Anxiety has become such a regular part of the fabric of my existence - I don't remember what it was like not to feel it. But that doesn't mean I don't notice it anymore. It is nausea mixed with a chill of fear mixed with a knot in my stomach and a feeling of not having taken a breath in too long. Sometimes it's right up front - and big - sometimes stuffed way down and small - but there.
My sister, R, is pregnant with #7. She'll give birth at 42. Her due date is right around her son David's birthday. David died, lost to suicide, at age 15 a month after his birthday, in 2008, a little over a year ago. She does not want to give birth on David's birthday.
R is very thin. She is always tired. She has been drinking to excess in the year plus since David died (but has stopped with the news of her pregnancy, and I don't judge her for the drinking, she's suffered an indescribable loss.)
She has 5 other surviving children .. 20 years old - having trouble dealing with anger. 18 years old - dealing with OCD. 14 years old - holding steady. 5 years old - a delightful princess. 2 years old - very needy and still nursing (nothing wrong with that! I'm a big fan of extended breastfeeding. But perhaps not so much when mom's been drinking. I don't really know the extent of that - nor do I want to, frankly. And she's not drinking now.)
My other sister, L, has a 22 year old mentally ill son who is angry, mean, and verbally abusive to her and to her two daughters, his little sisters - 16 and 8. He spit at the 8 year old the other day - in public. She, my sister, has very little money to get by on. Her husband died 4 plus years ago of an accidental drug overdose. Her son has no insurance. He lives at home with them. He refuses any treatment or medication, and also refuses to try and get disability "welfare," he sneers. He is paranoid and riddled with anxiety. He lived with his grandparents for a while after a particularly ugly meltdown - but eventually moved back home. And so her girls grow up with a menacing adult male in the house -- and a mother who suffers from depression, ill equipped to deal with the very harsh cards life has dealt her. She loves her son - but has no idea what to do about him. I don't either. There are no easy answers. There may seem to be ... "she has to tell him to leave!" ... "she has to get him help!" ... sure. She has to do a lot of things. None of them "easy." (He has not gotten physical with her or the girls. But his words undoubtedly take a toll on his little sisters - as they struggle to grow up amidst a very chaotic, very messy (figuratively and literally), very unstable environment.
And then there's me. In love with my son ... struggling with my marriage (never having been in or exposed on any long term basis to a healthy marriage - I wouldn't know one if it landed in a flying saucer in my backyard. Sadly - my father was also abusive - verbally and physically. Certainly I know this is a large part of the reason for my sisters' dysfunction. And my own.) I want my son to be healthy ... happy ... loved.
I cannot live my sisters' lives. I tried to - before I had a child. I got people insurance ... healthcare ... assistance. I made (millions of) phone calls ... I made bold strides (or so I thought) ... I encouraged ... I applauded ... I purchased ... I saved pet's lives (well, one) ... I spent money I didn't have ... I cleaned (and cleaned and cleaned) ... I talked ... I listened.
But after so many years ... and with the arrival of my own child - who I want SO much for (and who I wanted so much) - I stopped. Literally. I just - stopped.
I am still available to my nieces. They know I am a phone call away and they come to my home and spend time with me. I do not go to their home, although it is just 10 minutes away. A fight with L a couple years ago, right before I got pregnant actually, over how dirty and chaotic it was and how unhealthy that was for her and the kids that resulted in her telling me not to come over anymore if it bothered me led to - exactly that. I don't go over there anymore.
And even after I "stopped" ... I reapplied for the girls free state supplied health insurance when my sister forgot to. I gave them a refrigerator when theirs broke(and broke my foot, whilst 7 months pregnant, in doing so. That too was a moment of clarity for me - as I fell out of the Uhaul van I rented and drove to my home that day because somehow L couldn't pick it up - but her giant pregnant sister (me) could - a moment of clarity that I needed to STOP ... as that day could have resulted in unspeakable tragedy had I landed differently after that fall. I was lucky to only end up with a broken foot - and not a broken soul that day.)
I did not attend my nephew David's funeral. I was in my 35th week of a high risk pregnancy - physically ill (sinus infection) - and was advised not to travel. So I didn't.
It is a stressful life. I am very lonely sometimes. My husband has a hard time dealing with my extended family's chaos. But he does the best he can, and when my 8 year old niece called the other day, feeling frightened of her brother, he raced over to their house and collected her and brought her to our home.
My mother has high blood pressure and is pre-diabetic. She is a wonderful, loving, kind grandma to all of her daughters' children - especially my Jack - who she cares for 4 days a week while I'm at work. She regrets every day that our childhood - her daughters' - was difficult. And chaotic. And sad. She wishes she'd done better .. known better .. but she too had very few tools at her disposal. Her parents were not going to win any awards in that department either - between their alcoholism and neglect of her when she was a child - that which pushed her right into the arms of an abuser - my father.
I used to think that bad situations eventually turned out OK ... if you tried hard enough - if you just "believed." I don't anymore. Some bad situations do NOT turn out OK. And for those who think "everything happens for a reason" - I roll my eyes at you. And then roll them again. Tell THAT to the children in Haiti who survived the earthquake and are now wandering around starving and terrified - with no one to hug them or help them. Tell THAT to children who are being trafficked, right now, by sexual predators around the world. I don't think they'd appreciate being the means to an "end" - to a "reason."
I don't want to be jaded, and cynical. I miss believing that things eventually turn out OK. I miss faith. (And I have not abandoned a belief in God - it's just less comforting than it used to be.)
I try to be a good person. I like to help people. I love to help people, actually. (Nice people. Mean people can go eff themselves.)
But yes, I suffer from anxiety. I mull going back to therapy ... perhaps going on an anti-depressant/anti-anxiety med. I wonder what's next ... I wonder what my family will look like in 2 ... 5 ... 10 years. Will they be "OK?" Time will tell.
Life is hard. Life is difficult. But life is precious. My son is precious. I want so much for him. And I want to not pass on my anxiety. And my family's dysfunction. But J and I are struggling. I hope we can find our way back onto a better path. And be good parents. And good to each other.
What a horribly long maudlin post. But it feels better sometimes to put it "outside" ... to type it out ... and let even just a little bit of it - go.