Depression
I guess it's remembering who I use to be. I miss her so much the loss creates it's own pain.
Who I am now, I don't like her so much.
I thought if I could successfully forget, ignore, who I am now the woman I remember and admire would resurface.
I'm so sick of thinking about when I was beautiful and strong, limber and fluid in motion. I was full of energy. My mind was sharp and my wit quick. Eight hours of work was the smallest piece of my day. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, growing daughters and all their activities, the gym, the church, volunteer work, book clubs, public speaking, my garden in the spring and summer, putting up the garden in the fall. Sewing matching Easter dresses. Wonderful glorious sex life.....big sigh.
Now I'm on a 3-4 drug combo for pain and a 3 drug combo for depression. Xanax for the 'break through' anxiety when I feel like I'm going to die from the pleurisy and periocarditis or wondering if I'm having another stroke or waiting for a blood clot to hit my lungs or heart.
It's not even the dying that is so scary, lots of days I'd welcome it. It's the strokes.....the being completely incapacitated and being completely aware of it. It's being a complete burden on my loved ones, having my daughter feel obligated to come visit as I drool on and shit myself. Knowing my daughter is forcing my beautiful grandson to give Grandma a hug. Wondering if my husband can even remember when I rocked that fishnet and red satin teddy he so loved. Being physically unable to end it.
I'm 46 years old.
My husband wants me to go back into therapy. God, now that's fucking depressing. Paying someone lots of money we could use elsewhere to listen to me lament on things I have no control over while they watch the clock to make sure we don't 'go over'.
Who I am now, I don't like her so much.
I thought if I could successfully forget, ignore, who I am now the woman I remember and admire would resurface.
I'm so sick of thinking about when I was beautiful and strong, limber and fluid in motion. I was full of energy. My mind was sharp and my wit quick. Eight hours of work was the smallest piece of my day. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, growing daughters and all their activities, the gym, the church, volunteer work, book clubs, public speaking, my garden in the spring and summer, putting up the garden in the fall. Sewing matching Easter dresses. Wonderful glorious sex life.....big sigh.
Now I'm on a 3-4 drug combo for pain and a 3 drug combo for depression. Xanax for the 'break through' anxiety when I feel like I'm going to die from the pleurisy and periocarditis or wondering if I'm having another stroke or waiting for a blood clot to hit my lungs or heart.
It's not even the dying that is so scary, lots of days I'd welcome it. It's the strokes.....the being completely incapacitated and being completely aware of it. It's being a complete burden on my loved ones, having my daughter feel obligated to come visit as I drool on and shit myself. Knowing my daughter is forcing my beautiful grandson to give Grandma a hug. Wondering if my husband can even remember when I rocked that fishnet and red satin teddy he so loved. Being physically unable to end it.
I'm 46 years old.
My husband wants me to go back into therapy. God, now that's fucking depressing. Paying someone lots of money we could use elsewhere to listen to me lament on things I have no control over while they watch the clock to make sure we don't 'go over'.
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