The past few weeks…maybe month…have been hard for me. I tried to ignore it at first…maybe didn’t even realize the truth myself. I pretended everything was fine. I faked it…until I was in such a deep hole I couldn’t fake it anymore….and pulling myself out seemed like an insurmountable task.
I stopped getting out of bed early and writing in the mornings…instead I was waiting until the last possible second to get up…even though I love my quiet mornings. I started having a glass or two of wine every evening…even though I had gone 5 months without drinking and felt so much better. My excitement for future plans completely vanished…even though I just bought a new camper and the kids and I have several camping weekends booked for the summer. I stopped enjoying my time by myself…only feeling happy when I was spending time with my kids.
Maybe I would have realized my steady mental decline sooner…or avoided it all together…if it also didn’t coincide with my therapist being on vacation for 3 weeks…maybe not. In any case, by the time I saw my therapist on Wednesday I had “gone quiet inside”. That might seem like a strange way to put it…but when the voices in my head go silent I know that I’m in trouble.
I kind of realized what was getting to me before I sat down on my therapist’s couch…but not the complete extent of it…until I was ugly crying 5 minutes into my appointment. This time of year reminds me of when Jason was first diagnosed…5 years ago now. Even though I have been seeing my therapist for almost a year we have never talked much about the 15 months that Jason was sick. We’ve talked about life before that…and life after he died…but those 15 months have been behind a pretty thick wall in my brain. One that I will peek over briefly…before making a hasty retreat.
My therapist tells me this is progress…that it’s actually a good thing. That this dip in my mental state is a signal that it’s time to talk about 5 years ago…time to bring that pain and those feelings to the surface. And as much as I know she’s right. That the past year has taught me to trust her and that nothing good ever comes from burying pain…I really, really don’t want to go there. But I sobbed my way through therapy…disjointed…probably jumping all over the place. Who knows if I even made sense. I left feeling like I had been hit by a truck. I stumbled my way through my day yesterday. And I decided to take a mental health day today because my therapist told me to be gentle and good to myself…so Dr’s orders right?
I am working on being good to myself…giving myself some grace. Last night I got a haircut. This morning I took care of a couple things that need to be done during the workweek…went to the DMV (anyone else procrastinate on getting a real ID?) and to pick out new eyeglasses. It felt good to cross those things off my to-do list. I took the dogs for a walk. Then I packed up my laptop and my headphones and took myself to the coffee shop. I just love sitting in the coffee shop bopping my head to music only I can hear…writing about a world only I see in my head…all while catching glimpses of the relationships playing out around me. Writer Marie is in her happy place here.
Do I feel better? A bit…but I think mostly because I don’t feel discouraged about this “slump” anymore. It sucks to feel this way, but I know that I’m doing all the right things to find my center again…and that I will find my center again. Pain will always be there…hitting me when I am least expecting it…sometimes forcing me to feel it when I don’t want to…but I’ll be okay. The voices in my head always come back…sometimes they whisper…sometimes they shout…on good days they sing.
Love, Tennis, and Cancer 