Please share this around – we are none of us alone; we are all connected. You never know who’s lives you’ll change with your words.
I’m stressed. There is a lot going on out there, it feels like the information changes every day. My kids are home all day, every day. They don’t get to run around with their friends, even if we do see them while we are out for a walk. The news coming out of Italy gets more bleak by the minute, and I wonder if we are doing enough to stop this before it hits us like a runaway truck.
I worry about being able to feed my family long term, assuming this continues, which doesn’t feel like a stretch. I worry about my family, all of whom live at least 175 miles away. I worry the grocery stores will have to close because all their employees get sick. I worry that all medical personnel are burning themselves out and will suffer tremendously for it. I worry about the scientists working day and night to give us concrete answers.
This novel coronavirus has kicked my anxiety into full gear. I spend my days and nights imagining all the worst case scenarios. Sleep is not relief from this. The tension in my shoulders, jaw, whole body never releases. Taking a complete, deep breath seems impossible. My brain is a squirrel on meth stuck on a hamster wheel.
I talk to others online about their concerns, and I find all of them relatable. Maybe not in a specific detail kind of way, but in a general kind of way. I’m not a single mom struggling to care for her special needs child with no extra cash to even start to stock up on basics I may need. I’m not a new mom feeling isolated after building my routine around meeting up with friendly faces three times a week. I’m not the mom of a medically fragile child, panicked because people just can’t take this seriously.
I’m not these specific people. But I understand their struggles. Yesterday, I wrote a little post full of sass about how to survive. The sass hid the truth. This is not normal. It is not sustainable for our mental health. I need my friends and support system as much as anyone. And I need to support people just as much.
If you read this far, thank you. If you find that you just need to vent your fears, write them out here. You can post it anonymously, even we won’t be able to identify you. If you have some kind of resource I can link to that would help some of the people I listed above, shout them out. We will link anything that will help.
It feels like everyone around me is sinking further and further down this whirlpool of insanity. Meanwhile, I’m floating on some shitty piece of driftwood yards away. I’m holding on for dear life, eyes closed, hoping i don’t get sucked back in to that hole. I’m sick of that feeling. it’s almost worse than drowning in the whirlpool itself.
t’s hard to come to grips with the fact that no matter how well I’m doing, I’m probably gonna end up feeling like complete shit again, because that’s just the way my brain cookie crumbles.
Because of my lovely picture (which is in constant need of maintenance), I cannot talk to many people about the constant weight on my shoulders. This situation is not helped by the recent loss of the two closest friendships I have, which happened as these things do, with only small amounts of shared blame.
I’ve been limping along for a while now, managing occasionally to feel like life is worthwhile and these wonderful times of hope are mostly because of my wonderful husband, the one person in the world that I am not afraid to cry with, the one person I know will not think less of me, or dismiss my pain.
This wonderful husband just got a short-term contract (four months) in a city six hours from here. It is a wonderful opportunity for him, one which I happily encouraged him to take, but I cannot go with him for various reasons.
During the day this seems like something I can manage; after all, he’ll still be here on the weekends, and it’s only for a little while.
But at night, the darkness invades my heart, and I cling tightly to him, terrified by the thought of being apart from him for even one night. Because along with being my best friend and soul mate, he is frequently my salvation.
It is because of him that I have not dropped out of grad school under the overwhelming apathy that threatens to prevent me from finishing assignments.
It is because of him that I can sort through my often tangled feelings and come out the other end feeling like I might be okay.
It is with him, and only him, that I can say that haunting word “depression” and not feel like I have to have a treatment plan all mapped out for his perusal.
Five days a week without him is five mornings I have to get out of bed and go to class. It’s 80 waking hours that I cannot debrief in his arms. It’s five evenings of dread, knowing what’s coming when I get too tired to fight it off, and it’s five nights of hugging my pillow, praying sleep will come before the melancholy attacks.
So, I got my medicine adjusted like I said I was going to.
After a hilarious rigmarole of being referred to a doctor who only saw seniors, then one who only saw children, then one who didn’t take my insurance, I finally ended up with a really sweet doctor (who is the tiniest woman I’ve ever met).
She added another antidepressant to the one I was already taking, and it seems to have helped the symptoms in question – I’m still sleeping odd hours, but it’s only for 8-9 hours at a stretch, not 12-14, and my default state is “bored” instead of “bored and sad and mopey and lonely.”
And yet…
(There’s always an “and yet” with mental illness isn’t there?)
(ed note: Yes. – AB)
And yet I’ve not managed to quite nail things down. I’ll stay up late without realizing how late it is, then sleep until 4 or 5 the next afternoon. The new medicine causes insomnia, so I was warned to only take it in the morning. But if I don’t take it when I wake up at 4 PM, then I’ll just sleep even more. If I do take it, I’ll be up all night and sleep late the next day. If I do manage to wake up early and take my medicine, I’m so tired that even the medicine can’t keep me up and I pass out around noon and wake up at 7 PM (which is what happened today).
I just want to wake up in the morning feeling at least somewhat rested and get tired at night being able to fall asleep. Since when is that such a massive thing to ask? If I could just do that AND have my medicine killing off the sadness and apathy, then all I’d have to do is muster up the motivation to do laundry and clean my room and make it look like a human being lives here!
To top it all off, I’m moving to North Carolina within the month. My best friend is moving back into her childhood home, which she inherited when her dad died, and she’s offered to let me live there rent-free if I cover half the bills. Her area has a much better economy than mine, so I could find a job more easily. And there are nearby schools where I could get either an associate’s or a second bachelor’s degree in the field I want to move into.
It’s too good an offer to refuse, so I’m cashing out my savings and heading up there as soon as she gets moved in and ready.
And yet…
What if it all falls apart?
What if I can’t find a good psychiatrist nearby? I don’t even know what my insurance situation would be before I got a job.
What if I get on this same fucked up sleep schedule again and my room stays this messy and I’m awful to live with and she hates me?
What if I still don’t find a job and I burn through all my savings?
What if I get the degree, and take out a bunch of loans to do it, and still can’t find a job even then?
I don’t know. I was so sure for awhile this medicine had made things a lot better, but I sure don’t feel any less afraid.
