Spilled milk

This morning I woke up thinking about a time when Uraeus was about four months old and we were going with my family to Las Vegas to celebrate my step father's birthday. I think we were all in my mom's SUV. I didn't know my status as bipolar at that time but looking back I was rapidly cycling between mania and depression. On top of that I was experiencing postpartum depression. Adding more, at that time for work I was babysitting my friend's newborn twins. Her sons were a month older than Uraeus and I was not being paid the rate anyone should be paid to babysit twin newborns. I wasn't even being paid friends and family rate. She was paying me $100 a month and somehow seemed to take pride in that. One time she even said, "I do pay you a whole hundred dollars." It's laughable now, but it wasn't then. Ok, let's add more, my relationship with my son's dad was ending. It was a lot. That's the background, now back to the story.

We were on the way to Vegas and were almost at the hotel. Somehow my milk for Uraeus spilled in my bag and I lost it. Emotionally it sent me EVERYWHERE. I don't remember what I said but I lashed out at my mother and just created an awkward mood for everyone. I was literally crying over spilled milk. When I could get my mother alone I apologized for my outburst but she didn't want to hear it. Not that I blame her. I mean, from her perspective, it was MILK. And there I was acting like my life was over. I didn't know how to explain to anyone what I was going through. I didn't understand it myself.

When Uraeus and I got in the room my sister, who had just had a baby herself, brought me some milk. I remember her handing it to me like, here, dang, it's just milk. And to her, it was just milk, but to me, my life was ending. Or at least I wanted it to be. That's the thing about bipolar brains. EVERYTHING could be a life or death situation. I was dealing with so much and didn't know how I was going to get out of it.

The room Uraeus and I were in had two full beds. One was for us and the other was for my mom and step father. Before Richard, my step father, got in the room, I was standing in front of the window in the hotel. I was just standing there looking out. My mental clouds were very dark. When Richard came in the room I went to the bed and just started crying uncontrollably. I tried to be as quiet as I could but it wasn't a secret. He didn't say anything to me. Not that I remember anyway. When my mother came in the room he told her that I had been crying. I don't remember her saying anything either. Maybe they didn't know what to say. Maybe they were upset. I don't know. I mean here it was Richard's birthday and the family was all together and here I was...acting like that.

I think this memory came up today because yesterday I posted a picture on Instagram of my gas gage in my car. It was on E and the gas light was on. I posted a caption with the picture that said Kinda how I feel. This morning I saw a comment on the photo that said, "Ain't nothing a little cash can't cure." The person who posted the comment is a friend and the comment was posted with all the best intentions. And she is right. She doesn't know that I am living in a hotel and paying rent by the day and tired from working like crazy and selling art and discounting my prices so that I can make my daily money goal. She doesn't know how that yellow gas light almost sent me into tears. And how could she know it? This is not about her. It's about me and where I am. It's about me on one hand feeling so blessed and powerful that I'm even making it and on the other hand feeling SUPER tired and needing a break. When I saw the comment for a quick second I was back in that hotel, crying over milk.

This morning is a different story. My gas is still on E but I'll make it. I'll get to work. I'll get some money. I'll get to where I'm going tonight. I'll sell some paintings. Please God, let me sell some paintings. I'll get some gas. I'll be ok. I will you know. I will be ok.