Friday I arrived home from a three week trip. Three weeks is too long to be away from home. The first two weeks were work. A very stressful project that I had dreaded for a year. The last week was vacation with the boys.
The boys flew out to San Antonio, where I was working, and we spent a couple of days doing the tourist thing, then took the train to New Orleans, spent two days there and took the train home to Georgia.
It was a good trip, although challenging. New Orleans is not the best place to visit in July. Although we would do it again just to go to Cafe Du Monde for beignets.
The end of this twelve month project is also the end of employment and income for me. I'm very much freaking out. Very much. Most likely I should be on anxiety drugs. I'm giving myself a couple of weeks before going to the doctor. It's stupid because if any of you told me you were suffering from severe, debilitating anxiety I would tell you to run, not walk, to the doctor and get some drugs. But I don't want to. I feel like a failure. Although I don't think people taking anti-anxiety drugs are failures. Only me.
Why do we judge ourselves this way?
I don't want to be this person. But I am.
It's just been so so much. Six days before I left for my three week trip I moved my mom into an independent living community. A couple of weeks before that the neurologist gave her a diagnosis of Mild Cognitive Impairment.
She's not good and the hard thing is she can't comprehend what's happening to her mind because it's happening to her mind.
She's not horrible. It's not full-blown dementia or alzheimer's but it could develop into that.
While I was gone and not really able to help her at all she would call me and say "Why did you talk me into moving here?" and "I'm going to move home" and "I think I'll buy a car."
Which just freaked me out and stressed me out.
Now that I'm home and able to go over when needed and take her places she's feeling better. It really is the best place for her.
I'm overwhelmed with taking care of mom, trying to figure out what my next professional life looks like and preparing the kids for school, including D13 starting at a new school.
I've committed to yoga classes 2 -3 times a week, swimming laps 2 - 3 times a week, journaling and trying to keep myself on a schedule at home. So as not to fall into a full on can't-get-out-of-bed debilitating bout of anxiety and depression.
The worst thing is I can't remember what it ever was that I wanted to do with my life.
I became friends with a very wise 93 year old gentleman in Texas. He was under my care for ten days and we had quite a few long conversations. He asked me several times what it was that I wanted to do with my life when I was younger. What my goals were.
I had nothing to tell him. I do know the things that defined me and comforted me I have lost. That the idea of even dreaming or having the right to dream has drifted out of my reach.
I can't fault myself to much for much of my situation. But then I find myself faulting myself very much for my situation.
So I'm going to try and write here. Try again. Try to write myself out of this place and into a better place. I start here.