Thursday, July 23, 2015

I Start Here

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.

4 comments:

Bibliomama said...

Good for you. You did what you could to start. Now, because I AM that friend that you would be, run, don't walk, to the doctor for anxiety drugs. If you have to take it slow, just find the number and write it down and leave it by the phone today. Maybe tomorrow you'll call and make the appointment. Also, this is in no way your fault, and if you had asthma and left the house with your inhaler I wouldn't tell you to go run up that hill, I'd smack you upside the head. You have a condition. You need help for your condition. You have the right to let the staff at the facility take some of the responsibility for your mother. You have the right to exercise and write. You will find work again. You are a good person, and you will dream a future again. You just need a rest.

Jennifer said...

I can't say it any better than Bibliomama did. Going to the doctor sooner rather than later means feeling better sooner and making it easier for the next good thing break through that wall of stress. Where you end up, whether it's rooted in a dream you had 20 years ago or a new dream/plan you have tomorrow, will somehow work itself out. It might not be glorious (we've learned that much), but parts of it will be (not sure what word applies here)...satisfying, I guess, in ways. You're strong, you're a great mom, and this rough spot will smooth out in time. (No, really, it will. :) )

Green Girl in Wisconsin said...

I only can echo what the others have said--and tell you to keep letting it out here. You are cared for--but us (your readers/friends) and by your family.

Cha Cha said...

Starting here is good.

Also? I get not wanting to go to the doctor. I'm there myself - I sense that admitting I need to go back on anti-anxiety meds means I've failed in some cosmic way. But if a friend told me that, I'd be all, "Put down the crack pipe and call your doc."

I get it.

One step at a time, friend. You can do it.