Running Away

Today I feel like I need to run away.  I'm not sure why exactly.  The sun is shining and the sky is blue.  The children have been decently well behaved, Isaac took a nice nap and breakfast, lunch, morning work and the kids' studies have gone smoothly.  Yet there is this sort of panic in me, and I feel like I need space the way I need to breath.  In fact, I feel like I am "out of space" the way I might be "out of breath."  There is a desperation to it.

But I can't run away.  There are four little children here depending on me.  Three might not notice if I disappeared for half of an hour, but Isaac is currently being squeezed almost to death by Dorothea and I have to intervene.  There.  I have intervened.  And I have to be here.  I have to be here, I have to be here.  But I almost want to cry with wanting to get away.  I feel like I am suffocating.  Here is the thing I know, though: running away doesn't change things, and it doesn't solve the problem.  It doesn't even really address it.

I have tried running away at various times in my life.  I ran away to under the dining room table (my mom's suggestion) when I felt left out by my siblings.  I ran away from relationships from time to time, ignoring calls, mentally checking out when I felt uncomfortable.  I have tried running away since being a mom, too.  Sam comes home and I take the car and drive one street over and sit and stare at nothing, in my own space.

Ethan ran away today.  I told him he was accountable for having gone over this allotted amount of time on the computer yesterday and consequently would have less today.  He denied accountability, and said it should be my job to tell him when to get off.  I pointed out that he is 9, he knew the rule, there was a clock right next to him, and that he was capable of obeying; he just chose not to.  He insisted that he didn't know how to tell time on an analog clock, and wouldn't be able to learn.  Unfortunately, I lost my temper at that point.  I reminded him that he had proved his ability to tell time in first grade, and I was not going to believe his claims of being ignorant (and a few other choice synonyms).  He gave me one look of utter passionate hatred and stomped up the stairs, yelling "I'm leaving and I'm never coming back!!!"

I didn't go after him.  Ethan and I are too much alike for me to worry that the fit of passion would last long, or lead him to do anything dangerous.  That "flight" mechanism is powerful in both of us.

When I was nine, I felt overwhelmed by . . . well, I don't really remember what, exactly.  Something to do with school, and the fact that I wasn't performing up to my own standards, I guess.  It was all too much for me, and I didn't know how to deal with it.  I wrote my mom a suicide note.  She took me to counseling.  The nice older couple who saw me gave me an essay to read.  It was a five paragraph essay on how to be perfect.  It was type-written, and all of the "e's" were replaced with "x's."  The writer discovers this half-way through, and decides that even though the essay isn't perfect, it is still comprehensible, and in fact, is a nice little essay and should be kept, rather than being thrown away.  The writer points out that in writing this essay, he has learned that perfection is not required for something to be worth while, and, in fact, it is the imperfections that make it meaningful, memorable and maybe even funny.  I liked the essay and kept it for a long time (decades.)  I decided not to follow through with my threat, either.  Escapism didn't seem necessary anymore.

And yet, that impulse returns and returns.  There have been many times, since I was nine, that death seemed like a very positive option.  I have fantasized about dying (never suicide, just being hit by a car or something) the way a young girl might fantasize about marrying a prince.  It will be beautiful, peaceful, and perfect.  All my problems will be over, and I will exist in a magical land with everyone I love, happily ever after.  But death, like the abbey for Maria, isn't available as an escape, and so we must face our problems.

 It is hard to remember, in the moment, that my need is not really to run away, but to face a problem that is overwhelming me.  And yet, when I do remember (like right now, half-way into writing this blog) it is actually empowering.  When I turn and face the demon, and recognize it, it is half-way vanquished already.   I don't need to run away, I need to figure out what I am running from.

So what is it?  Depression, perhaps?  Does that qualify?  Am I running away from the fact that I find it hard to smile, I loose my temper so fast it surprises even me, and the thought of doing anything sounds like more than I can possibly accomplish?  What is it about depression that is so debilitating?  Or rather, what forces align (or misalign) to give depression such debilitating power?  Can I change them?  I can talk to a counselor about it.

There now, I have come to grips with the fact that my own feelings are overwhelming to me.  It makes me horribly sad not to have more to offer my children of me right now.  I want to offer them a smiling, energetic, patient mother, who invites friends over every other day, goes on exciting, educational outings with them frequently, and has created a house of order where everything is ready and prepared.  Instead they have. . . well, not that.  I am still longing for perfection, and mourning its absence.  It still overwhelms me not to live up to my own expectations, apparently.  It makes me want to escape.

I need to remember that even imperfect mothers, like imperfect essays, can be worthwhile, and shouldn't be tossed out.  As my wise, beloved Aunt Joan reminded me, if I was a perfect mother, my children would be disadvantaged, because they wouldn't know how to deal with normal people.  Ha!  It is true that my imperfections make my life meaningful, memorable and sometimes even funny.  I guess my children can still benefit from me after all, and I won't run away.

p.s. I've just rxturnxd from tutoring Maria, an XSL studxnt at the library.  Bxing outsidx, actually xnjoying thx sky and bxing part of thx world at largx, rathxr than dwxlling on my own littlx problems is vastly frxxing.  Rxaching out to someonx who appreciatxs my prxsxnce is wondxrful!  I fxxl bxttxr alrxady.  I fxxl so good, I think I'll go makx dinnxr!