My Grandmother's birthday is this month. This week now. Sometimes, when someone dies, the anniversary of their birth or death just sneaks up on you, or (if you're lucky) right by you. As someone who's lost (I was going to say a 'fair' number, but 'fair' doesn't enter into the conversation when you're talking about death, so I'll stick with) more than one person I loved, I've lived through loss long enough to know that it (mostly) does fade enough so that some years a birthday or death day will come and all I'll feel is that tug of longing, that twinge of regret that I no longer have that person in my daily life.
But firsts? Firsts of anything are ripe old bitches - and I know that I have been not been doing particularly well with my grieving process in the first place, this time around.
Mostly I feel like everybody else moved on, and I'm still stuck in last summer, holding the hands of a woman whose face I'm trying to carve into my memory as I watch my face fade from hers.
I can't explain how powerfully & profoundly that experience has changed me, and yet - nothing else has changed! She's still not here, and I still am: stuck in my bed, in this house, in this life that I don't want or recognize, but lacking the ideas, strength (physically & mentally), and just plain energy to do anything about it.
And now her birthday is coming up, and I'm hyper-aware of it. As in, I usually have no idea what the actual date is, unless I have a doctor's appointment in the near future, but ever since July 1, the calendar has been mocking me. It's been a constant, in my face, reminder that JULY IS HER BIRTHDAY and HER BIRTHDAY IS COMING, PREPARE TO CRY. The date has been getting closer and closer, and my mood has been getting darker and darker.
I think about how, for most people, Friday will have no meaning at all... even in our family, Grandmother's actual birth date was always one of those "Is it the 17th form 1919 or the 19th from 1917 or maybe it's the 21st?" kind of deals. (My family is bad at dates. Also time. Also lots of other things that matter to me a lot, which you can see would be kind of frustrating.) And for me, Friday is a huge, looming, taunting thing that I'm trying desperately to avoid, knowing it's going to come and suffocate me anyways.
Because, as I said, I'm no amateur at this whole grieving thing (even if it feels like I am, every. single. time.), I've done my best to keep occupied, knowing that distraction is one of my best coping skills. I've tried making plans for the actual date - my best friend is in New York, all my siblings are working, Mom says she is up for anything, but lately it's all she can do to not melt into a puddle every time she ventures out into the hot - and I think I've wrangled myself into a kiddo sleepover, finally, but - like everything else this summer - it's complicated too. No Longer Youngest Nephew (soon to be by the power of two, come to think of it) is 13 now, and .... while he's up for games and stuff, it's as if when his voice cracked, his preferences for spending time with me did also. It's not that he doesn't love me, or that we can't still have a good time together every now and then, but he'd rather be with aunts who drive cars to New Hampshire where he can hang out with his older cousins, or aunts and uncles who let him watch R rated movies and take him to hockey games. The largely sedentary Auntie NTE is no longer first (or even, honestly, second or third- which would be sitting at home playing video games) choice and, wow does that sting.
Still, I'll be glad to have them here on Friday, to give me something other than my own gloom to focus on. And - even though I know it is, in part, because of the overwhelming upcoming birthday - Holy Jupiter has this month (/season/past 9 months) been full of gloom for me. Let me just mention this one other thing, real quick, that kind of explains why I've been avoiding this space and writing in general for the last little (ok long) while:
Along with the gloom, which I recognize as both a normal part of grieving and a truly hideous part of grief, I've also been experiencing something a little bit more troubling, because it dabbles its feet in the "how close are we to the edge of depression here, really" pond, and that's terrifying to me. It's something that has been growing since before she died, when I felt like it was just me and UJ in the trenches and everybody else was sending care packages every now and then, but had no idea what it was truly like to be waging war against a disease that made you a stranger to the person you loved so much. And it blossomed once we lost her, and then my sister & her husband were forced to move out, and my mom's depression spiralled downwards, and everybody I knew was fighting their own ridiculously hard battle, and asking for my help, sure, but you can't tell people how alone you feel when they're crying on your shoulder. And somehow, even though I've tried reaching out, I am left, once again, feeling forgotten and outlived.
Which is not the kind of thing you can say to your pregnant baby sister, or your other baby sister who moved to the middle of nowhere again, or your other baby sister who you're so fucking proud of you could burst, but miss more than air sometimes - but it's how I feel. And even though I know that my family is not, in fact, "leaving me behind" (and also that it's not their responsibility to make me feel better about feeling left out, really), but it's kind of hard not to feel that way when you've experienced it so often, just by virtue of being the sick one. First with my high school friends, then when all my college friends started getting jobs and getting married, then when they all had their first round of kids, then their second (and some are now on their third), and this may sound weird, and horrible and selfish, but it recently just occurred to me that this is the first time that I have been the only one living at home, and it makes me feel (ancient and weak and useless and pathetic) a whole boatload of things that I know I am not, but still am feeling.
And, oh my god, so fucking lonely.
Which is why tumblr has been great, because: So many spoonies! and some of them are old like me! (Because holy jebus, the teenagers. Talk about feeling ancient.) So, less lonely: here I come. And a lot of them feel left behind too. So I don't feel so ridiculous about both loving the sight of my sister's gorgeous baby bump (Seriously? She's one of those adorable pregnant people who glow so much they nearly sparkle.) and still being so sad that it isn't me. One of my other sisters recently lost a ton of weight by eating healthy and doing an exercise program, and I was so glad for her, and at the same time, I kind of wanted to punch her in the face. Because I've eaten nothing but cardboard for a year, and I've eaten 3/4 fruits and vegetables for the last 2 years, and I still can't stand up without wanting to die. I miss moving my body and feeling good about it and not resenting everything it took away from me. I miss trusting it. (That's one of her big things, this hippie-crunchy sister of mine, "trust your body, it knows what it needs" which is almost so naive as to be cute, except for how my body apparently knows that it needs to lay on the floor a lot and never move, and make me feel like I'm constantly being crushed by the air? my clothes? gravity? So yeah: hilarious. And rage inducing.)
So, yeah: it's been a rough couple of months - not without its rays of sunshine, of course. In the forms of a family wedding and house guests who like to chat; a baby shower in the making; a couple of kids who grow like weeds having birthdays; a trip to the movies; a birthday trip out for me that included chocolate fondue and a book signing (which - heaven, right?); and even little things like a couple of really good books (a new JK Rowling under a pseudonym? Must acquire immediately!); coming up on finishing a really large (3+years) project; starting some new crafty things; making sisters laugh when they feel like they never will again; a pining Robb Stark (I'll post a picture this week); and learning how to apply makeup correctly for the first time in my life, via Youtube videos.
But this is going to be a hard week, and I'm going to need as much sunshine as possible to make it through, so if you have any, please feel free to share in the comments. Hope your weeks/months are going a little bit cheery-er, and even if they're not, at least you know you're not alone. {God everything I'm writing today is like a therapy session: I'm sorry internet. (I'm not really sorry - it felt kind of good to acknowledge that shit.)}
Showing posts with label Depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Depression. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
so here i am
how I've been feeling lately: like pond scum. like a junkie, only I don't know what I need a fix of. like a crumpled up wrapper that someone tossed at the barrel, missed and now just keeps getting trod on underfoot, because everybody is too lazy to bend over and pick it up.
so, in general: just awesome.
according to my med tracker -into which I input my symptoms, vital signs, pain map, mood, meds, etc, daily - I'm doing just fine. I guess that goes to show you that there are limits to what computers can do.
It can't, for example, extrapolate from the fact that my pain levels have been at a consistent 8-10 level for the past....year, that my pain is, in fact, out of freaking control. (In fact it reports I have been "stable," which makes me want to strangle it, but it is but a website and has no neck to strangle.)
It can't use the data from my latest migraine - pain level: 9, days lasting (so far): three, meds taken to control it: at least 4, ability to move or live a life that requires doing more than rolling over in bed or taking the hottest shower possible; nil - to confirm that I have become some sort of cave troll, who lives in a twilight world where lights can't be brighter than twinkle lights, movements must all be made in slow motion, and noises can't be above a whisper.
It can take my three month mood average of 'okay' and filter it down into 36 days with at least one episode of tears; 5 days of actual, recorded laughter; at least two days when I felt like talking to people was as painful as pouring acid on myself; but it doesn't seem to register that my definition of an 'okay' mood is seriously lax, because I would've included most of those days in the roster. Or that my much lauded patience is at an all time premium - I have no time for nonsense (or only time for nonsense, I guess) - it depends on who you are and what you want, but if it's stupid, I'm outta there, because ain't nobody got time for that.
It can tell you that my blood sugar's been bloody high - a fact probably influenced by my inability to eat anything that doesn't come in the form of a cookie, potato or cupcake without wanting to throw it back up again. (Don't ask me: carbs are comfort food.) And even then, it's dicey.
It can tell you that my blood pressure's been kooky - per usual, of course - but my pulse has started to join in and beat a crazy rhythm whenever it feels like it. and sometimes I feel like it might just beat right out of my chest, as if it were a separate thing, growing inside of me, its own necessary beat that I cannot control.
Today's a tough day: I know it, as much as I know that these past six months have been hard months, and that - eventually - days won't be so hard, and months will pass without me taking such extreme note of them.
But right now, fighting this maximum migraine and the melancholy mood it has brought with it, everything seems like forever.
As if I am always just those numbers on the stupid chart, and nobody can see past them.
As if I don't remember that there's more to me than those stupid numbers, most of the time. As if that's what I boil down to, in the end. And what a sad end that would be - abnormal numbers and not a lot else.
All I want is to feel better, and I know that part of that is in my power, that there are things I need to do to make myself feel better, (less carbs, for example) but, when you keep trying and you wind up in the same position over and over and over again - and that position is basically curled in a ball on your bed, wishing there was something you could take that would MAKE IT STOP, just for a little while - it's fucking frustrating, is what it is.
I'm working toward my 19th year of chronic illness, and sometimes I feel like I have Got This Shit Down. I know it backwards and forwards and inside out. I can talk to anybody about conserving spoons and living with the ifs/whens and how to fire the doctors that make you feel like garbage and why you should put your pills in those little day packets and why abelism is a bunch of bullshit & you don't have to put up with it, and so, so many other, important, wonderful things. And I'm proud of all of that.
But there are days like today, when it feels as if I have learned nothing, where if feels like I've spent 19 years banging my head against the same fucking wall, and only wound up with a cracked skull for my troubles.
And I just want a break, just want a few days where I can breathe easily, and not worry about what I'll smell and how sick it'll make me. Where I can move without immediately regretting it or hiding how much it hurts. Where I can sleep and wake up rested; feel hunger, eat and then feel full; sit around for hours with people I love and not have to worry about where to plug in the heating pad, or whether or not I should take the next pill if I want to stay put.
It's little things and big things, and today they all feel like big things.
Most of that stuff doesn't matter to me, on an ordinary day, but I guess that's the patience thing again - the person I have the least amount of patience for is myself.
But I know this will pass, so I'm going back to my dark-ish room (even on it's dimmest setting, the laptop is too bright at night), and the soothing voice of Jim Dale as he & I re-traipse the grounds of Hogwarts with our favorite magical trio.
Here's hoping for better days ahead.
so, in general: just awesome.
according to my med tracker -into which I input my symptoms, vital signs, pain map, mood, meds, etc, daily - I'm doing just fine. I guess that goes to show you that there are limits to what computers can do.
It can't, for example, extrapolate from the fact that my pain levels have been at a consistent 8-10 level for the past....year, that my pain is, in fact, out of freaking control. (In fact it reports I have been "stable," which makes me want to strangle it, but it is but a website and has no neck to strangle.)
It can't use the data from my latest migraine - pain level: 9, days lasting (so far): three, meds taken to control it: at least 4, ability to move or live a life that requires doing more than rolling over in bed or taking the hottest shower possible; nil - to confirm that I have become some sort of cave troll, who lives in a twilight world where lights can't be brighter than twinkle lights, movements must all be made in slow motion, and noises can't be above a whisper.
It can take my three month mood average of 'okay' and filter it down into 36 days with at least one episode of tears; 5 days of actual, recorded laughter; at least two days when I felt like talking to people was as painful as pouring acid on myself; but it doesn't seem to register that my definition of an 'okay' mood is seriously lax, because I would've included most of those days in the roster. Or that my much lauded patience is at an all time premium - I have no time for nonsense (or only time for nonsense, I guess) - it depends on who you are and what you want, but if it's stupid, I'm outta there, because ain't nobody got time for that.
It can tell you that my blood sugar's been bloody high - a fact probably influenced by my inability to eat anything that doesn't come in the form of a cookie, potato or cupcake without wanting to throw it back up again. (Don't ask me: carbs are comfort food.) And even then, it's dicey.
It can tell you that my blood pressure's been kooky - per usual, of course - but my pulse has started to join in and beat a crazy rhythm whenever it feels like it. and sometimes I feel like it might just beat right out of my chest, as if it were a separate thing, growing inside of me, its own necessary beat that I cannot control.
Today's a tough day: I know it, as much as I know that these past six months have been hard months, and that - eventually - days won't be so hard, and months will pass without me taking such extreme note of them.
But right now, fighting this maximum migraine and the melancholy mood it has brought with it, everything seems like forever.
As if I am always just those numbers on the stupid chart, and nobody can see past them.
As if I don't remember that there's more to me than those stupid numbers, most of the time. As if that's what I boil down to, in the end. And what a sad end that would be - abnormal numbers and not a lot else.
All I want is to feel better, and I know that part of that is in my power, that there are things I need to do to make myself feel better, (less carbs, for example) but, when you keep trying and you wind up in the same position over and over and over again - and that position is basically curled in a ball on your bed, wishing there was something you could take that would MAKE IT STOP, just for a little while - it's fucking frustrating, is what it is.
I'm working toward my 19th year of chronic illness, and sometimes I feel like I have Got This Shit Down. I know it backwards and forwards and inside out. I can talk to anybody about conserving spoons and living with the ifs/whens and how to fire the doctors that make you feel like garbage and why you should put your pills in those little day packets and why abelism is a bunch of bullshit & you don't have to put up with it, and so, so many other, important, wonderful things. And I'm proud of all of that.
But there are days like today, when it feels as if I have learned nothing, where if feels like I've spent 19 years banging my head against the same fucking wall, and only wound up with a cracked skull for my troubles.
And I just want a break, just want a few days where I can breathe easily, and not worry about what I'll smell and how sick it'll make me. Where I can move without immediately regretting it or hiding how much it hurts. Where I can sleep and wake up rested; feel hunger, eat and then feel full; sit around for hours with people I love and not have to worry about where to plug in the heating pad, or whether or not I should take the next pill if I want to stay put.
It's little things and big things, and today they all feel like big things.
Most of that stuff doesn't matter to me, on an ordinary day, but I guess that's the patience thing again - the person I have the least amount of patience for is myself.
But I know this will pass, so I'm going back to my dark-ish room (even on it's dimmest setting, the laptop is too bright at night), and the soothing voice of Jim Dale as he & I re-traipse the grounds of Hogwarts with our favorite magical trio.
Here's hoping for better days ahead.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
"I wanted to run away that day. But you can't run away from your own feet."*
One of the things I've always said about my particular battle with chronic illness is that - for me - it's like having all the downsides of being pregnant, without any of the benefits. When you talk to women about some of the worst side effects they encountered during their pregnancies, you hear a lot of talk about exhaustion (check) or their new aches and pains (check plus). I've known pregnant ladies who found that they were sensitive to odors (check plus), others whose favorite foods were no longer edible (check). There's the nausea (check), the heartburn (check), the weight gain (check), the loss of balance (check), the increase in number or intensity of headaches (check), the insomnia (check plus) and the resulting "mommy brain" (what I like to call brain fog) . I've got all those symptoms (plus bonus symptoms like a ridiculous lack of immune system & muscles weaker than wet noodles), only I don't get to have any of the fun that goes into making a baby or the fabulous new little person to care for afterwords.
For the past little while, I have been in a mood and it hasn't been an exceptionally positive one. For every good thing I do or have, it seems 12 not-so-good things come creeping out of nowhere. For every day I get to give Lil Girl a bath and put her hair in pigtails, I've spent 7 days coughing until there's nothing left to cough up. For every phone call with a friend, I get 5 runarounds with the insurance company (Dear Mass Health: Could you please try to not kill me this year? I'd appreciate it). For every "balentines" cake we make that crumbles into pieces thereby forcing us to eat it with our fingers, I've got 4 straight weeks of not leaving the house except to see a doctor.
I have spent zero days this year without a sinus infection. There were days when it was lessened and I was functioning better, and days when it was worse and I was basically a zombie, but for all 48 days of 2010 I have had a sinus infection. Which is no worse than any other year, really, because I've been sick for at least the past 5594 days, but 48 days without breathing correctly has the power to mess with your mind, let me tell you.
So there's my mood: Complete with grouchiness, confusion and uber-sensitivity. I feel like everything I say is in another language, that I can't make people understand me. I have this sense of (as my sister would say) "Too. Much. Pressure!" that there's a lot of questions and expectations and wants that people are bombarding me with, and I just don't have the energy to deal with them.
I know I'm in trouble when I stop writing. When I stop coming by here to let you all know how things are going, I tend to let myself wallow more. I know I'm in trouble when I stop picking up my camera - when I let the frustration that the damn batteries only last 16 minutes and I have to buy a new damn camera keep me from snapping pictures of sleepovers and Rock Band marathons. I know I'm in trouble when I avoid e-mails and calling people back, because I don't want to have to explain "how I am doing" to anybody, because there's no good answer. I'm doing: but barely. I'm functioning and having a good day or two along the way, but for the most part I just feel stuck.
Stuck and struck by how little of my life I am able to control. By how little my plans count for anything. By how little compassion and empathy there seems to be in my world, in the world.
Even though I can see all of the positives in my life - which I know I have many of - I'm at a point right now where it's getting hard to hold on to them through everything else. It's like there are rare rainbows and even a unicorn or two, but for the most part I'm slogging through a swamp.
And as I am typing this all out, I want to say very clearly that, while I may be depressed (lowercase d), I am also not Depressed (capital D), because I have been Depressed and I know what that feels like. For me, it isn't being unable to hold on to the happiness that's around me, it's being completely unaware that those good things exist in my life... it's being surrounded by positives and being unable to see/feel/experience them. Right now I can still see them, and I can still enjoy them. I probably embrace them even more so than I would if I weren't in this mood, because I crave them so much.
I think that's a good label for the mood I've been in, for what I've been doing: I'm not upset, I'm not depressed or lonely or sad or difficult: I'm craving. I'm craving peace and order and simplicity. I'm craving opportunities to leave the house that don't include someone sticking me with sharp implements. I'm craving time with the people I love that doesn't include me being simultaneously hurt. I'm craving baking that doesn't make me want to throw up & hugs that don't make me want to cry. I'm craving understanding - the kind that comes when you don't have to explain yourself over and over and over again.
And all I can think is how much simpler it would be - and how much happier I would be - if I could just crave ice cream and pickles instead.
*Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs
For the past little while, I have been in a mood and it hasn't been an exceptionally positive one. For every good thing I do or have, it seems 12 not-so-good things come creeping out of nowhere. For every day I get to give Lil Girl a bath and put her hair in pigtails, I've spent 7 days coughing until there's nothing left to cough up. For every phone call with a friend, I get 5 runarounds with the insurance company (Dear Mass Health: Could you please try to not kill me this year? I'd appreciate it). For every "balentines" cake we make that crumbles into pieces thereby forcing us to eat it with our fingers, I've got 4 straight weeks of not leaving the house except to see a doctor.
I have spent zero days this year without a sinus infection. There were days when it was lessened and I was functioning better, and days when it was worse and I was basically a zombie, but for all 48 days of 2010 I have had a sinus infection. Which is no worse than any other year, really, because I've been sick for at least the past 5594 days, but 48 days without breathing correctly has the power to mess with your mind, let me tell you.
So there's my mood: Complete with grouchiness, confusion and uber-sensitivity. I feel like everything I say is in another language, that I can't make people understand me. I have this sense of (as my sister would say) "Too. Much. Pressure!" that there's a lot of questions and expectations and wants that people are bombarding me with, and I just don't have the energy to deal with them.
I know I'm in trouble when I stop writing. When I stop coming by here to let you all know how things are going, I tend to let myself wallow more. I know I'm in trouble when I stop picking up my camera - when I let the frustration that the damn batteries only last 16 minutes and I have to buy a new damn camera keep me from snapping pictures of sleepovers and Rock Band marathons. I know I'm in trouble when I avoid e-mails and calling people back, because I don't want to have to explain "how I am doing" to anybody, because there's no good answer. I'm doing: but barely. I'm functioning and having a good day or two along the way, but for the most part I just feel stuck.
Stuck and struck by how little of my life I am able to control. By how little my plans count for anything. By how little compassion and empathy there seems to be in my world, in the world.
Even though I can see all of the positives in my life - which I know I have many of - I'm at a point right now where it's getting hard to hold on to them through everything else. It's like there are rare rainbows and even a unicorn or two, but for the most part I'm slogging through a swamp.
And as I am typing this all out, I want to say very clearly that, while I may be depressed (lowercase d), I am also not Depressed (capital D), because I have been Depressed and I know what that feels like. For me, it isn't being unable to hold on to the happiness that's around me, it's being completely unaware that those good things exist in my life... it's being surrounded by positives and being unable to see/feel/experience them. Right now I can still see them, and I can still enjoy them. I probably embrace them even more so than I would if I weren't in this mood, because I crave them so much.
I think that's a good label for the mood I've been in, for what I've been doing: I'm not upset, I'm not depressed or lonely or sad or difficult: I'm craving. I'm craving peace and order and simplicity. I'm craving opportunities to leave the house that don't include someone sticking me with sharp implements. I'm craving time with the people I love that doesn't include me being simultaneously hurt. I'm craving baking that doesn't make me want to throw up & hugs that don't make me want to cry. I'm craving understanding - the kind that comes when you don't have to explain yourself over and over and over again.
And all I can think is how much simpler it would be - and how much happier I would be - if I could just crave ice cream and pickles instead.
*Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs
Saturday, June 20, 2009
A little bit on the whiny side, I'm sorry to say.
Every phone call with my mother ends the same way now: with her telling me about the work that's still not done, and me trying to think of something to say that isn't twisted and harsh and bitter.
I don't like it, and I know it's not her fault that things are moving so slowly, and I know that I am lucky to have a place to be that is safe and warm and where I am loved and I know it's just stupid & useless to feel sorry for myself, but I do.
I feel like I don't have a place.
I just don't belong anywhere -
As much as I love it here, and spending time with my grandmother and sister and uncle is amazing and wonderful and great;
As much as I know that Mum and Dad are working and painting and scraping and getting estimates 4 days out of the week;
As much as I know that this is all temporary and eventually, there'll be a house I can get in and out of, with a brand new cozy bed I just paid a lot of money for, and a bathtub I can take showers in and a kitchen I can cook in and a room where I can let the kids just play and not have to worry about them breaking something that's 115 years old or waking somebody up from a much needed nap.
As much as all that is true, right now?
At this moment?
I feel ...like those days are still too far away.
like I've overstayed my welcome, no matter what they say
like nobody who's supposed to care, actually cares enough to do the things that I can't do for myself. Or to find out how I'm doing, or to even think that I might be upset by the way things are playing out.
And, wow, am I upset.
I'm angry, even.
I'm shocked at how angry I am - that people can't be trusted to do even the simplest things, that time keeps passing, that I'm so useless, that I keep getting worse, that nobody seems to be worried besides me. I'm angry at myself, and I'm angry at just about everybody else.
Not all the time, not even most of the time... but today. Today I am.
I know it's because I'm feeling so much worse, and because the longer I stay here the harder it gets to pretend I'm still ok, and because the harder it is to pretend, the more I cause the people here to worry, or to go out of their way, and the more I feel like a big fat burden.
And also? Because I am just so sick of pretending.
I'm at the point where I can't hide the fact that I get tired halfway through making a sandwich and have to lay down for 3 hours. At the point where wearing a bra 24 hours a day - for modesty's sake - is no longer an option (hell, most days, it's not even an option to put it on at all) and I almost don't even care that they know I haven't taken a shower in almost 2 weeks. At the point where they can see that I save every last drop of energy for those two days when the Lil Girl (&/or her big brother) is here, and the rest of the time recuperating.
It's all the little stuff that doesn't matter when I'm at home, that matters big time here. And it only matters because I let it: I know that my grandmother doesn't think any less of me because I have greasy hair, or that my uncle is going to be thinking I'm lazy because I just can't clean up those dishes I left in the sink.
But I'm not without pride. I don't like people, even the people closest to me, to know how much I can't do, to see how much help I need to make it through the day. It's not a choice, though, when I'm staying here. It feels like all of my flaws, all of my faults and failures, are on display, all day, everyday.
And even though this rant is full of angst and all 'poor me', I know it'll pass soon. I'm already embarrassed that I even wrote it, because reading it back for errors makes me sound petty and like I don't appreciate all I have. I do. I really do.
But I'm not going to pretend it never happened, I'm not going to keep on pretending, at least here, that I'm not bothered by the fact that I still have no home. Or the fact that the majority (not all, but most) of my siblings have only contacted me in the past two months when they needed me to do something for them, and then promptly forgot that I exist. Or the fact that, at 30 years old, I have to constantly eat food I don't like because I can't just fix my own or watch the news b/c if I don't stay in the living room till 11:00, I'll cause people to worry.
I'm going to give myself this space to not have to bite my tongue or to not have to use my "I'm totally fine and can socialize like a normal person" voice.
And then I'm going to take a deep breath and open the door again, and try to convince my uncle that he'd really just like to order a pizza tonight.
As always, thanks for listening.
I don't like it, and I know it's not her fault that things are moving so slowly, and I know that I am lucky to have a place to be that is safe and warm and where I am loved and I know it's just stupid & useless to feel sorry for myself, but I do.
I feel like I don't have a place.
I just don't belong anywhere -
As much as I love it here, and spending time with my grandmother and sister and uncle is amazing and wonderful and great;
As much as I know that Mum and Dad are working and painting and scraping and getting estimates 4 days out of the week;
As much as I know that this is all temporary and eventually, there'll be a house I can get in and out of, with a brand new cozy bed I just paid a lot of money for, and a bathtub I can take showers in and a kitchen I can cook in and a room where I can let the kids just play and not have to worry about them breaking something that's 115 years old or waking somebody up from a much needed nap.
As much as all that is true, right now?
At this moment?
I feel ...like those days are still too far away.
like I've overstayed my welcome, no matter what they say
like nobody who's supposed to care, actually cares enough to do the things that I can't do for myself. Or to find out how I'm doing, or to even think that I might be upset by the way things are playing out.
And, wow, am I upset.
I'm angry, even.
I'm shocked at how angry I am - that people can't be trusted to do even the simplest things, that time keeps passing, that I'm so useless, that I keep getting worse, that nobody seems to be worried besides me. I'm angry at myself, and I'm angry at just about everybody else.
Not all the time, not even most of the time... but today. Today I am.
I know it's because I'm feeling so much worse, and because the longer I stay here the harder it gets to pretend I'm still ok, and because the harder it is to pretend, the more I cause the people here to worry, or to go out of their way, and the more I feel like a big fat burden.
And also? Because I am just so sick of pretending.
I'm at the point where I can't hide the fact that I get tired halfway through making a sandwich and have to lay down for 3 hours. At the point where wearing a bra 24 hours a day - for modesty's sake - is no longer an option (hell, most days, it's not even an option to put it on at all) and I almost don't even care that they know I haven't taken a shower in almost 2 weeks. At the point where they can see that I save every last drop of energy for those two days when the Lil Girl (&/or her big brother) is here, and the rest of the time recuperating.
It's all the little stuff that doesn't matter when I'm at home, that matters big time here. And it only matters because I let it: I know that my grandmother doesn't think any less of me because I have greasy hair, or that my uncle is going to be thinking I'm lazy because I just can't clean up those dishes I left in the sink.
But I'm not without pride. I don't like people, even the people closest to me, to know how much I can't do, to see how much help I need to make it through the day. It's not a choice, though, when I'm staying here. It feels like all of my flaws, all of my faults and failures, are on display, all day, everyday.
And even though this rant is full of angst and all 'poor me', I know it'll pass soon. I'm already embarrassed that I even wrote it, because reading it back for errors makes me sound petty and like I don't appreciate all I have. I do. I really do.
But I'm not going to pretend it never happened, I'm not going to keep on pretending, at least here, that I'm not bothered by the fact that I still have no home. Or the fact that the majority (not all, but most) of my siblings have only contacted me in the past two months when they needed me to do something for them, and then promptly forgot that I exist. Or the fact that, at 30 years old, I have to constantly eat food I don't like because I can't just fix my own or watch the news b/c if I don't stay in the living room till 11:00, I'll cause people to worry.
I'm going to give myself this space to not have to bite my tongue or to not have to use my "I'm totally fine and can socialize like a normal person" voice.
And then I'm going to take a deep breath and open the door again, and try to convince my uncle that he'd really just like to order a pizza tonight.
As always, thanks for listening.
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Because TV always knows what to say, even when I don't
Jason Morgan: The first time I ever saw grief was when Sonny's wife Lily died. It made me understand that bad things happen fast but you live through them slow.
It's from an episode of General Hospital, which, I know: not exactly the bastion of knowledge that you expected. But I still remember hearing the character say this... still know how true it is. I'm sure it's been said a million times, a million different ways, but when I make it through the weeks like this past one, it's the line that goes through my head... you live through them slow.
Thank you for your kind thoughts and prayers for my family. They are much appreciated.
It's from an episode of General Hospital, which, I know: not exactly the bastion of knowledge that you expected. But I still remember hearing the character say this... still know how true it is. I'm sure it's been said a million times, a million different ways, but when I make it through the weeks like this past one, it's the line that goes through my head... you live through them slow.
Thank you for your kind thoughts and prayers for my family. They are much appreciated.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
One less
There are days when I feel like this is all too much for one person, that I could bear things, if there was just one less thing. Just one less issue, and my life would be manageable.
I could handle the being in pain and being exhausted and picking up every single germ, if I didn't also have to handle the smells or the migraines or the inability to breathe.
I could handle the brother with an addiction, the other bio families of SisterK & SisterS, and SisterJ's horrifying depression if I didn't also have to live in the same house as the PUS and know that their karma hasn't caught back up with them yet.
I could handle having to move, having to find a place to move to, having to make concessions on the little things, if I didn't also have to fight the PUS in court in order to make it happen.
I could handle the newest rashes, the inability to go outside when the sun is shining without wanting to cry, the past three years without a single night's uninterrupted sleep, if I could just eat food without feeling like I had to throw up.
I could handle AuntieE being in a coma, Mum's knee suddenly blowing out on her, SisterCh's new mega-hives, if I didn't have to handle Nana having cancer, Nana being so sick, Nana dying.
It always feels like if I just had ONE LESS worry - If I could focus on Mom's grief instead of my own, or when to get over to Grandmother's house instead of the stupid ants that are marching across the floor, then my life would be ok. Then I would feel like I had some control over what was going on.
But it's never one less, in my experience, and almost always one more.
And the past few days have been full of 'more's - More little annoyances, more bad news, more things that need to be fixed but you can't see a way to fix them.
SisterJ's depression is crushing her again, and she's hiding from us because it's too hard even to talk. She's getting help, has been getting treatment all along, but a new medication change seems to be making things worse. On the phone, her voice is that scary void again, and I know she's feeling nothing so much as not wanting to be here, to not have to deal.
It's a frightening thing to recognize, and to feel a small echo of it in your own heart. I'm not suffering from depression right now, but I have in the past, and it's been the kind of day, week, month, and year where you can see how shockingly simple it is to go from sad and grieving and worried and weary to completely depressed. I'm being vigilant, I promise, but today is one of those days where all of my burdens seem heavier than usual, when I have to escape into a good book or stare at stupid movies all day because being me is just too much.
I don't feel hopeless or useless or as if tomorrow might not bring something worthwhile, which were all the things I felt when I was depressed, but today I feel overwhelmed and scared and tired. Just tired of having to cope. Just wishing that things were just the tiniest bit easier.
Just to have one less.
I could handle the being in pain and being exhausted and picking up every single germ, if I didn't also have to handle the smells or the migraines or the inability to breathe.
I could handle the brother with an addiction, the other bio families of SisterK & SisterS, and SisterJ's horrifying depression if I didn't also have to live in the same house as the PUS and know that their karma hasn't caught back up with them yet.
I could handle having to move, having to find a place to move to, having to make concessions on the little things, if I didn't also have to fight the PUS in court in order to make it happen.
I could handle the newest rashes, the inability to go outside when the sun is shining without wanting to cry, the past three years without a single night's uninterrupted sleep, if I could just eat food without feeling like I had to throw up.
I could handle AuntieE being in a coma, Mum's knee suddenly blowing out on her, SisterCh's new mega-hives, if I didn't have to handle Nana having cancer, Nana being so sick, Nana dying.
It always feels like if I just had ONE LESS worry - If I could focus on Mom's grief instead of my own, or when to get over to Grandmother's house instead of the stupid ants that are marching across the floor, then my life would be ok. Then I would feel like I had some control over what was going on.
But it's never one less, in my experience, and almost always one more.
And the past few days have been full of 'more's - More little annoyances, more bad news, more things that need to be fixed but you can't see a way to fix them.
SisterJ's depression is crushing her again, and she's hiding from us because it's too hard even to talk. She's getting help, has been getting treatment all along, but a new medication change seems to be making things worse. On the phone, her voice is that scary void again, and I know she's feeling nothing so much as not wanting to be here, to not have to deal.
It's a frightening thing to recognize, and to feel a small echo of it in your own heart. I'm not suffering from depression right now, but I have in the past, and it's been the kind of day, week, month, and year where you can see how shockingly simple it is to go from sad and grieving and worried and weary to completely depressed. I'm being vigilant, I promise, but today is one of those days where all of my burdens seem heavier than usual, when I have to escape into a good book or stare at stupid movies all day because being me is just too much.
I don't feel hopeless or useless or as if tomorrow might not bring something worthwhile, which were all the things I felt when I was depressed, but today I feel overwhelmed and scared and tired. Just tired of having to cope. Just wishing that things were just the tiniest bit easier.
Just to have one less.
Friday, February 29, 2008
At the restaurant after Nana's funeral, Big/Only Brother and I were left alone, waiting for Mum to bring the car around. It was just the two of us and a waitress, hustling through trying to clean up the debris us grieving people had left behind. (PS: Grieving people apparently eat a lot.) He sat the wrong way in one of those restaurant booths, I was in my chair across from him, making the wheelchair rock the way I do when I am upset.
I asked how he was doing, he asked how I was doing. It was one of those times when it just seems as if the whole thing is too much. I was in so much physical pain, from pushing to be able to do all the things that were required of me, and so much emotional pain, that I could feel only relief that it was over. That there were no more "have to-s" on my list, even if only for that day.
He looked much the same, exhausted, crushed and confused. There were other things that happened then that I am not ready to talk about, but there was a moment when we were sitting there by ourselves that stands out so clearly in my mind. He asked me what I thought: "Do you think she's gone, that this is the end?"
And I told him: "I don't know. I don't know for sure if there's anything that comes next, and that bothers me deep down in my analytical, must know all the ins-and-outs of everything soul. It's one of those things I've studied to death. Back and forth and forth and back: religiously, psychologically, intuitively, factually.
And I've still come up with no answers.
But I know that it makes me feel better to believe that she's someplace else, someplace better. Buying Papa that drink and taking Maryellen to task for leaving without her. Watching over us and crying with us because we're so sad. And I don't care if that is just my subconscious trying to deceive me. If it wants to help me feel better, even just a little better, then I'm going to let it. What does it matter if it's true or not, if it feels true?"
He looked surprised, then laughed and gave me a kiss. We moved towards the door & mum's car and I asked him what he believed. And he said: "Up till a few minutes ago I had no idea."
Inspired by this post by Sweet & Salty.
I asked how he was doing, he asked how I was doing. It was one of those times when it just seems as if the whole thing is too much. I was in so much physical pain, from pushing to be able to do all the things that were required of me, and so much emotional pain, that I could feel only relief that it was over. That there were no more "have to-s" on my list, even if only for that day.
He looked much the same, exhausted, crushed and confused. There were other things that happened then that I am not ready to talk about, but there was a moment when we were sitting there by ourselves that stands out so clearly in my mind. He asked me what I thought: "Do you think she's gone, that this is the end?"
And I told him: "I don't know. I don't know for sure if there's anything that comes next, and that bothers me deep down in my analytical, must know all the ins-and-outs of everything soul. It's one of those things I've studied to death. Back and forth and forth and back: religiously, psychologically, intuitively, factually.
And I've still come up with no answers.
But I know that it makes me feel better to believe that she's someplace else, someplace better. Buying Papa that drink and taking Maryellen to task for leaving without her. Watching over us and crying with us because we're so sad. And I don't care if that is just my subconscious trying to deceive me. If it wants to help me feel better, even just a little better, then I'm going to let it. What does it matter if it's true or not, if it feels true?"
He looked surprised, then laughed and gave me a kiss. We moved towards the door & mum's car and I asked him what he believed. And he said: "Up till a few minutes ago I had no idea."
Inspired by this post by Sweet & Salty.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
I just want to say a couple of things
Most of those things sound an awful lot like this: Sorry I'm not here so much.
Because I miss it, the outlet, and all of you. And, even though I said it last time, I'm really hoping to be able to recommit to posting here.
I am at my Grandmother's house: enjoying long days of chit chatting & showing of baby pictures, of extra loud news programs & stories I've never heard. Although I am pissed at the PUS because they continue to be insensitive asses, before I left the house I made some decisions:
1) I knew I was going to have to leave (their reassurance that there would be no smells is about as worthwhile to me as something else that smells really bad), and I still don't know if it was for good. And that's sad. If I'm all done living there, I'm all done living there, but it's still sad. Right now, I doubt that it will be permanent, just because there's other things abrewing, but I'll deal if it is. I will.
2) I love my Grandmother: I love spending time with her, even if she repeats her stories or tries to make my uncle give me help that I don't need. I always learn something new about somebody in our family, some nugget of treasure she's forgotten to pass along to me. We look at old albums and point out the guy who came to the reunion that nobody knew, or great-grandfather Gerry and how he walked dink toed, just like me (you know, back when I used to walk). I often feel upset that so many of my Grandmother's children are so far away: for her, and for them. Look what they're missing out on. Every time we get into a discussion, I have to physically resist reaching into my bag and pulling out my camera, turning it to record, and hiding it between the pillows. And I only resist because last time I did that she caught me, and was not pleased. A displeased Grandmother is not a fun time for anyone. So, even though the reason behind my visit is aggravating and frustrating, I decided before I left that I would enjoy it. The additional pain (from laying on her old lumpy couches all day and night), the new smells to get used to, the rashes from her soaps... that's all bearable because I'm more aware than ever that someday, probably soon, she won't be here for me to listen to, won't be here to repeat to me something she heard on the news (even though I was in the room, watching the news with her, and it was just 15 minutes ago). So, today I'll hold our visit close, watch the way she laughs at Lil Girl, the way her eyes crinkle up when she talks about her mother's death (when she was almost 6, so 84 years ago now) and what she was wearing in her coffin. I'm trying to memorize every little thing, because I feel so lucky to still have her here.
3) When I left Thursday morning, it was after the movers came to take Nana's things to storage. That was very difficult, for me and for mum. Because it was like seeing pieces of your childhood, only in the entirely wrong context. Nana's dollhouse didn't belong in a truck, all emptied out and furniture free... It had a place of honor, and was impeccably decorated. The ceramic people (including an older woman in a maid's outfit that we called Nana) should be lined up and waiting: Mother, Father, twin boys dressed in knickers, twin girls in red dresses. Those weird post thingees that I couldn't place were the ends of the dining room table, all pulled apart. Looking at the holes we used to crawl through, endlessly aggravating whichever adults happened to be sitting there, it felt like I had fallen through a hole myself: I was Alice, but instead of a wonderland, I was stuck here.
In tears. I'd prefer the Cheshire cat, I think.
4) There are good things, good and strong and exciting things that are trying to happen in our lives, and I'm trying to be strong enough to let them happen, to make them happen. Wedding showers and christenings, Lil Girl learning to count, Youngest Nephew's first viewing of Indiana Jones. Simple things and extravagant things, and just... other things. And it's hard to be in a place where I can deal with those things, but I know it'll get easier everyday, even though it feels like it won't.
This blog is one of those things.
Getting back to reading and writing and scrapping and the merry go round of medicine: all of those things need to happen, and I'm trying. I really, really am. And other things need to be let go, and I'm trying there too. The PUS, someday soon, are going to drift out of my orbit (or, preferably, be exploded out of my orbit, like that rogue satellite), and they won't be influencing my days any more. I look forward to that eventuality. Sincerely. But, just like I can't sit and wait to get better and do nothing about helping to get there, I've gotta be open to the next steps for getting them gone. So that means I'll be here for now, and they'll be there, and if never the twain shall meet again, that'd be a-ok with me.
(PS - odor free? Means that it smells so badly they moved into a hotel room for the weekend, and Mum, Dad & SisterCh all have headaches from it downstairs. With doors and windows open, in the middle of a snowstorm. Good call. Again.)
So, I'll be spending my day tomorrow (wait, today, as it's 1:14 am), gabbing with Grandmother. Looking at the snow covered streets out the window. Wishing that things were different, but trying to appreciate what is. Thanks for sticking around.
Because I miss it, the outlet, and all of you. And, even though I said it last time, I'm really hoping to be able to recommit to posting here.
I am at my Grandmother's house: enjoying long days of chit chatting & showing of baby pictures, of extra loud news programs & stories I've never heard. Although I am pissed at the PUS because they continue to be insensitive asses, before I left the house I made some decisions:
1) I knew I was going to have to leave (their reassurance that there would be no smells is about as worthwhile to me as something else that smells really bad), and I still don't know if it was for good. And that's sad. If I'm all done living there, I'm all done living there, but it's still sad. Right now, I doubt that it will be permanent, just because there's other things abrewing, but I'll deal if it is. I will.
2) I love my Grandmother: I love spending time with her, even if she repeats her stories or tries to make my uncle give me help that I don't need. I always learn something new about somebody in our family, some nugget of treasure she's forgotten to pass along to me. We look at old albums and point out the guy who came to the reunion that nobody knew, or great-grandfather Gerry and how he walked dink toed, just like me (you know, back when I used to walk). I often feel upset that so many of my Grandmother's children are so far away: for her, and for them. Look what they're missing out on. Every time we get into a discussion, I have to physically resist reaching into my bag and pulling out my camera, turning it to record, and hiding it between the pillows. And I only resist because last time I did that she caught me, and was not pleased. A displeased Grandmother is not a fun time for anyone. So, even though the reason behind my visit is aggravating and frustrating, I decided before I left that I would enjoy it. The additional pain (from laying on her old lumpy couches all day and night), the new smells to get used to, the rashes from her soaps... that's all bearable because I'm more aware than ever that someday, probably soon, she won't be here for me to listen to, won't be here to repeat to me something she heard on the news (even though I was in the room, watching the news with her, and it was just 15 minutes ago). So, today I'll hold our visit close, watch the way she laughs at Lil Girl, the way her eyes crinkle up when she talks about her mother's death (when she was almost 6, so 84 years ago now) and what she was wearing in her coffin. I'm trying to memorize every little thing, because I feel so lucky to still have her here.
3) When I left Thursday morning, it was after the movers came to take Nana's things to storage. That was very difficult, for me and for mum. Because it was like seeing pieces of your childhood, only in the entirely wrong context. Nana's dollhouse didn't belong in a truck, all emptied out and furniture free... It had a place of honor, and was impeccably decorated. The ceramic people (including an older woman in a maid's outfit that we called Nana) should be lined up and waiting: Mother, Father, twin boys dressed in knickers, twin girls in red dresses. Those weird post thingees that I couldn't place were the ends of the dining room table, all pulled apart. Looking at the holes we used to crawl through, endlessly aggravating whichever adults happened to be sitting there, it felt like I had fallen through a hole myself: I was Alice, but instead of a wonderland, I was stuck here.
In tears. I'd prefer the Cheshire cat, I think.
4) There are good things, good and strong and exciting things that are trying to happen in our lives, and I'm trying to be strong enough to let them happen, to make them happen. Wedding showers and christenings, Lil Girl learning to count, Youngest Nephew's first viewing of Indiana Jones. Simple things and extravagant things, and just... other things. And it's hard to be in a place where I can deal with those things, but I know it'll get easier everyday, even though it feels like it won't.
This blog is one of those things.
Getting back to reading and writing and scrapping and the merry go round of medicine: all of those things need to happen, and I'm trying. I really, really am. And other things need to be let go, and I'm trying there too. The PUS, someday soon, are going to drift out of my orbit (or, preferably, be exploded out of my orbit, like that rogue satellite), and they won't be influencing my days any more. I look forward to that eventuality. Sincerely. But, just like I can't sit and wait to get better and do nothing about helping to get there, I've gotta be open to the next steps for getting them gone. So that means I'll be here for now, and they'll be there, and if never the twain shall meet again, that'd be a-ok with me.
(PS - odor free? Means that it smells so badly they moved into a hotel room for the weekend, and Mum, Dad & SisterCh all have headaches from it downstairs. With doors and windows open, in the middle of a snowstorm. Good call. Again.)
So, I'll be spending my day tomorrow (wait, today, as it's 1:14 am), gabbing with Grandmother. Looking at the snow covered streets out the window. Wishing that things were different, but trying to appreciate what is. Thanks for sticking around.
Monday, November 05, 2007
MBSM
Most people are putting their Halloween pictures up for MBSM, and I already did that here, so I'm just going to leave that link for anybody who hasn't seen them.
As for other things, I'll just give you a brief update: SisterJ started back to work today, and she says that it is much easier today than last time. Last time, 2 weeks ago, when she was crying and hiding under her desk on the phone with me. I'm very, very glad that things are going better than that today, but since just about anything would be better than that, I'm not sure exactly what it means.
I do know that in the past week or so, I've seen a marked difference in her behavior & attitude - an ability to see past the next five minutes, for example.
Less panic, more steadyness.
Actual laughter. (Which, after she left, made me cry happy tears, I'm not ashamed to say.)
She's starting to resemble herself, and I am starting to not feel as if I have to check in on her every couple of hours - or panicked when I can't reach her. It isn't a miracle, of course, but it feels like one. Bit by bit, day by day, things are improving.
This is her third antidepressant, and it looks like it is finally starting to help her. The therapy is finally starting to help. She's finally starting to recognize that there are options and that time and life are not her enemy. When we talk, it isn't always in desperation: there's room for other thoughts and people, for the future, for planning. She's able to see that losing this job isn't the worst thing that could happen to her, that she can bear the weight all of the pressures she is under.
She has hope, again - I can see it.
It's still slogging through each and every day. It's still almost unbearably hard and sad and scary, but it's better, and I wanted to thank you all for listening and supporting me. Most important, I wanted to let you all know that things are changing, one little bit at a time.
As for other things, I'll just give you a brief update: SisterJ started back to work today, and she says that it is much easier today than last time. Last time, 2 weeks ago, when she was crying and hiding under her desk on the phone with me. I'm very, very glad that things are going better than that today, but since just about anything would be better than that, I'm not sure exactly what it means.
I do know that in the past week or so, I've seen a marked difference in her behavior & attitude - an ability to see past the next five minutes, for example.
Less panic, more steadyness.
Actual laughter. (Which, after she left, made me cry happy tears, I'm not ashamed to say.)
She's starting to resemble herself, and I am starting to not feel as if I have to check in on her every couple of hours - or panicked when I can't reach her. It isn't a miracle, of course, but it feels like one. Bit by bit, day by day, things are improving.
This is her third antidepressant, and it looks like it is finally starting to help her. The therapy is finally starting to help. She's finally starting to recognize that there are options and that time and life are not her enemy. When we talk, it isn't always in desperation: there's room for other thoughts and people, for the future, for planning. She's able to see that losing this job isn't the worst thing that could happen to her, that she can bear the weight all of the pressures she is under.
She has hope, again - I can see it.
It's still slogging through each and every day. It's still almost unbearably hard and sad and scary, but it's better, and I wanted to thank you all for listening and supporting me. Most important, I wanted to let you all know that things are changing, one little bit at a time.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Taking Care
Sorry, but I've been too busy watching the World Series to post.
Yeah, I didn't think you'd buy that, but it gave me a chuckle to write it anyways.
No, in reality, it's more I've been trying to take care.
Care of SisterJ whose connection to the world seems fragile at best, and who needs so much, and makes me wish I had better answers (or, indeed, any at all).
Care of SisterCh who did the totally selfish thing last week, instead of supporting her sister, and now feels even more isolated from our family. Which is what I knew was going to happen when she decided to go back to Loser Boy, so I'm setting aside my anger at her behavior in order to help her see that she's still loved. Care of Youngest Sister, who spend all week 'preparing' to write a 7 page paper, totally intimidated by her first Harvard assignment. Helping her move past the fear to get to the actual writing took us 7 days... and she finally finished it at about 3 this morning, 5 hours before it was due. I know the next one will be easier, but jeesh...
Care of Lil Girl, who (like her brother before her and Oldest Nephew before him) helps remind me that there is happiness in the world, that I am doing something important with my life, even if it's not what I'd planned to be doing.
Care of Grandmother, when we found out one of my uncles (her second oldest) has lung cancer - a tennis ball sized tumor, but not metastisized, thankfully - on the 7th anniversary of another of her son's death. (PS. Typing "Lunch Cancer" instead of "Lung Cancer" probably isn't worth a chuckle, but I'll take them where I can get them these days.) Care of my other grandmother, Nana, whose doctors think she also has lung cancer - and taking care of her, in this case, means convincing her to not bury her head in the sand like she would like to: to at least have the (non-invasive) PET Scan (hell, I've already had 2!), so that they can have a better idea of what she's really facing.
Care of Mum who pretty much refuses to let anybody take care of her, and I seem to be the only one who's recognizing that this is all ridiculously difficult on her too. No, that's not true, but SisterJ can't feel better just for her - although she'd like to - and the rest of them just aren't helping as they should. So I try to make her eat, by eating. Or TiVo stuff for us to watch together and ask her to sit with me. Or nag her until she calls the eye doctor about her weird rash and makes her (2 years overdue - like Nana, like Mum!) GYN appointment.
Care of a cousin, pregnant with Twins - her first, very high risk pregnancy. Who's now confined to 'light bed rest' (meaning she can go to the doctor's appointments and the bank, all in the same week, but only if she absolutely has to) with more than 2 months left to go. Who never thought she'd have kids, but, now that she is, spends all of her time worrying over how not to lose them - and throwing up so hard it comes out her nose.
I'm trying to listen, I'm trying to help. I'm just showing up, because it is all I can think to do. I'm having trouble showing up at all the places I want to be though - a friend's housewarming, the other end of College Roommate's phone calls, this blog, friend's blogs - and because I'm also trying to take care of me, I'm giving myself the space to not feel guilty about that right now.
However, this is definitely one of those weeks where I'd like to dissect alive, piece by tiny piece, the people who wrote The Secret: "Law of attraction - really? Well, let's see... my scalpel seems to be unnaturally attracted to your pinky toe nail, whoops, I meant the whole toe... and also your kneecap...and..." Because there's only so much 'thinking your way to the positive' you can do when your body is trying to reject your babies, or when your brain is telling you that the only time you are safe is when you are asleep, so wouldn't "sleeping" forever mean you'd be safe forever?
Yeah, I didn't think you'd buy that, but it gave me a chuckle to write it anyways.
No, in reality, it's more I've been trying to take care.
Care of SisterJ whose connection to the world seems fragile at best, and who needs so much, and makes me wish I had better answers (or, indeed, any at all).
Care of SisterCh who did the totally selfish thing last week, instead of supporting her sister, and now feels even more isolated from our family. Which is what I knew was going to happen when she decided to go back to Loser Boy, so I'm setting aside my anger at her behavior in order to help her see that she's still loved. Care of Youngest Sister, who spend all week 'preparing' to write a 7 page paper, totally intimidated by her first Harvard assignment. Helping her move past the fear to get to the actual writing took us 7 days... and she finally finished it at about 3 this morning, 5 hours before it was due. I know the next one will be easier, but jeesh...
Care of Lil Girl, who (like her brother before her and Oldest Nephew before him) helps remind me that there is happiness in the world, that I am doing something important with my life, even if it's not what I'd planned to be doing.
Care of Grandmother, when we found out one of my uncles (her second oldest) has lung cancer - a tennis ball sized tumor, but not metastisized, thankfully - on the 7th anniversary of another of her son's death. (PS. Typing "Lunch Cancer" instead of "Lung Cancer" probably isn't worth a chuckle, but I'll take them where I can get them these days.) Care of my other grandmother, Nana, whose doctors think she also has lung cancer - and taking care of her, in this case, means convincing her to not bury her head in the sand like she would like to: to at least have the (non-invasive) PET Scan (hell, I've already had 2!), so that they can have a better idea of what she's really facing.
Care of Mum who pretty much refuses to let anybody take care of her, and I seem to be the only one who's recognizing that this is all ridiculously difficult on her too. No, that's not true, but SisterJ can't feel better just for her - although she'd like to - and the rest of them just aren't helping as they should. So I try to make her eat, by eating. Or TiVo stuff for us to watch together and ask her to sit with me. Or nag her until she calls the eye doctor about her weird rash and makes her (2 years overdue - like Nana, like Mum!) GYN appointment.
Care of a cousin, pregnant with Twins - her first, very high risk pregnancy. Who's now confined to 'light bed rest' (meaning she can go to the doctor's appointments and the bank, all in the same week, but only if she absolutely has to) with more than 2 months left to go. Who never thought she'd have kids, but, now that she is, spends all of her time worrying over how not to lose them - and throwing up so hard it comes out her nose.
I'm trying to listen, I'm trying to help. I'm just showing up, because it is all I can think to do. I'm having trouble showing up at all the places I want to be though - a friend's housewarming, the other end of College Roommate's phone calls, this blog, friend's blogs - and because I'm also trying to take care of me, I'm giving myself the space to not feel guilty about that right now.
However, this is definitely one of those weeks where I'd like to dissect alive, piece by tiny piece, the people who wrote The Secret: "Law of attraction - really? Well, let's see... my scalpel seems to be unnaturally attracted to your pinky toe nail, whoops, I meant the whole toe... and also your kneecap...and..." Because there's only so much 'thinking your way to the positive' you can do when your body is trying to reject your babies, or when your brain is telling you that the only time you are safe is when you are asleep, so wouldn't "sleeping" forever mean you'd be safe forever?
Friday, October 19, 2007
Friday, October 05, 2007
All over the place
SisterJ (the bride-to-be) has had, in the past 10 or so years, at least one bout with serious depression. She's been battling it again for the past year or so, in combination with anxiety, and trying different meds to find the right cocktail for her brain. It has been a frustrating, and, at times frightening, process - with physical and mental side effects that have caused major problems. One pill made her throw up all the time; another took away the anxiety but made her hyper. Her current meds are controlling the anxiety to a point (she's now experiencing a sort of social phobia), but the depression is roaring away, unchecked.
I know all of this, but when your sister sits you down and tells you that, if she and her fiance could afford it, she would commit herself because she's afraid she'll hurt herself - well, there's really just no way to be prepared for that.
Her doctor has advised her to take 2 weeks medical leave from work, while she tries again to adjust her meds (adding another pill, subtracting one, fudging with another's dosage), so that she can do so in a less stressful environment. That would be nice, if we were in a perfect world, but even the idea of it just added to SisterJ's stress and fear - how would they be able to afford that? Would her boss fire her just for asking, considering she certainly hasn't been doing her best work in the past month or two? If she got fired, not only couldn't she afford her doctor and her meds, but they couldn't afford to live in their condo. You can see how this may not exactly be the most comforting of thoughts.
But she did have some vacation days that she could use, and she has Monday off anyways, so she went into a meeting with her immediate supervisor today, prepared to use her three vacation days and an unpaid day, giving her all of next week off. The meeting went just as badly as she feared it would - yes, they had all noticed that her work has been sub par, and she's now on probation, having to report in at all times during the day. Supervisor was not happy about her taking next week off because of health issues. She is one step away from being fired, and there's little hope that she'll come off that step positively, no matter how much they like her or the job she'd been doing before things took a turn for the worse.
She arrived at our house in tears, and wouldn't tell us what was wrong right away. We played with the baby, distracted her for a bit, and then, when her fiance got off work, she started to tell us. About how much worse the depression is right now. About how she's had serious suicidal thoughts. About how worried she is all the time and how it seems overwhelming and never ending and unbearable. About her doctor's advice, her plans for next week, her horrible meeting with her supervisor.
And we talked and cried and laughed and tried to make plans - what she needs us to do (just listen; let her cry if she needs to; remind her that there's hope still), what her fiance needs us to do (be available whenever he needs to talk; listen to what he needs to say), what they need to do for us (keep in contact; stop hiding things; ask for help), and then they went home for the night.
About 10 minutes ago, she called me in tears and my heart plummeted. But these were happy tears - she failed to mention that after the horrible meeting with her supervisor, she'd gone to see the big boss, (it's a small company - there's the two partners/big bosses, her supervisor, then SisterJ and people below her) to let her know exactly what was going on. She explained what she hadn't been able to say to her supervisor - about the depression and her doctor's advice, about the paralysing fear and inability to feel like anything actually matters - and her boss set up a meeting for the Monday she returns with all four (two big bosses, supervisor, & SisterJ) of the main players, so they can move on from there. She was sympathetic and appreciated that SisterJ came in to tell her about it.
Apparently, after SisterJ got home and checked her work e-mail, she had a message from the big bosses that said that they think she should follow her doctor's orders and take the two weeks that she recommends. They'll cover the extra week, paid, because they have faith in her & because they value her as an employee, and want her to be able to stay and be a part of their company.
If I had their number, I would call them right now, regardless of how unprofessional it would be. I would send flowers, or trek over there to hug them myself: SisterJ called me crying because she couldn't believe that people could be so nice. That something good like this could actually happen to her.
(Hello, I'm depression - I will now convince you that you are worthless: always have been, always will be. I will terrorize you until you think that the world consists only of pain and heartbreak, and that your only shot at avoiding this horrendous torture for eternity is to remove yourself from the playing field completely. And immediately. And you will believe me in all things, because that's the way I work.)
And they, just by virtue of being nice people, by doing something that feels right to them, have put a little piece of hope and happiness in my sister's heart.
At this point, they could declaw cats for kicks, and they'd still be some of my favoritest people on the planet.
It may still be a far cry from a perfect world, but these two people are doing there best to help us get there.
Two other notes -
First, I've noticed a lack of positive posts here lately, and am attempting to make myself focus on some of the better things that are going on, so you all get to share in those too. They are here, I promise.
Second, my family has a rather large history of depression (and at least one suicide attempt), I myself have suffered as a result of chronic illness, and still, I find that I'm not sure if what I'm saying is the 'right' thing. I know a lot of the 'wrong' things to stay clear of ("Just smile!" or "Think positively" being two of the tops there), but I'd still appreciate your wisdom here. If you've suffered from depression, what were some of the things people around you did/said that helped or hurt? If you've loved someone with depression, what are some of the things you think I should know? Of course, I am doing my research (yay Internet!), but I know you all are pretty much interpersonal geniuses (see "Why is it so hard?"), and always have something useful to say. Thanks in advance!
I know all of this, but when your sister sits you down and tells you that, if she and her fiance could afford it, she would commit herself because she's afraid she'll hurt herself - well, there's really just no way to be prepared for that.
Her doctor has advised her to take 2 weeks medical leave from work, while she tries again to adjust her meds (adding another pill, subtracting one, fudging with another's dosage), so that she can do so in a less stressful environment. That would be nice, if we were in a perfect world, but even the idea of it just added to SisterJ's stress and fear - how would they be able to afford that? Would her boss fire her just for asking, considering she certainly hasn't been doing her best work in the past month or two? If she got fired, not only couldn't she afford her doctor and her meds, but they couldn't afford to live in their condo. You can see how this may not exactly be the most comforting of thoughts.
But she did have some vacation days that she could use, and she has Monday off anyways, so she went into a meeting with her immediate supervisor today, prepared to use her three vacation days and an unpaid day, giving her all of next week off. The meeting went just as badly as she feared it would - yes, they had all noticed that her work has been sub par, and she's now on probation, having to report in at all times during the day. Supervisor was not happy about her taking next week off because of health issues. She is one step away from being fired, and there's little hope that she'll come off that step positively, no matter how much they like her or the job she'd been doing before things took a turn for the worse.
She arrived at our house in tears, and wouldn't tell us what was wrong right away. We played with the baby, distracted her for a bit, and then, when her fiance got off work, she started to tell us. About how much worse the depression is right now. About how she's had serious suicidal thoughts. About how worried she is all the time and how it seems overwhelming and never ending and unbearable. About her doctor's advice, her plans for next week, her horrible meeting with her supervisor.
And we talked and cried and laughed and tried to make plans - what she needs us to do (just listen; let her cry if she needs to; remind her that there's hope still), what her fiance needs us to do (be available whenever he needs to talk; listen to what he needs to say), what they need to do for us (keep in contact; stop hiding things; ask for help), and then they went home for the night.
About 10 minutes ago, she called me in tears and my heart plummeted. But these were happy tears - she failed to mention that after the horrible meeting with her supervisor, she'd gone to see the big boss, (it's a small company - there's the two partners/big bosses, her supervisor, then SisterJ and people below her) to let her know exactly what was going on. She explained what she hadn't been able to say to her supervisor - about the depression and her doctor's advice, about the paralysing fear and inability to feel like anything actually matters - and her boss set up a meeting for the Monday she returns with all four (two big bosses, supervisor, & SisterJ) of the main players, so they can move on from there. She was sympathetic and appreciated that SisterJ came in to tell her about it.
Apparently, after SisterJ got home and checked her work e-mail, she had a message from the big bosses that said that they think she should follow her doctor's orders and take the two weeks that she recommends. They'll cover the extra week, paid, because they have faith in her & because they value her as an employee, and want her to be able to stay and be a part of their company.
If I had their number, I would call them right now, regardless of how unprofessional it would be. I would send flowers, or trek over there to hug them myself: SisterJ called me crying because she couldn't believe that people could be so nice. That something good like this could actually happen to her.
(Hello, I'm depression - I will now convince you that you are worthless: always have been, always will be. I will terrorize you until you think that the world consists only of pain and heartbreak, and that your only shot at avoiding this horrendous torture for eternity is to remove yourself from the playing field completely. And immediately. And you will believe me in all things, because that's the way I work.)
And they, just by virtue of being nice people, by doing something that feels right to them, have put a little piece of hope and happiness in my sister's heart.
At this point, they could declaw cats for kicks, and they'd still be some of my favoritest people on the planet.
It may still be a far cry from a perfect world, but these two people are doing there best to help us get there.
Two other notes -
First, I've noticed a lack of positive posts here lately, and am attempting to make myself focus on some of the better things that are going on, so you all get to share in those too. They are here, I promise.
Second, my family has a rather large history of depression (and at least one suicide attempt), I myself have suffered as a result of chronic illness, and still, I find that I'm not sure if what I'm saying is the 'right' thing. I know a lot of the 'wrong' things to stay clear of ("Just smile!" or "Think positively" being two of the tops there), but I'd still appreciate your wisdom here. If you've suffered from depression, what were some of the things people around you did/said that helped or hurt? If you've loved someone with depression, what are some of the things you think I should know? Of course, I am doing my research (yay Internet!), but I know you all are pretty much interpersonal geniuses (see "Why is it so hard?"), and always have something useful to say. Thanks in advance!
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