Singing the Sky

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After not being able to drag my sorry butt out of bed yesterday and go to work, I decided to call the doctor and ask him for my Zoloft back. In June, I had quit both Zoloft and Xanax and was doing fine, but this past month or so has been rough. Apparently I don’t have enough natural coping skills, because I literally feel sick from the stress. I’ve had the racing heart, stomachaches, chest pain and a lack of desire to do much besides sit on the couch or lie in bed. I feel the agoraphobia creeping its ugly self closer in. Yesterday, I did not drive my son the two miles out of town to my parents, although I did go and pick him up.

Sometimes I forget to play music, or I just don’t want to hear it. Then I know it is bad.

This sucks, because I am popping Xanax like candy and it is NOT WORKING. I have this adrenaline stress thing going on all day and then I will come home and just crash from the combo of the drugs and the stress.

When I called the doctor to get the prescription renewed, the nurse said with a surprised tone in her voice, “You are still taking the (zillion milligrams of) Klonopin and the Xanax? Parenthesis mine.

“Yeah,” I said. “That stuff is not working, believe it or not.”

I have had reservations about what antidepressents do to your brain over the long term, but right now, I honestly don’t care. Not that much, anyhow. I need to be functional now. I’ll take the maximum amount if that’s what it takes to get out of this particular gear.

A small comfort to me today was that one of the high school counselor’s son got arrested for drugs on the campus where his mom works. There is another soul in this town who now works in a place where there is no compartmentalizing between home crisis and work. I am selfish for finding this comforting. I feel really sorry for her–I suppose because I am feeling sorry for myself. I know how she must feel. I know she probably imagines what people say about her, especially the people who don’t have teenagers.

I can never forget for a moment about all of this drama, it seems. I see Older Son’s probation officer on my campus and she just stares at me. I see the officer who arrested him. I meet with other kids probation officers to give them updates. Today, Younger Son came into my classroom all excited because the school was having a family showing of The Polar Express tonight at 7:00. I had to tell him that we couldn’t go. It just killed a part of my soul to see his excitement fade. I told him that his brother had to be at home every night by 7:30. “Why?” he wanted to know.

“Because he is in trouble.”

“What is he in trouble for?”

“He got into trouble at school,” I said. I haven’t known what to say to Younger Son, really. Of course he notices that we drive right by the high school every morning and drop Older Son off at his grandparent’s house. I’m quite certain that he has noticed my stress, the frequent phone calls, the unfamiliar topics of conversation.

“I was wondering,” he said.

I have probably handled the whole thing with Younger Son wrong by not discussing it up front. I have had no idea what to say. I will work on this.

Not everything is so awful. Younger Son and I rented The Polar Express instead. Then we read stories on the Internet. Just for kicks, we read a farm story. I’m not sure why, but these two pages had use choking with laughter. Older Son is seven years old, so this is obviously on the very young side. It is a hoot when you click on the sound option.

Cow

Chicken

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