When Dr. Mind first told me that I had no choice but to eventually face the feelings I have about my recent losses I declined. I was afraid of the strong feelings. And then, gradually, they've come out. I'm still scared and it is still slow. It's a horribly tearful time and I pretty much make sure I'm near tissues at all times. Jean Grey mentioned this today on my last post and she's right.
I don't know my way through this part of my life. I am not sure I'm even past the entrance, because I really am not doing well with pretty much any reminder that this change has happened. Even seeing spring begin and flowers bloom hurts because a year ago that meant the end of so many difficult things in the life of a home health practitioner. Summer has definite bad points but winter is tough, especially in rural, icy mountains. This time it's hard to think of spring as a new beginning or anything more than the next season that I can't work anymore. It's not that I don't see good things, it is that my depression and sadness are too great to care all that much.
I don't know my way into the grief. And it is scary. Yet every once in a while I get hit so very hard that I don't have a choice but to face it. Oddly I keep picking things to read or once a movie to watch for a while (I've given up on more than segments of movies; books at least it is normal to stop many times in even a few minutes) that include someone with a disability that is taking away their job. I think this has happened 3 or 4 times now. I wish I could say that this lets me jump in and face the pain. It doesn't. But it does remind me I'm not entirely alone in experiencing this, even if the other people happen to be fictional.
However I have no idea how to do this. I think it would help if I knew that like so many things I'd feel better if I just did it, but the truth is that I very well may not. I also don't usually have to try to deal with things with knowing that they could make the suicidal tendencies increase. I had a bout of that last night that was unpleasant and avoidance is still easier than trying to face those things without a doctor there. I think that getting to a point of acceptance is also hard to have as a goal because I do not care to accept this. I much preferred those months that I grabbed at so many med options hoping for success. But instead I was grabbing at straws. I still hope that we find something that helps. At the same time I know how many meds I've been on, how many cocktails have been tried, and the simple fact is there isn't much we can do. Dr. Brain told me the other day that she'd heard the Guru speak and that even he wasn't aware of anything new. Dr. Brain warned me years ago that this happens for people like me who don't tolerate/respond to meds well. I just thought I'd moved past the risk when something worked. I do know that ultimately something will help me. I just don't know how to hang on until that happens as well as coping with the losses.
I think the very simple way to say it is: when I was a little girl I wanted to be different things at different times. I wanted to be an astronaut for years until I realized that being afraid of heights might not work well. I wanted to be a teacher, writer, and then settled firmly on teacher for many years until I was in college and realized that it wasn't right for me at all. I wanted to be a mother with lots of kids.
And then right up until grad school applications were due I fought a hard battle with desires to be a therapist, an OT or a psychologist with a specialization in behavior management for individuals with special needs. OT won out in the end and it was great while it lasted. The thing is that there was never once a time that I even thought there was a chance I would wind up here, too depressed and too manic by turns to function with even the most simple things. I never saw my life being confined to treatment and my bedroom because the world was too much to face.
I don't know how to mourn for losing everything I thought I was or wanted to be.
Copyright 2006 www.masterofirony.blogspot.com