It's my family, my kids and my husband that will drive me to that breaking point. There was no way I could have even known what was happening the first time. It was when my mom lay dying of debilitating strokes. All my emotions got flipped off as if they'd had a switch to them. I went through all the motions of "being normal" but I was swallowing all my fears, pain and guilt. When she died three months later, the ship hit the sand. There's just no other way of putting it. The panic attacks were the worst. I knew I was going to die, right then and there, just like my mom had died, trapped inside my body with no way out. Then the depression hit. That was a lot easier. All I did was lay in bed after I got the kids off to school. Hubby says I didn't. They got themselves off. Come dinner time, I remember going to the kitchen and making dinner then heading right back to bed without eating. Hubby says I didn't. THEY made dinner... so how come I remember wondering if I was going to live long enough to get dinner on the table? How come I remember rounding the door out of the kitchen at amost a dead run so I could crawl back in my bed?

Two or three years of hit & miss therapy then ten more years of intensive therapy and I was back on my wobbly feet.

Three years ago, I exhausted myself with a derranged woman online. My middle son and his family came to visit. I had asked my DIL if we could have an all day family thing at their house while Chuck was here. She had said yes. My daughter wasn't speaking to me or wanting to be anywhere near me. My oldest son had solved that problem by inviting EVERYONE and whoever had a problem, it was THEIR problem. Not that time. I was told the day and the time of the "family thing" just to be told a couple hours later that I WASN'T WANTED at the "family thing." I hit my breaking point full force. I called and talked to the three that would talk to me and told them that their so-called mother was dead to them. The next day I was put in a psych ward for two weeks.

Right now, I'm holding on tight, going over each minute detail with a fine tooth comb, making sure I don't see any of those "serious" warning signs before I go off the deep end again. My youngest is playing chess with me and his daughter is the pawn... after he condemned his sister for doing the very same thing.

My youngest spent the biggest part of the day here a couple days ago, helping his dad with the new shower for this house. Never said one single word to me... of any kind... This is my "Beloved," my John, my baby...

I'm crying now... is this where it begins?? Am I going to be able to stop crying... or do I end up in the psych ward again??

Is it me that's crazy... or is it "them"???

THIS is what "stresses" me. THIS is what makes me question myself. MOVING does not "stress" me and makes me "say things." That was a JOY. This is HELL!