It didn’t start with them, but it’ll end with me.

I’ve had to quit the job I began two and a half months ago, and this saddens me. I was teaching and I really enjoyed it, sometimes. Other times, it became quite painful. But the other day as I was preparing my lessons, I realized I had developed acid reflux because of the stress associated not just with the pressure I put on myself about how good the lessons need to be, not just with how I feel I need to be extremely prepared in case one of the students gets even slightly annoyed at the way I am running the lesson (and therefore triggers me), but with the dealings with my employer, which were never smooth from the start. It became too much and I found myself begging my husband to let me quit. We really need the money, it’s true. That’s the whole reason I applied for this job. There are other ways I could earn money, but this was the easiest way to start earning money quickly. At least, it was potentially the easiest.
Why did I start doing a job I didn’t want to do? I thought I’d given up teaching and was moving on to other professional options. I enjoy being in the classroom and I crave the interaction with people and the recognition, but it’s a poorly-paid, high-stress gig. I started doing it again because I felt I should. I felt that work is supposed to be unpleasant and I don’t deserve to earn large amounts of money quickly and with little stress and a lot of fun. I wanted someone else to tell me where to go and what to do, to set up the structure for me that I then only needed to fill. This job is what I’m trained for and what I’ve done for many years, despite the toll it’s taken on my nerves and my overall health.
That’s the whole reason I quit several years ago, because my health was being so negatively affected by the work. Then I started again because I got a great offer that I couldn’t refuse. Then my contract wasn’t renewed and I had my son. And ever since I’ve been floundering a little, trying out different things but not putting enough effort into any one direction to really get something going.
A few days before my last period, I woke up at 6:30, the usual time, crying. I couldn’t stop and had to go back to bed again and rest. Crying your eyes out is an exhausting way to start the day as well as a huge hurdle. How to start the day when you want to hurt or kill yourself upon waking is a question I’ve had to deal with many times.
After resting, I got up and cried some more. Then I went to bed again. I didn’t manage to eat a meal until about 3 pm, and only after my loving husband pointed out to me all the reasons why my presence on earth matters and how far we’ve come in our life. We’re even (somehow) managing to raise a child now! Finally, after receiving the right messages, I was able to sit down at the table and eat. I finally felt like I was worth receiving food.
I think people who’ve never had suicidal ideations don’t understand how real they can be, how much sense they can make to the person having them. There have been so many suicides of famous people in the news lately, and a lot of people show an inability and/or lack of desire to understand how someone can take their own life. I find this disingenuous. But it’s true that some people have cut themselves off from their feelings so much that they can’t even imagine what other people go through.
My parents told me that wanting to kill yourself when you were a teenager was “normal” (Dad’s word). This tells me that he felt this way when he was a teenager, just like Mom did. Does this speak to a genetic predisposition to depression? Ancestral trauma? A little from Column A, a little from Column B?
Here are the rules I currently have for myself:
- No hitting or other self-harm, no matter how much I want it.
- Giving myself all the time I need to feel whatever emotions are coming up at any time. If there’s no time at that moment, then I promise myself to attend to those feelings later when I do have time, and then I do it. This has only been necessary a couple of times since I instituted these rules a couple months ago.
I thought I was very in touch with my feelings because I have a lot of them and they are quite strong. But I realized that I have never really given myself the time I need to feel them, and that’s why they’re still stuck in my body, controlling me and coming out at the worst times and as a reaction to the slightest triggers. At least, that may be part of the reason these heavy feelings are still around.
As of today, the good news is that I’ve finally found the right medication: an herb called Vitex agnus-castus, aka chasteberry. It is incredible. I finally feel normal. I didn’t think this was possible. After all, I’ve been trying psychiatric medications and herbs for two and a half decades. I finally no longer need marijuana and coffee every day. I can plan to do things and then actually execute my plans. I can walk around town and not feel like I’m about to burst into tears at any moment (although I still do sometimes).
How did I find this wonder remedy? Did one of the many doctors and other health professionals I’ve visited recommend it? Nope. When my PMS was so bad the last time, I googled “PMS mood swings medication” and found out that what I have is not PMS but PMDD (premenstrual dysphoric disorder). One of the remedies listed on the Mayo Clinic website was Vitex. I walked to the pharmacy and immediately purchased a bottle.
The bad news is that my period was due again yesterday and instead of getting that I had a second ovulation for this cycle. Oops.
I’ve already reduced the dosage of the Vitex to a half a pill because it was making me too wired and disturbing my already-fragile sleep. I tried taking a quarter pill today but found that several hours later I was clearly in need of more. So I took the second quarter, made myself a cup of green tea, and tomorrow will try taking half a pill again but not on an empty stomach, first thing in the morning, as I’d been doing. Now I’ll try taking it with breakfast and see if that softens the stimulating effects while still giving me enough of the benefits.
I am happy to say I am no longer feeling the need to blame my family members for abusing me. I understand how intergenerational trauma works, how my parents were mistreated or experienced traumatic situations because their caregivers did, all the way down the line. I understand it didn’t start with them, and my brother is also ultimately not at fault because he wasn’t receiving what he needed from our parents and took it out in his own way on me.
The great thing is, I get to end it. I get to decide it’s over and to raise my son differently. I get to heal my family’s trauma.
Synchronistically, yesterday, I got the first nice email from my mom in a while. She offered to send me some new fall clothes for my son. This is a switch from last Christmas, when she ignored my Amazon wishlist in favor of simply depositing money in my bank account.
I haven’t been in touch with her in a few months. This seems to be the best way to have a relationship with her: sharing as little of myself as possible and not reaching out for any kind of support.
And hopefully in my next incarnation I’ll get to join a family where I receive nothing but love. A wise elder I know has already offered to be my mother.
