Missing Lauren
Without Prejudice
I miss her all the time but especially at this time of year. The significant days are behind me and this year Christmas And new Year were great, everyone happy and well. We all partied and had fun and great times. And I sighed with relief and thought I can finally be normal for my girls on those days now. And I think I have escaped it, "The Monster"/
"The Monster", is grief and I find no matter how you put it on hold it's coming to get you sooner or later. I went away for a week to the country, spent time with family and kids and I love kids. Animals too, and in my wisdom this year ran out of anti depressants and HRT and decided in my infinite wisdom I would manage without.
No one loses a child and is ever normal again. I find I can cope with meds as it puts a wall between me and the awfulness of the facts. I can function and be happy and love life and Mother my kids and Grandkids. I am not on my knees sobbing in the bathroom as I scrub a floor or scour out a shower base. I can function. But when I decide I am well, I think, interestingly, that I don't need meds.
Luckily my girls are awake to my habits and step in.
"Are you off your meds?"
"Yes' I feel better," I answer in defiance.
"Go get them, now, or I'm coming over there"
They know too well I will weep and weep and weep and they will not be there to see me, so Deb in Broken Hill at the moment and Mara around the corner, threaten, cajole and advise me to get back on them. I know this. I am an intelligent woman, with an IQ over whatever and I am also a little child when it comes to medication. I hate taking it, figuring I can handle it without.
But my brain is in chemical imbalance and tells me I am well. I don't need them. And I stupidly listen. My Sister Jackie never forgets her daily "crazy" pill. We will be on them for the rest of our lives. We saw our Mother unfettered in madness and suiciding. She had also lost a child. No counselling for Mum. No relief from depression except for sedatives in those days and it made people worse.
My Mum is my spectre of depression, but she kept it hidden as she did Jamie's death, somehow thinking it was something to hold to herself and went mad with it. She was over intelligent my Mum. the line between madness and genius a fine one she walked every day. never showing weakness or faltering. I was different. I realised something was wrong when I would wake every day and cry, and cry again at night before bed.
I figured it was hormones and went to the Doctor. I was devastated when he said I had depression. I cried. (Tell you anything ? ) And took the dvd he gave me and the tablets and one to have right then and there to quell my high anxiety. And I went home and watched the DVD and took the meds. I didn't immediately feel better. That took time. I realised how easily I had isolated myself from others. At that time before I was diagnosed no one could have dragged me out for a night out. I would have fought them like a scratching clawing animal.
I isolated myself at home, only there was I safe. I went to work and went straight home, always. Home was safe and I could hide there like a wounded animal. I would cry every day till I was better. And shun people until then too. Now my girls are so aware of my moods, they step in if they sense a change in mood.
Weepy being the easiest to detect and hatred and anger another. I hate the world on those days and hate every dead shit, rapist, murderer, junkie, and think why are they here on this earth and she is not. Lauren that never harmed anyone, loved everyone. She was an inspiration of love. Hated no one nor they her. She was innocent and loving and I have to look at people who hate the world and I get defeated and frustrated and sad and viciously angry.
I want perfection in my life and push myself in my work, my writing and over tire and don't sleep and wonder when I hit the wall, why ??? I find it hard to take it easy and I know I should. I should meditate and pray and sleep but I do none of those when depressed. I can go night after night without sleep, days too and maybe nap once for 10 minutes before i am up again, changing the world one word at a time.
I demand perfection from myself and want it from my girls. they know this, and instead of getting defensive they soothe me and never trust me to be on my own, They are right to hunt me down and make me take my meds. A Doctor asking me gently once if I felt like I needed hospital. I was horrified and soothed at the same time. Clean white sheets and peace and quiet to settle my mind chatter. But I can't even contemplate that.
I need my safety and that is home. I need my routine and my bed, my own and that is home. Home is where the heart is and where she is, surrounding me with her hand drawn pictures and happy photos of her smile. I must see her every day and I feel that every day I must honour her somehow. I help others and to do that very important job I have to be "Well". Well in body and mind and spirit. I don't want to be yelling at my Grandkids. They hate it when I yell or tell them off.
I don't want to be like that, so I am persuaded to go back on my meds, so the girls can be looked after and me, back to Number one, in my life. I know if I don't look after myself their lives turn to shit and I can't do that to them. They need me well and functioning and loving and not a screaming "Monster". I struggle with my brain as it tells me they are wrong and are just not doing as they are told and I am the more intelligent one and The Mother.
They should do as I tell them and considering they are grown women they are intelligent enough to say,
"pull your head in Mother"
And I love them so much I would never ever hurt them so I agree as I know they love me and want me to be around for a long time. My Doctor ticking me off once, saying,
"Don't you want to be around for your Grandkids, for years ??"
And I had replied
"What for?"
I could only envisage years of pain and sadness to come.
"Because they are alive and Lauren is dead and she would not want you to be unhappy"
I hate him at that point. What the hell would he know, he has four healthy kids and grandkids. I am the hurting one, rotating like an insect on a pin in pain. I glare at him and he glares right back, daring me to go on with my diatribe at the world. My girls grown and more than capable of running there own lives, I helped make them like they are. And I'm proud of them and decide I can;t put my girls through what happened to my mother. I won't.
They don't need an unkempt Mother, dishevelled and weeping, sleeping all day and when a wake a screaming Monster. And violent with it. My Mum could fight off ten paramedics when she went into meltdown. She would kick and scream as if she was being hurt and scream obscenities. She was worse than something seen from "The Exorcist", spitting bile and rage and madness.
I was told to not be silly when I feared becoming like her,
Don't be stupid, your Mother was ill" The counsellor told me.
And that made me sit back in my seat.
Of course she was ill, mentally ill, cunning in her illness and ire. She would run and hide like a child and we would have to catch her and bring her home. dad stayed with her to the end and it must have been hard for him. he loved her with a passion, his gorgeous Nat. he could not understand her illness at all. he thought the real Nat was still in there and she wasn't. She was a new creature. Shambolic and trembling and scared and then a terrifying 10' tall crazy woman. Who attacked people and hurt them.
She was and still is a terrifying spectre to me. A woman that his her tablets, saved them up for the day she chose to die. Dad unaware of how many tablets she had. He counted them faithfully every day and called in at home to see if she was alright and had taken her meds. 11 in total. every day. And she hated taking them as they didn't help. She had meds for her overactive thyroid and there was no way she was having the operation that could help. No one was cutting her neck open and she would cry and beg dad to take her home. And he loved her so and he would.
To be continued.........
I miss her all the time but especially at this time of year. The significant days are behind me and this year Christmas And new Year were great, everyone happy and well. We all partied and had fun and great times. And I sighed with relief and thought I can finally be normal for my girls on those days now. And I think I have escaped it, "The Monster"/
"The Monster", is grief and I find no matter how you put it on hold it's coming to get you sooner or later. I went away for a week to the country, spent time with family and kids and I love kids. Animals too, and in my wisdom this year ran out of anti depressants and HRT and decided in my infinite wisdom I would manage without.
No one loses a child and is ever normal again. I find I can cope with meds as it puts a wall between me and the awfulness of the facts. I can function and be happy and love life and Mother my kids and Grandkids. I am not on my knees sobbing in the bathroom as I scrub a floor or scour out a shower base. I can function. But when I decide I am well, I think, interestingly, that I don't need meds.
Luckily my girls are awake to my habits and step in.
"Are you off your meds?"
"Yes' I feel better," I answer in defiance.
"Go get them, now, or I'm coming over there"
They know too well I will weep and weep and weep and they will not be there to see me, so Deb in Broken Hill at the moment and Mara around the corner, threaten, cajole and advise me to get back on them. I know this. I am an intelligent woman, with an IQ over whatever and I am also a little child when it comes to medication. I hate taking it, figuring I can handle it without.
But my brain is in chemical imbalance and tells me I am well. I don't need them. And I stupidly listen. My Sister Jackie never forgets her daily "crazy" pill. We will be on them for the rest of our lives. We saw our Mother unfettered in madness and suiciding. She had also lost a child. No counselling for Mum. No relief from depression except for sedatives in those days and it made people worse.
My Mum is my spectre of depression, but she kept it hidden as she did Jamie's death, somehow thinking it was something to hold to herself and went mad with it. She was over intelligent my Mum. the line between madness and genius a fine one she walked every day. never showing weakness or faltering. I was different. I realised something was wrong when I would wake every day and cry, and cry again at night before bed.
I figured it was hormones and went to the Doctor. I was devastated when he said I had depression. I cried. (Tell you anything ? ) And took the dvd he gave me and the tablets and one to have right then and there to quell my high anxiety. And I went home and watched the DVD and took the meds. I didn't immediately feel better. That took time. I realised how easily I had isolated myself from others. At that time before I was diagnosed no one could have dragged me out for a night out. I would have fought them like a scratching clawing animal.
I isolated myself at home, only there was I safe. I went to work and went straight home, always. Home was safe and I could hide there like a wounded animal. I would cry every day till I was better. And shun people until then too. Now my girls are so aware of my moods, they step in if they sense a change in mood.
Weepy being the easiest to detect and hatred and anger another. I hate the world on those days and hate every dead shit, rapist, murderer, junkie, and think why are they here on this earth and she is not. Lauren that never harmed anyone, loved everyone. She was an inspiration of love. Hated no one nor they her. She was innocent and loving and I have to look at people who hate the world and I get defeated and frustrated and sad and viciously angry.
I want perfection in my life and push myself in my work, my writing and over tire and don't sleep and wonder when I hit the wall, why ??? I find it hard to take it easy and I know I should. I should meditate and pray and sleep but I do none of those when depressed. I can go night after night without sleep, days too and maybe nap once for 10 minutes before i am up again, changing the world one word at a time.
I demand perfection from myself and want it from my girls. they know this, and instead of getting defensive they soothe me and never trust me to be on my own, They are right to hunt me down and make me take my meds. A Doctor asking me gently once if I felt like I needed hospital. I was horrified and soothed at the same time. Clean white sheets and peace and quiet to settle my mind chatter. But I can't even contemplate that.
I need my safety and that is home. I need my routine and my bed, my own and that is home. Home is where the heart is and where she is, surrounding me with her hand drawn pictures and happy photos of her smile. I must see her every day and I feel that every day I must honour her somehow. I help others and to do that very important job I have to be "Well". Well in body and mind and spirit. I don't want to be yelling at my Grandkids. They hate it when I yell or tell them off.
I don't want to be like that, so I am persuaded to go back on my meds, so the girls can be looked after and me, back to Number one, in my life. I know if I don't look after myself their lives turn to shit and I can't do that to them. They need me well and functioning and loving and not a screaming "Monster". I struggle with my brain as it tells me they are wrong and are just not doing as they are told and I am the more intelligent one and The Mother.
They should do as I tell them and considering they are grown women they are intelligent enough to say,
"pull your head in Mother"
And I love them so much I would never ever hurt them so I agree as I know they love me and want me to be around for a long time. My Doctor ticking me off once, saying,
"Don't you want to be around for your Grandkids, for years ??"
And I had replied
"What for?"
I could only envisage years of pain and sadness to come.
"Because they are alive and Lauren is dead and she would not want you to be unhappy"
I hate him at that point. What the hell would he know, he has four healthy kids and grandkids. I am the hurting one, rotating like an insect on a pin in pain. I glare at him and he glares right back, daring me to go on with my diatribe at the world. My girls grown and more than capable of running there own lives, I helped make them like they are. And I'm proud of them and decide I can;t put my girls through what happened to my mother. I won't.
They don't need an unkempt Mother, dishevelled and weeping, sleeping all day and when a wake a screaming Monster. And violent with it. My Mum could fight off ten paramedics when she went into meltdown. She would kick and scream as if she was being hurt and scream obscenities. She was worse than something seen from "The Exorcist", spitting bile and rage and madness.
I was told to not be silly when I feared becoming like her,
Don't be stupid, your Mother was ill" The counsellor told me.
And that made me sit back in my seat.
Of course she was ill, mentally ill, cunning in her illness and ire. She would run and hide like a child and we would have to catch her and bring her home. dad stayed with her to the end and it must have been hard for him. he loved her with a passion, his gorgeous Nat. he could not understand her illness at all. he thought the real Nat was still in there and she wasn't. She was a new creature. Shambolic and trembling and scared and then a terrifying 10' tall crazy woman. Who attacked people and hurt them.
She was and still is a terrifying spectre to me. A woman that his her tablets, saved them up for the day she chose to die. Dad unaware of how many tablets she had. He counted them faithfully every day and called in at home to see if she was alright and had taken her meds. 11 in total. every day. And she hated taking them as they didn't help. She had meds for her overactive thyroid and there was no way she was having the operation that could help. No one was cutting her neck open and she would cry and beg dad to take her home. And he loved her so and he would.
To be continued.........
