It is so weird to actually take care of myself.
Okay, I still tend to be unduly hard on myself, and am often in denial about how crappy I feel even as I write statuses and posts about how crappy I feel. I keep wondering, even as I write, whether I’m crazy or whiny or whatever dad would say to me while I was growing up. I’m this way about even physical illnesses unless I’m completely laid up, and even then, I wonder if I’m a wimp.
It’s all in my head. No wait, there IS a reason for me to feel this way.
But some parents joke around and banter with their kids–why do I have such ongoing problems? Oh yeah. It’s because dad was a narcissistic jerk whose words were meant to hurt others. There was no banter–we stood there and bore his rage or his hurtful actions and if we dared stand up for ourselves, it would only make it worse.
But others have it worse. But that doesn’t diminish my own wounds. Just because others have multiple broken bones doesn’t mean my one broken bone doesn’t cause pain. (metaphorically speaking, kthxbai.)
I am so glad I write (and honestly instead of that fluffy God-doesn’t-give-us-more-than-we-can-bear crap that I used to talk about) nowadays, because it lets me track my own emotions. I keep thinking that this current bout of depression or whatever it is has lasted only for a couple of weeks, but then I have to correct myself. No. It’s been happening for a month.
The first inkling of it was at the end of April, not long after I wrote about actually feeling NORMAL for once. And then the full force of it came down, as in this post. After I wrote that and saw my therapist, I felt a little bit better, but then it just continued. And got worse again last week when I had no energy, and felt myself sliding down deeper. It’s kind of sneaky, because it’s not always crying all the time. Instead, I felt, and mostly still do, feel nothing. It’s like Hyperbole and a Half’s excellent description of depression. Pretending to be happy when others are, but you feel like a frikking Data.
Like hell I want to see the depths of depression again, and go through the times when I had no energy to get up out of my chair, again. I could feel it sinking its heavy tendrils into my arms and legs. I wanted to hack off the tendrils before they got going too bad. It’s kind of like the principles of pain and migraine treatment. If you hit it while it’s young, recovery is far faster.
But that involves actually recognizing that I need help instead of constantly doubting myself. Or falling into the trap of thinking I’m not suffering enough as if that was something to be concerned about. My therapist, husband, and mother in law keeps reminding me to take Ativan if I need it, to take care of myself.
So, after a month, when I realized that it’s clearly not anything to do with just a brief dip in my happy levels, I emailed my therapist last week before our appointment about how crappy I felt. Talking with her helped tide me over until my appointment tomorrow afternoon with the psychiatrist. Thing is, I’m suddenly doubting myself again. I’m not suffering enough. I have no reason to be depressed.
Thing is, I keep thinking that there’s no reason for me to feel this way just because other people who do not have the same issues I have are able to brush it off.
My T and I think that this one situation I deal with nearly daily is certainly not helping me, and is probably contributing to the depressed feelings. I’m just sensitized, I think, to problems other people are more able to shrug off, and it’s been VERY hard for me to work at doing the same thing lately. I grew up thinking that I had to fix everything, and that everything is my fault, and this situation keeps on pressing those buttons that are already on alert. And it’s hard to reset it when it keeps getting pushed.
Maybe it’s not depression. Maybe it’s a weirdo sort of anxiety. Anyway. That’s what my psychiatrist wants to try to figure out before he adjusts or adds to my meds, tomorrow. If he thinks it’s needed at all, so we’ll see.
At least I am learning how to be more proactive in recognizing when I need to get help, instead of minimizing my own issues. And it’s still so weird for me to do that–thoughts about “nothing is wrong with me. EVERYTHING is wrong with me” keeps going through my head.
I need to take my own advice to others and be kind to myself. It isn’t easy because I feel like I must be selfish if I do.
Filed under: Abuse