Maybe I Should Up My Meds

The problem with having a diagnosis of clinical depression along with grief is not knowing when what you’re going through is normal grief or depression rearing it’s ugly head.

I haven’t had any anti-anxiety meds in 2 1/2 months.

I dropped my dosage of anti-depressants 2 1/2 months ago.

I’ve been doing well.

I made it through Christmas with a smile on my face.

Despite a devastating action by my ex, I made it through New Year’s alone… not quite with a smile on my face, but happy none the less.

And the last couple days… since the old man in the store, since I’ve been vocal about what happened to my husband…  I’ve been sad.

I’ve been tired, fatigued.    I’ve been struggling to keep focussed.  I’ve been lonely.

I have been sort of reaching out – but as it usually is when I’m in need, no one was available.   I don’t mean that in any derogatory way – it’s just what I need and the universe conspires to keep me alone to work through it, usually.

There was no one to talk to, really.  No one who *got* it.

It’s my birthday in 3 days.  And in 6… its the 3 year anniversary of the day he went into the hospital.

So… I wonder… should I up my meds?  Or should I just ride this out and hope that when I come out the other side, I am not failing school?

In the end… it won’t matter… grief is grief.  I”m pretty sure this is just another wave, but the temptation to mask it with meds is SO strong.  Because if I can’t feel… then I don’t have to feel.

But if I don’t feel… I won’t… and it’ll come back and get me later.

Grief Is Like the Ocean

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Drowing…

I’m drowning.

I saw this post on FB:

Drowning

 

And it’s so true.

There’s this wordless scream going through my head… “HELP ME… MAKE IT STOP”

But no one can hear.

Even when someone says “are you all right? Do you need something”  The “I’m fine” comes out of my mouth faster than I can think to answer honestly.

Although it IS sort of honest.

F(ucked up)
I(nsecure)
N(eurotic)
E(motional)

Totally fine.

I’ve been fine since the day he got sick.  I got even more fine when he died.   And then fine hit it’s *finest* moments when I changed my life entirely.

Yep.

I’m fine.

Except I’m drowning.   And no one knows it.

And somehow I have to communicate that to my doctor, my counsellor and the psychiatrist that I’m going to see next week.

Somehow I need to communicate effectively how much I AM drowning and how much I desperately want to breathe again.  How much I want to feel GOOD again.

Without being flippant.  Without brushing it off.

Without just saying “I’m fine”

Because I’m not fine.  I’m not ok.

I want to be though.  I really, really want to be.

Grief Is Like the Ocean

Just Like That, Eh?

Just Like That

 

I see things like that a lot.

So I changed.  Just like that.

But then… when I’m in the middle of it, I feel more like this:

Grief Is Like the Ocean

 

And I wonder why I can’t swim.

Why I’m drowning instead if I’m supposed to be able to change… “just like that”

grieving

 

Grief and depression… very confusing and very misleading….

Because I remember, when I’m feeling good, snapping out of the grief and depression and wondering WTF am I doing?  Why am I feeling like this when I KNOW I can change “just like that” and then I fall in a hole.

And I’m broken.

And I’ve been broken for a while now.

Christmas.  New Years.  My Birthday.  January 19.  January 21.  Feb 1.  And now we’re coming up on Feb 14.

That marks the end of the 2 month stretch of *dates* and *anniversaries* and the clusterfuck of emotions I don’t have time to process.

There will be others… His birthday, Father’s day, his Angelversary, our anniversary…. but those are spread out enough that I can process in between.

I have good moments.  I have a good life.  I am just stuck in depression while my mind and heart process the life I lost.

Peace

 

Eventually, I’ll be able to see the light again…

Turn On the Light

 

But for now all I know is…

It's Going to be Ok Someday

Benchmarked!

For those of you following who are NOT in the derby world… benchmarked means that I get to play in bouts.  It means that I have passed the minimum skill set needed to safely play.

And I’m benchmarked as of today.

I want to be happy.  I really really do.  I want to have the *bouncebouncebounce* that I know is in there… somewhere…

I don’t.

I mean…. I do… somewhere… but I don’t.

I wasn’t sure if I should put this in my fitness blog or here.  As I wrote this … it became more of a widow blog than a health and fitness blog. 

So back to being benchmarked.  I am.  It’s exciting.  It means that next week, I get to go scrimmage.  In February I get to bout.  I get to wear a Gold Pain City Derby Girl uniform.

And I’m… just… flat.

I’m sad.

I’m depressed.

I’ve fallen in a hole that has sucked me in and is holding on to me so very tightly.

I turned 40 on Thursday – not a big deal.   I got a surprise visitor – VERY big deal and I was VERY excited.

We watched a few movies over the weekend.  Out of the 4 movies – at least 3 of them had death/widows/widowers in them.  Seriously.   Are you effing kidding me?

I cried myself to sleep on Friday night.   I cried at work on Saturday.

I cried while watching the end of one of the movies on Saturday night.

And today is January 19.   Exactly 2 years ago, almost exactly now, we were calling the ambulance for the ride that would take him away from us.

I am trying, oh so hard, to let the excitement of being benchmarked override the memory of him being taken away by ambulance.

I’m trying to be positive.

Why is year 2 so freaking hard?   The first half of year two was a whirlwind of new guy, lots of travel, move to a new town, adjust to living with someone new.

And now that 18 months has passed… I find myself falling into grief more and more.    My ability to disassociate is dissolving.   I can’t shove the feelings into a box anymore… they’re just coming out more and more.

And today – instead of being happy and bouncy and excited… I’m just sad and flat and I want to curl up into a ball and bawl.

I wish my man was home.  His snuggles help me to push the sadness aside… but I probably need to feel it… It just hurts.

So I’m excited, but not, about finally passing the skillz test.  Maybe when I can pull out of this depression I’ll have the bounce I was expecting.

Grey's Anatomy

 

Grief Is Like the Ocean

Things Unexpected (redux)

…. the man who sat down at my desk to do his car insurance and announced “I just had a stroke, there’s a weird feeling in my arm”

Really?  Why why WHY is the man who probably requires medical attention sitting at my desk and getting car insurance instead of going to the hospital?

…. looking for someone in my contacts list and seeing my Love’s gorgeous blue eyes staring at me.

That made me want to go back and look at the last few texts from him.  I still do.

…. the moment when my boyfriend turned off the music we were listening to to put on something his boys wanted to hear

That was something Mark would have done for his boys.

…. flipping through pictures and seeing him in the hospital

I love the look in his eyes.  Even at the end, when he was desperately sick and knew the morning meant that he would be shutting off the machines, he still had that look in his eyes.  The love, the devotion, just shone through every. single. time.

IMAG0026

 

This is the first time I’ve publicly shared a picture of him in the hospital.   This was taken 2 months after he went into ICU.  I would have another 3 1/2 months with him at this point… I wish I’d known then that the time was going to be so short…

I’d really like for all things unexpected to stop showing up while I’m at work.  I just *don’t* want to start crying here… it’s been too soon since I started… blarg.

What’s Fair?

I’m trying to find a balance in my life.   It’s hard to find balance.  Especially when there’s conflicting needs.

I had a good day today.  Spent some time with some adorable boys on a farm, got my son’s room completed so that we can move his stuff in there tomorrow, and had a pretty freaking awesome dinner.

Something triggered me.  I’m not sure exactly what.  I have a suspicion, but I’m not 100% sure.

The grief welled up.

The suitcase broke open.

And I had kids around and dinner to get on the table and lunches to make and boys to snuggle and a man to connect with.

So I tried to shove it back in the suitcase.

Is it fair to my boys for me to start randomly crying? with no discernable trigger?

Is it fair to my new man to greet him at the door with tears in my eyes?

Is it fair to everyone else, who seems to have no issues with the pain of loss, to remind them that he’s gone?

Is it fair?

I don’t want to bring my kids down.  I’ve read about they psychology of kids and how upsetting it is for them to see their parent crying and sad.   I don’t want them to feel like they have to nurture and protect and cheer me up.

I don’t want to ruin (I don’t know that that’s the best of words) my evening, which is so incredibly short, with my man as he gets home from work, to eat, shower and go to bed within an hour by crying over my deceased husband.

The problem is that when I push the grief aside, it comes out as cranky.

I had to apologize to my son tonight for cranking at him.   He, in all his wisdom, said to me “why don’t you just ask us to leave you alone for a bit? Or tell us that you’re taking some time?”

He’s so 13.  So wonderfully black and white.

At any rate, I’ll give it a shot and see if they actually give me the time I request.

But I’m trying so hard to be fair to everyone else…. I think I’m starting to be unfair to me.

Jan 2009 034

I am Just

If you’re a child of the 80’s and a fan of science fiction – you’ll remember the TV mini-series “V” that was on in the early 80’s.

One of the scenes I remember vividly is when Robert Englund (Willie) meets Diane Carey (Harmony) when Robert is lost.   He is a stranger in a foreign land, not *quite* understanding the language and having difficulties finding his way around.

Harmony Moore: Don’t let it spaz you. Let me help you.
Willie: Help, yes!
[pulling out the map]
Willie: Help to go
[pointing to a spot on the map]
Willie: to this place.
Harmony Moore: You don’t know where to go?
Willie: I’m just.
Harmony Moore: You mean “lost.”
Willie: [he gets it] Lost! Yes…

After Mark died… I felt the same way…. a stranger in a foreign land not *quite* understanding the language.   Suddenly everything I knew didn’t make sense any more.  I was just.

People would talk to me and I would look at them with confusion.   They were speaking the language I’d been speaking all my life but suddenly it didn’t make sense anymore.

My life didn’t make sense.  Who I was didn’t make sense.

I was just.

I am coming to the point now where I’m no longer just.  Where the words are starting to make sense again and I am starting to understand better.   And then every once in a while…. the world stops making sense again and I am just.   Especially when it’s one of my kids who is hurting… and I can’t help them…. because they are just and I don’t know how to make the world make sense for them.

Lost sign