is not depression (though there is that). This is multiple sclerosis. While it slowly paralyzes my body, MS also paralyzes my mind. I cannot focus. I am distracted. Didn’t I want to make a phone call? Yes. To whom? I don’t know. Lost. I cannot make it through a recipe. Somewhere in the middle I realize I have no idea how to get to the end. I try to remember a word. Not a difficult word. But I cannot find it, anywhere. I need to tell someone my address. I tell them my old address. My in-laws’ address.
Meals lost. Words lost. Home lost. And I do not have the energy to care.
I am lost in my mind.
Fortunately these days are not frequent. The kids don’t regularly have to parent themselves and each other. Jeff doesn’t come home to apathetic disaster every day. Many days I remember that laundry needs folded, and I even have the motivation to do it. Most days I can attend to conversation without forgetting what I am discussing. Many days I can accomplish. I can care. But there are days when all I can do is wander from room to room, inside myself.
It is called lassitude. It is a form of mental and physical fatigue unique to my disease. And Jeff assures me it is much more apparent to me than it is to anyone else. He assures me that I am not dangerous to the children or to myself, and that it does not matter if I’ve haven’t found the motivation to shower or take the kids to the park or to eat anything but ice cream. He says that it’s okay. That I’m okay.
I tell him it is not okay. I do not want to be this wife, this mother, this person.
He tells me to forgive myself.
I can’t.
Because on days like this, I can’t find a self to forgive.
Teresa, I am sitting here in tears, thinking of you and wishing for some words to respond to your remarkable post. The last line, especially, gripped my heart and my gut: “Because on days like this, I can’t find a self to forgive.” I can relate to this feeling, although certainly not its cause. I hope it gives you a modicum of comfort to know that your husband and your boys don’t even see a need to “forgive” you; what they see is their wife and mother, flawed (and who isn’t?), but absolutely, magnificently, gloriously perfect.
This is so honest, and I applaud your writing it. And I think everyone has days of apathy like this…I know for certain I’ve done the, ‘yeah, go ahead’ thing with my kids, never even hearing the request…but I like what you say about finding no ’self’ to forgive. It would be frightening to lose yourself…what you know of yourself…that way. I’m sorry you’re battling that along with MS.
You have such an amazing gift for tackling the topics that most of us would shy away from. I am honored to call you friend.
Please know that you are not alone, even when it feels that way.
Richly captured. And I have wandered similar rooms, and felt similar guilt. At some point, you must let it go, and you can.
You are wondrously present now, gentle and funny and articulate. Give yourself a little kindness. You would do it for a friend or a child, wouldn’t you? Do it for yourself, as well. And keep sharing your impeccable words with us.
I hope that on the days where you can find a self, that you forgive. Even a little bit. Thank you for being so honest and giving us a glimpse.
Tears, tears, salt and bitter tears.
I am only just learning, but I do not want to know. I got lost Saturday on my way to the liquor store (hey, judge all ya want–not that you would–Mommy was, for *some* reason, thinking she could have people over for dinner during all this crap). I wanted to die.
And I yelled at my kid today, because she is going through a growth spurt and is hungry every half hour and NO! I am not ALWAYS immediately available. Because I have to shower and pee and kick the wall and shit.
You da brave one. Show me the way.
I feel for you. I wish there were more comforting things I could say, but just know you’re in my thoughts.
I’m glad Jeff tells you to forgive yourself. Even if it’s hard to find that self to forgive.
I stumbled on your blog from Momalom. Glad I stopped by and found this post. It puts things into perspective. I do that to my son, this child I prayed so hard for. This child God finally blessed me with. This child that may be an only child. And I do it because I am busy, preoccupied, working. On the things that should have been done in the morning, while he was in school. And instead, there I sit, letting my toddler fend for himself because I have to catch up on the work I didn’t do because I had lunch with the girls. I am sorry. To you. That I take for granted this blessing that is motherhood. I am sorry to Cole. That I take for granted this blessing that is my child. So thank you. I am logging off and cuddling my sweet little man, who wanted me to hold him 5 hours ago.
I am awestruck. I don’t even know what to write. I am glad you felt comfortable with us to share this. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I want to just take it all away. And yet I don’t even know you. And yet I do.
The feeling of the lost mind and the lost self is one of the worst. I’ve known it. I imagine we all have at one time or another. Or on some days or others. But when you have this thing. This terrible, horrible thing. This thing you cannot control. This god-damned MS. Well, that? I just cannot imagine. No one can that isn’t there. And that, as well, is not fair. To you. To them.
But do as Wolf says. Be kind. To you. When you can. When you remember. When you are motivated.
And for god’s sakes, just call me. At any moment of anything. I am here. So very thankful for you.
Brave. Brilliant. You.
You are not alone. We are not all in the same spot, but we can all relate. I promise you that. Sorry I am late to this.