Strange Day

The day started off well as I watched I. in her first gymnastics class. She was the only one in her class so she was in constant motion. I felt sorry for her only because I knew she didn't feel 100% but she was running around the whole time without any rest. I was amazed by her balance - it really is something else - and the enthusiasm that she showed throughout the class was great. She really enjoyed herself though I suspect her little sinewy arms will be sore tomorrow.

This afternoon my mom came over to play with I. She got there at 12:30 which was good and I. had a great time playing with her Bubbi. I was feeling pretty lousy at this point with my cold symptoms coming on so I just did 2 quick errands and came home but then did some chores because my mom would get distracted by me and end up frustrating I. My mom had said that she wanted to tell me a few things but when I said we could talk while I. was eating dinner (at 3), she said she had to leave at 2:45. I guess when she said that she wanted to come play with I., she really meant it. I suspect that my sister had demanded my mother to cart her somewhere this afternoon and unless my mother wanted her cell phone ringing every 5 minutes, it behooved her to pick her up on time. Just a guess, but you know I'm usually right.

The only thing she did bring up was the suicide of the only son of a local famous restauranteur and how sad it was. He was in his early 30s, had just had dinner with his parents and then stopped on his drive home to kill himself, leaving a note for them in his car. To those around him, he was attractive, successful, well liked, and driven. To himself, he was losing a battle with depression. I know what he must have felt like and I know that at dinner that night he probably seemed very happy to his parents. But I also know that this "happiness" most likely was because he had made up his mind that tonight was the night. He was going to have a nice dinner with his parents, say his goodbyes, and then all his pain was going to be over. When you are that depressed, making up your mind that you're going to do it, that it's almost over gives you a sense of relief, almost a physical pain relief, that you just have a little more time and the pain will be gone. To a non-depressed person, it's unfathomable but to one who has been there a few times, I get it.

My mother knows I was there. Okay, maybe I didn't tell her about the other times but that was because they really didn't seem to get it the first time I told them after being nagged by the outpatient therapist for weeks. Why bother telling them if it happened again? But still, my parents were told. That being said, it bothered me greatly when my mother says about this suicidal man, "He reminds me of your brother" because of the guy holding in his feelings.

REALLY?! REALLY? Who has been the person leaned upon, depended upon to fix the emotional ills of this family? Who has to be the strong one, the one who won't falter under any conditions, the one who has to rise to every occasion? The one who found and still finds herself without the support of those who depend on her support.

I don't know why I still allow myself to get upset about this? Maybe it's just that I don't feel good anyways and so it feels more than it is. It didn't ruin my day or evening so I think I'll just let it go and move on. But I did want to get it out of my head and off of my chest before heading to bed in hopes that it will not materialize into some stressful dream tonight. Here's to hoping for a cold night, pleasant dreams, deep sleep, and a healthier tomorrow!