This is what I would look like if I really were an 18-wheeler.

“Suddenly I see…suddenly I see, This is what I want to be.

Suddenly I see…suddenly I see, Why the hell it means so much to me.”

~KT Tunstall

Let me begin by saying the fact that I have become quite focused on seriously keeping this blog going scares the crap out of The Man. He doesn’t like to share. But I do. Which is why I get invited on more playdates. Opposites attract. So there. Perhaps his reasoning used to be sound. Too much personal information out there might bite us in the ass. Not so much anymore, since the IRS knows where we are, honey. Of course, they have known all along, since we never tried to hide from them, and because they are the EYE ARE ESS, people. In fact, I’m quite certain our Big Bad Voodoo government is looking down via satellite and could probably tell me what color underwear I have on right now, and what color I’ve decided will be cool for tomorrow. Whatever.

So here I am….sharing the fact that lately I feel like an 18 wheeler. A gigantic tractor-trailer, hauling a much too heavy load, flying down the freeway amidst 70 mile an hour  Santa Ana winds, just waiting to jack-knife into a canyon any minute. I believe that may be what The Man is afraid everyone will find out. But, it’s precisely what I need everyone to know. People up close, people far away, people I don’t even know, and probably never will. You see, I recognize this scary road I’m traveling. It’s name is DEPRESSION. (Wow, it looks scarier in print). So, I have decided in order to keep from crashing into a guard rail, I need to grab my CB radio and talk. To stay awake. Because I’m pretty sure there are some other truckers out there who need to hear my story and tell me theirs. Right? The last couple of years in the life of my family have been full of change. Unwelcome, ugly change for the most part, facilitated by snarky people whom we thought we could trust, but who all had hidden agendas. More on that later. Oh yeah, there is a post there, for sure. Intermittently there have been sparkly moments, mostly because I’ve always been an optimist rather than a realist (that is The Man) and decided if I couldn’t see a shiny side to life, I would just polish the dull, tarnished one.  And it worked.

Until I turned 40, and hit the wall I swore I would never hit. Not the “oh shit I look old and need a new ass, a flat belly and some boobs” wall, but rather the “how the hell did I get here?” wall. WHAT AN EYE OPENER. Sure, I accept that I have well-deserved wrinkles and gray hair currently trying its dead level best to take over my head, despite my best efforts to conceal it. That’s all fine. But to quote The Bloggess, “HOLY SHIT SNACKS”….I didn’t expect this! Read on, please.

Several days before I hit the big FOUR OH, I found myself sitting in the corner of my dining room, with my head in my hands…sobbing. And I am sooooo not a crier. Nonetheless, there I was, a blubbering, despondent mess. So many of the things I imagined as part of my life at this age are…well…missing. Our finances are a mess. And not in the “hot” kind of way, but rather the “Godzilla showed up and stomped on them” kind of way. My marriage seems to be showing cracks under the pressure of Godzilla’s enormous feet too, but I’m working on that. Yes, I have 3 beautiful, loving, brilliant daughters who help me get up every morning.  Also a circle of girlfriends, and blood related sisters I can count on (y’all know who you are) whom I’m sure are so tired of answering their phones and listening, or reading my “I need your help, along with some happy” texts, that they secretly wish I would lose my damn voice or at the very least break a valuable texting phalange. Should be enough, right? Not so much, when you are a perfectionistic, overachiever, trying to figure out how on earth to wade through several years of icky, dank swamp without letting anyone know you don’t have it all together. Read here for the definition of “dank”, and for a giggle amidst this murky post 🙂

Anyway, depression is new for me….I think. So it’s a miracle I recognized the signs. Below is what opened my eyes. That, and those television commercials about how depression “looks”. Holy cow, I could have been their brand ambassador the last couple of weeks. Butter Bean cemented that fact when she saw me after school today and said, “Mommy, why are you so dressed up?”.  My response was, “I’m not dressed up. I just took a shower and don’t have pajamas on anymore.” Two hours later, someone else asked me the same thing. Point taken.

Thursday and Friday of last week, and the first 3 days of this week, which makes FIVE DAYS TOTAL, I dropped The Beans off at school and drove home to crawl back in bed, in an effort to abandon life for a few hours (until pickup time, that is). Then, yesterday, I remembered  “Love Wins”, “We Can Do Hard Things” and “Carry on, Warrior”  and that pulled me out of bed. I even went to Home Goods looking for Beyonce’. Didn’t find her, but instead got a crazy looking metal parrot on a stick to plunge in the flower bed beside my front door. His name is Edward Scissorhands. Was going to name him Johnny Depp, but if you saw his TAIL you would absolutely understand why E.S. was a better fit. LOL. He’ll just have to stand in for Beyonce’ until I can locate her. There is a picture of him at the bottom of the post. He makes me smile all over my face, which is a GOOD THING these days. Although The Man doesn’t quite understand why I need him, he is amused by Edward’s presence and The Beans are just WILD about him 🙂 Win-win.

Last night, I had a very long conversation with one of those magnificent sister-friends I mentioned earlier. She helped me in ways she doesn’t even realize. So y’all need to pop over to her blog here and thank her for talking my ass off a ledge, and urging me to write this shit down.  I’m also happy to report that today, I dropped the girls off, raced back home, showered, styled my hair, PUT ON MAKEUP, pulled on a pair of skinny jeans, a flowy top, some shiny jewelry and a pair of kick-ass cowboy boots….and headed out the door to Hollywood, to visit The Man at work…because I really missed him, I needed a hug, and I think he did too. After all that, I picked the girls up, took them for Fro-Yo…just because 🙂

The best thing though, is through several days in bed, coupled with the inspiration given to me by the Monkee community over at Momastery  I realized the importance of writing my stories. I have a crap ton, too. Good, bad and “deer in headlights, did that really happen horrifying?”….all bottled up, waiting to be shared. Although I’m nowhere near the writer I hope to be someday, at present, I am capable of writing and sharing my unfiltered, raw truths with the hopes they resonate with some other truckers out there who are long hauling it through life…..just like me.

So, let’s do this thang, because there is no shame in being honest. Especially when you can’t afford professional help.

xo,

N

Would you look at that TAIL?!!! I mean….SERIOUSLY.