Two words that used to mean sleeping in, swimming pools, and road trips with family.
Fast forward to the present day and summer vacation means a monumental shift in the Trouble Brother's daily schedule and as anyone raising a child with autism knows change equals anxiety and anxiety equals meltdowns.
When their anxiety levels increase my own rises exponentially like a temperature gauge about to blow its top like a volcano.
A graphics artist I am not.
The fact is, things are not going well here.
My own long-standing issues with anxiety and depression are rearing their ugly head and living in a house the size of a shoe box is not helping. I try to remind myself to be grateful for what we do have: A roof over our heads, food to eat, clothes on our bodies, and means of transportation. And yet that damn voice in my head reminds me what we don't have and I hate that about myself.
I hate feeling jealous of those who take vacations, have backyards with a swing set and a safe place for their children to play, evenings out with friends, and the ability to pay for summer camps and/ or additional therapies to prevent regression.
I hate that ESY (extended school year) services don't start until July 9th and that they are only three hours a day for four weeks. Then I feel guilty because I know so many families who don't qualify for ESY and they spend the entire summer homeschooling their special needs children to prevent their losing skills and milestones.
Then I have my friends who are single moms doing what I do with absolutely no break, no awesome ex-husband who not only looks forward to his weekends with his boys but actively seeks out extra time. I really do not know how they do it and I hate that I come off sounding like a big whiner.
I hate that I eat and drink my feelings into submission. Day in and day out I live the definition of insanity.
More than anything I hate that I don't know how to talk about what is really going on with me. I have always prided myself on being the funny blogger. I try very hard to keep my personal struggles to myself and not share them on my blog. And for the life of me I don't know why.
Is it because I am afraid of looking weak? Maybe.
Afraid people will stop reading? Not really.
Fear of embarrassment? Possibly.
I don't like admitting when things aren't going well. I prefer to hand out rose colored glasses to those around me and hope they don't see the truth and start asking questions. Chances are if they did ask questions I'd resort to humor as that is the only coping mechanism I seem to be able to employ with any success.
I'm not sure how to end this post. I don't think it really has an ending. I feel like I'm caught on a bad carnival ride that can't stop.
To those of you who read this all the way to the end I thank you.
I promise I'll be okay, I always am. The boys will get into their new routine, we'll get out of the house more, and the stress will start to dissipate.
Until then I just need to tie a knot at the end of this rope.
It makes holding onto it a bit easier.
My own long-standing issues with anxiety and depression are rearing their ugly head and living in a house the size of a shoe box is not helping. I try to remind myself to be grateful for what we do have: A roof over our heads, food to eat, clothes on our bodies, and means of transportation. And yet that damn voice in my head reminds me what we don't have and I hate that about myself.
I hate feeling jealous of those who take vacations, have backyards with a swing set and a safe place for their children to play, evenings out with friends, and the ability to pay for summer camps and/ or additional therapies to prevent regression.
I hate that ESY (extended school year) services don't start until July 9th and that they are only three hours a day for four weeks. Then I feel guilty because I know so many families who don't qualify for ESY and they spend the entire summer homeschooling their special needs children to prevent their losing skills and milestones.
Then I have my friends who are single moms doing what I do with absolutely no break, no awesome ex-husband who not only looks forward to his weekends with his boys but actively seeks out extra time. I really do not know how they do it and I hate that I come off sounding like a big whiner.
I hate that I eat and drink my feelings into submission. Day in and day out I live the definition of insanity.
"Doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result"
I can tell you without a doubt this method is NOT working for me and my current physical health more than proves the point.
More than anything I hate that I don't know how to talk about what is really going on with me. I have always prided myself on being the funny blogger. I try very hard to keep my personal struggles to myself and not share them on my blog. And for the life of me I don't know why.
Is it because I am afraid of looking weak? Maybe.
Afraid people will stop reading? Not really.
Fear of embarrassment? Possibly.
I don't like admitting when things aren't going well. I prefer to hand out rose colored glasses to those around me and hope they don't see the truth and start asking questions. Chances are if they did ask questions I'd resort to humor as that is the only coping mechanism I seem to be able to employ with any success.
I'm not sure how to end this post. I don't think it really has an ending. I feel like I'm caught on a bad carnival ride that can't stop.
To those of you who read this all the way to the end I thank you.
I promise I'll be okay, I always am. The boys will get into their new routine, we'll get out of the house more, and the stress will start to dissipate.
Until then I just need to tie a knot at the end of this rope.
It makes holding onto it a bit easier.
