In 2020, COVID pushed us all to the brink,” according to the US Department of Health and Human Services. Except I went over the edge. Unfortunately, I’ve taken my family and some close friends along with me. My teenage son is probably bearing the brunt of it, and I’m so ashamed as his mother for the emotional upheaval I’m showing him.
After seeing four counselors and trying as many different versions of antidepressants, I’m still acting like a basket case and barely hanging onto my emotions every day. Nobody wants to be mentally ill, but we don’t ask for it. Genetics gives us this sinister gift we never wanted to receive, and all the well-wishers, doctors and counselors in the world can’t seem to make it go away.
My identity became enmeshed with my job a year ago , although an occupation is not the whole essence of whom I am or want to be. Leaving that employer seemed right at the time, but I didn’t know the havoc I’d let it reek on me and the anxiety I’d bleed all over those close to me. Several other attempts at maintaining gainful employment felt undoable, which meant that 41 years of confidence gained through working escaped me.
Everyone says to quit being so hard on myself. How can I not be when my so-called state continues unabated? Being this self-absorbed feels completely ugly and uncaring.
Maybe there’s more than simple loss of direction. Some people say previous TBIs, unresolved past traumas and the present state of the world are all contributing factors. Perhaps they are. Not discounting those notions, my sheer force of will used to get me through tough stages in life. Where has that woman gone?
If the love my son and husband have for me could be the magic elixir, I’d be well and happy again. They don’t need to wonder every day who and what greets them upon their arrival home. The continued worry and helplessness has to be hard for them to handle. Yet they smile, laugh and have fun — and I’m so glad because they deserve live what’s known as their “best life.” That saying is used a lot, something I previously took for granted but now realize is more precious than I ever imagined. My siblings have kept me going through their continued love, caring, vigilance and unending compassionate contact. I've also likely worn out the patience of some good friends, and I thank you Sandy, Richard and Jason for always listening.
To have someone ask me how I’m doing and be able to genuinely reply that I’m we’ll would be a luxury now. Instead I lie and say “okay,” because strangers don’t want to hear or need to know the truth. Everyone has their own problems, all of which feel valid to them, but the weight of my own is a gigantic anvil threatening to pull my spirit into a pit of never-ending despair. Not being able to ignore or conquer those nagging anxieties any more makes my problems feel worse than everyone’s because they’re mine, and the perspective gets skewed that there is no relief from them in the foreseeable future.
The advice to get a hobby is an overused sentiment. Losing the pastimes that used to bring me joy struck a blow to my sense of who I am as well.
Spending too many months in front of a t.v. screen left me dreading it’s use at all, the bitter irony of which makes me sad since my original aspiration to work in that field and years of toil and effort spent working toward that goal now feel futile. Earning three college degrees was much more important in the process. What do those diplomas mean now when my credentials are based on a concept of education and not the muddled confusion currently inside my head that keeps me wondering if I’ll ever be able to learn or retain information now.
Not being interested in reading a book any more or having the desire or concentration level to do so hurts me, too. The hours spent reading a physical book, an electronic one and an audio version on my commute were taken for granted. I wish I could pick up any one of those and devour the text like I used to. My goal used to be 50 to 100 per year. All that ended last summer, and I’ve read two books since the beginning of this year. No genre or subject matter interests me enough now to even try. Worse yet, my book club friends met by Zoom ... until they didn't. We've met once in the last nine months or so but not even the whole group. I miss Alexis, Kay, Kim, Shelli, and Rhonda so much. They're such incredibly smart, talented, beautiful, and supportive women who care deeply and love powerfully.
With the loss of reading comes a lessening of any chance to build my vocabulary, have my opinions challenged or world expanded, and be involved in a meaningful conversation about those things with my book club friends along the way. Being a reader gave a purpose to spare time by feeling like different ideas and styles were being taught to make me a better informed person who could learn new ideas and perspectives and have a chance to be more well-rounded. These challenges also affect my interest in continuing to blog. What do I have to write about if I’m not going anywhere or seeing anything to spark new ideas for fictional stories or having experience spur something either. Having such a blasé existence stems little creativity and generates boring and repetitive material like this missive?
So many interests left me with my undoing. I don’t exercise like I used to. Bike riding went from a dreaded necessary activity to train an old woman with no athletic talent to being a fun time. I accomplished an unthinkable task of completing half of the MS 150 and rode 79 miles in one day without having trained for anything before. It became fun along the way to be part of something bigger than yourself, practice with other participants, feel like part of a group, and meet new people who could be friends. They’re more like acquaintances now whom I may never see again.
Another part of my sense of community and wellness came from my previous yoga practice. Not earning money to keep my Y membership meant not going to class any more. I miss the way I could access a sense of peace through that exercise and have a weekly routine of going there and seeing the people as well. No longer belonging to that organization also took away my volunteer role on their board. I can’t fathom putting forth effort to do something now without being paid for it now, much less the cost of getting there. I worry about every cent spent buying even an ounce of gas to get somewhere.
Going to concerts is something I miss greatly! The sense of excitement in the air, people laughing, launching, and sometimes singing and dancing together were completely wonderful. The guarantee of a fun night at hearing my favorite performers now tears me at the chance of never going again. Music was a huge part of my day-to-day realty. Now I miss hearing my favorite artists’ talented voices and the way my heart soared along with those lyrics. Now I anticipate hearing a once-liked song and its words getting stuff in my twisted shot-term memory that will repeat incessantly through any part of the day. Something I once so loved is a bothersome threat when it shouldn’t be. My friendships were enhanced by those activities, which damages the chance of reconnecting with both delights.
Little contact with my friends has done it’s damage. Everyone has her/his own agenda, and I totally get that, yet I still feel socially and mentally isolated. The early Zoom/FB group chats went away when the novelty wore off, and people seem to hunker down to the normality of life mainly spent with their families. Plus, I didn’t want to continue to subject good people to someone else’s pain for which they have no solutions. Tammy, Amy, Kathleen, Stacey, Missy, Karla, Amy, Stacy, April, Jill and Amy I miss you terribly. Any bit of communication with you helps so much.
If all their good wishes and prayers could make me whole again, this absurd period would be over by now and I’d feel stable and well. They’ve given me kind words, gestures and even material things like clothes and gas money when they didn’t have to make such generous gestures and offered even more I’m too embarrassed to accept. I’m lucky to have such magnanimous people around me, especially Dena, Lisa, Karen, Kim, Richard, and Jason. Anyone who comes to visit is giving me such a valuable gift.
There are some whose companionship and the future of our friendship remains unknown. I don’t want pity, but I hoped for a more consistent bond after I expressed my continued pain. Who can blame someone for not wanting to hear the same boring bunch of bad news in each conversation? They need some interchange of information to have a meaningful conversation. Having little to contribute in that regard, it’s gotten harder and harder to feign contentment and burgeoning resentment. They deserve happiness, too, and I should not begrudge any goodness they can have. My jealousy of their circumstances has become deep-seeded enough to separate me further. I find it harder to call or text those with whom I’ve gotten estranged. Doing so seems forced and superficial.
I let other issues overwhelm me instead like being able to afford family expenses. That is my priority, and only necessary items like food for us, clothing for my son and his sports and school expenses need to be paid. Anything extraneous is out of the question. Travel may not happen for years to come. It doesn’t matter if I get anything new. Personal care items are necessary, but any silly wants are ridiculous. Not buying him news clothes, take him places, give him spending money for school or sporting trips is one of the biggest humiliations at all. He’s growing and continuously need new clothes and shoes. Once again, my husband is the responsible parent who foots the bill. He never once complains or says a word about driving most of the time, still takes us out to eat (more than he should), and offers to buy me things, too. The least I can do is refuse that luxury.
Counselor number five says I suffer from an “identity crisis.” No kidding? I self-diagnosed that near day one. Where does that leave me but screwed? He says I can come back, dump out all my feelings to clear out the crap, and even tell him to fuck off if I don’t believe him or feel it will do any good. I replied how the tiny shred of dignity wouldn’t allow me to say that to him. He tells me things I already know and makes recommendations I’ve already heard. His credentials are LPC and not LCSW like three I’ve seen, but two were PsyDs.
Who knows what works? Even the PsyDs were straight talk therapy. Are any of their designations any better than anyone else’s, or all they all just the same method just out of a textbook that doesn’t mean anything except repeating those concepts. I’m fearful it won’t work, and I’ll be left with bills. He seems like good enough guy, and I’ll guess I’ll go back to feel I’m doing something for Atticus’s sake. Paying the cost will add to more stress but is perhaps penance for all I’ve done.
Screaming into the void is how it feels. There returns no echo, but sounds annoy me anyway. Just like all else does. Including advice from so-called professionals who don’t make me feel any better, can’t cure me, take more money, give little or no relief in return, and always mention my negativity. Color me surprised.
Yes, the last year has sucked for the entire global community and continues to do so, especially for those who were sick or died and their families, friends and caregivers along the way. But my heart, mind and soul breaking is especially personal. Admitting my self-centeredness also comes at a price of more guilt and shame. So I’ll throw all my spite, hate, disappointment, rage, sadness, bitterness, confusion, hopelessness, fear, desperation and shaking inside that I do every day at the universal suck of this pandemic excuse.
There’s an unexplainable, if not irrational, fear at pulling the window shades every night. Difficult as it may be, I still wash my face, brush my teeth and put away everything in its place, because it has to be done. Three meals a day within the same walls and watching television all day long for so many months drove me crazy. Not wanting to face each bedtime because you start the next day over to do the same thing over again and be scared of whether you will hate that day and anticipate the chances of more panic, guilt, shame, and self-obsession when people otherwise appear obliviously happy.
There should be comfort and gratefulness in knowing I get another day of life with my family; hence more self-loathing as a result. Instead, I pop the Lunesta on which I depend to bring the exact amount on sleep each night and pop wipe awake before the sunrise to lay awake when the negative and illogical worries begin to play on loop for hours before fatigue at flip flopping for a new position and repeating the same “stop” phrases for ear worms and crazy-making thoughts become too much for too long.
I know I’m not the only one suffering. Stress, pressure, anxiety, problems, and mental illness abound. Some individuals are better at faking it or at least hiding what’s going on inside.
My kid was singing, “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen.” My inner voice winced. I hope and pray he feels as little trouble as possible in his life. Though unrealistic to think he won’t see any, I just wish he didn’t have to experience any more than what I’ve already done to him and made him see. Besides his physical health, my penultimate goal for him is to develop adequate coping skills to combat his heredity and all the crap the world will inevitably throw at him.
When he was little I would tell him every morning at preschool drop off, “You are strong, you are brave, and YOU are the boss of you.” Maybe he’ll remember and carry that with him although I can’t heed my own advice. He has enough of his dad in him and his own determination and will to bring him into and God willing through hard times.
He’s so anxious, high strung and hard on himself already, though, and I can’t recall such uneasiness until adulthood. He deserves to laugh, have fun and enjoy every moment of sheer joy he can gain in his existence with as little sorrow and sadness there can be. He didn’t ask to be born and certainly doesn’t deserve his inherited genes. His heart is so big, and he feels so deeply, but I hope he’s powerful enough to withstand all he faces in the future. If our love for him could only make it so, he’d be the happiest possible person who achieves such great things his potential forecasts and truly lives his best life possible.
