Read Online Being Kendra by Kendra Wilkinson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kendra Wilkinson
Ads: Link
myself alone in the apartment with the baby during a blizzard while Hank was at practice. It was pretty bad out and I wasn’t going to risk driving anywhere with the baby in that weather. One day stuck in the apartment turned into two, which turned into three. I hadn’t showered in a while, hadn’t really seen daylight, and other than “goo-goo ga-ga” with Hank Jr., hadn’t really had much of a face-to-face conversation with anyone in the outside world. All of a sudden I started to lose it.
The room started to spin, my dreams and reality started to mix together. I wasn’t sure what day it was or what time it was, and I didn’t know whether I had eaten or what I had eaten. I could barely see five feet in front of me. I was pretty out of it. That is when I knew something terrible was about to happen. Thank God my son was safe. I’m not saying I was a danger to Hank Jr., but thank God he was sleeping quietly in his room away from my madness, because things were spiraling down very quickly. He is a heavy sleeper; he could sleep through a thunderstorm, a giant tractor trailer whizzing by, or in this case a parental meltdown of epic proportions.
It was around bedtime and I just went crazy. Something just snapped inside me and I ripped everything off the walls. I smashed everything, cleared off shelves and tables and shattered anything breakable. I had a sudden bout of depression and hate, and I just broke any object in plain sight. I started shaking. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I was trying to wrap my hands around anything and break it. I threw plates and shattered them. I ripped up papers and bills and envelopes. Stuff on tables like forks, knives, glasses—I just picked them up and slammed them all. This went on for at least an hour, with occasional breathing breaks in the middle to catch my breath for a minute. But nothing could stop me.
I knew something bad was going on internally with me but I couldn’t control it. I was raging, and the more I raged, the heavier and more intense it got. I wasn’t stopping for anything or anyone. Of course, being alone (Hank Jr. was sleeping and daddy Hank wasn’t home yet), there wasn’t anyone or anything to stop me anyway. I was screaming and crying beyond what you could imagine. The neighbors, if they didn’t know me yet, certainly knew me now. I thought someone was going to call the cops; I was having my Britney moment. Apart from shaving my head and bashing in a window with an umbrella, it was pretty much as you would think. This was not the pretty blonde posing on a billboard on Sunset Boulevard with her family announcing the season premiere of her new show. I was an angry, depressed monster with no producers or editing to fix my flaws. I was crying uncontrollably. I just kept screaming, “Fuck! Fuck! I don’t deserve this shit!” I couldn’t think straight and I was ready to leave Hank. Not divorce; I will never divorce Hank. This was more of a “I’m going to get away and start a new life and you come when you’re ready.”
It was beyond bad. Looking back, I’m not embarrassed about it. I think it happens to a lot of moms. I’ve told this story to a few moms and they all look at me with sympathy because every one of them says, “Been there, done that.” I thought I was going crazy, but what I’ve been told is that I was actually perfectly sane. This happening to me showed me that everything in my brain was actually working well; it was a sign—get out of that apartment, get help, get away, and take care of yourself. It was a “fight or flight” situation, and after fighting it for the longest time, I was now ready to leave.
And I’m lucky the incident was interrupted by Hank.
Anxiety and depression, anger and fear, and just being overwhelmed—that moment showed up right when it needed to. I was feeling so much pressure and I had been bottling it all up. I couldn’t take it anymore, I couldn’t pretend everything was okay
The room started to spin, my dreams and reality started to mix together. I wasn’t sure what day it was or what time it was, and I didn’t know whether I had eaten or what I had eaten. I could barely see five feet in front of me. I was pretty out of it. That is when I knew something terrible was about to happen. Thank God my son was safe. I’m not saying I was a danger to Hank Jr., but thank God he was sleeping quietly in his room away from my madness, because things were spiraling down very quickly. He is a heavy sleeper; he could sleep through a thunderstorm, a giant tractor trailer whizzing by, or in this case a parental meltdown of epic proportions.
It was around bedtime and I just went crazy. Something just snapped inside me and I ripped everything off the walls. I smashed everything, cleared off shelves and tables and shattered anything breakable. I had a sudden bout of depression and hate, and I just broke any object in plain sight. I started shaking. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I was trying to wrap my hands around anything and break it. I threw plates and shattered them. I ripped up papers and bills and envelopes. Stuff on tables like forks, knives, glasses—I just picked them up and slammed them all. This went on for at least an hour, with occasional breathing breaks in the middle to catch my breath for a minute. But nothing could stop me.
I knew something bad was going on internally with me but I couldn’t control it. I was raging, and the more I raged, the heavier and more intense it got. I wasn’t stopping for anything or anyone. Of course, being alone (Hank Jr. was sleeping and daddy Hank wasn’t home yet), there wasn’t anyone or anything to stop me anyway. I was screaming and crying beyond what you could imagine. The neighbors, if they didn’t know me yet, certainly knew me now. I thought someone was going to call the cops; I was having my Britney moment. Apart from shaving my head and bashing in a window with an umbrella, it was pretty much as you would think. This was not the pretty blonde posing on a billboard on Sunset Boulevard with her family announcing the season premiere of her new show. I was an angry, depressed monster with no producers or editing to fix my flaws. I was crying uncontrollably. I just kept screaming, “Fuck! Fuck! I don’t deserve this shit!” I couldn’t think straight and I was ready to leave Hank. Not divorce; I will never divorce Hank. This was more of a “I’m going to get away and start a new life and you come when you’re ready.”
It was beyond bad. Looking back, I’m not embarrassed about it. I think it happens to a lot of moms. I’ve told this story to a few moms and they all look at me with sympathy because every one of them says, “Been there, done that.” I thought I was going crazy, but what I’ve been told is that I was actually perfectly sane. This happening to me showed me that everything in my brain was actually working well; it was a sign—get out of that apartment, get help, get away, and take care of yourself. It was a “fight or flight” situation, and after fighting it for the longest time, I was now ready to leave.
And I’m lucky the incident was interrupted by Hank.
Anxiety and depression, anger and fear, and just being overwhelmed—that moment showed up right when it needed to. I was feeling so much pressure and I had been bottling it all up. I couldn’t take it anymore, I couldn’t pretend everything was okay
Similar Books
