My child and I are both dealing with overwhelming emotions these days: grief, anger, anxiety, to name a few. When I learned of a nearby health center that offers counseling on a sliding scale, I thought we'd found an outlet and possible source of help. But by the time our registration process was complete, and I was trying to make appointments today, I was told that the soonest opening was over 6 weeks from now. I asked if there were any alternative providers, and when told 'yes,' immediately went to register there in addition. Child and I went through the intake process this afternoon, and again, I was hopeful that now, at least soon, we'll be getting the help we need. Ha ha. By the end of our registration, we were told that 'it might take weeks' to be seen for therapy.
We very well might not have weeks. We're hoping to be moving as soon as we're accepted into a rental near DC. But this is the state of mental health here -- that even when I say my child is crying everyday, and even when I feel like I just can't keep going, we're not offered help for weeks. What are we supposed to do in the meantime?
We keep plugging along, day after miserable day.
Some days are slightly better than others. Some days I manage to get by without being glared at hatefully. Some days it feels like I almost have my child back, the way they used to be before Jerusalem. But I know it's just a temporary reprieve; that the hurt and longing are deep inside this child. I yearn for them to receive the gentle help and advice they need, and for our relationship to begin mending.
Some days I have enough breathing space, and my younger kiddos bring me more joy than frustration. I might even look at them and the world around me in wonder and think, "Yes! This is what it means to be alive." But more often than not, I feel a rising panic, a longing to cover my ears to block out the demands and the whining and the crying, a deep desire to run away perhaps never to return. I wonder on a daily basis why I thought I could do this. Why did I think I could parent five children? Why did I imagine I could meet the needs of the 'bigs' while enjoying the 'littles' and vice versa. It was clearly all an illusion. It feels like all I can possibly hope for now is survival.
And underneath all the current angst is an ever-present river of residual anger from my time in Jerusalem. My 8 months there were some of the very loneliest and most depressing of my life, and instead of just being sad about that, I'm actually quite angry. I don't know what to do with that anger. I feel like I need to vent it somehow, but I don't know where or to whom.
So these are my summer days, trying to balance joy and despair, wondering from hour to hour how much my child hates me and if there will be a time of forgiveness and understanding, wishing we could both get help, wishing I could move past anger and reach something better than survival.
We very well might not have weeks. We're hoping to be moving as soon as we're accepted into a rental near DC. But this is the state of mental health here -- that even when I say my child is crying everyday, and even when I feel like I just can't keep going, we're not offered help for weeks. What are we supposed to do in the meantime?
We keep plugging along, day after miserable day.
Some days are slightly better than others. Some days I manage to get by without being glared at hatefully. Some days it feels like I almost have my child back, the way they used to be before Jerusalem. But I know it's just a temporary reprieve; that the hurt and longing are deep inside this child. I yearn for them to receive the gentle help and advice they need, and for our relationship to begin mending.
Some days I have enough breathing space, and my younger kiddos bring me more joy than frustration. I might even look at them and the world around me in wonder and think, "Yes! This is what it means to be alive." But more often than not, I feel a rising panic, a longing to cover my ears to block out the demands and the whining and the crying, a deep desire to run away perhaps never to return. I wonder on a daily basis why I thought I could do this. Why did I think I could parent five children? Why did I imagine I could meet the needs of the 'bigs' while enjoying the 'littles' and vice versa. It was clearly all an illusion. It feels like all I can possibly hope for now is survival.
And underneath all the current angst is an ever-present river of residual anger from my time in Jerusalem. My 8 months there were some of the very loneliest and most depressing of my life, and instead of just being sad about that, I'm actually quite angry. I don't know what to do with that anger. I feel like I need to vent it somehow, but I don't know where or to whom.
So these are my summer days, trying to balance joy and despair, wondering from hour to hour how much my child hates me and if there will be a time of forgiveness and understanding, wishing we could both get help, wishing I could move past anger and reach something better than survival.
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