March 12, 2016

Speaking of wearing my heart on my sleeve…

Life has been kicking me squarely in the lady balls for a while, and I usually just smile and put on an “everything’s fine” front. I can’t do that anymore. I try to hide behind the smile so no one worries about me; everyone has their own shit to deal with and you don’t need me whining to you–but that doesn’t help me at all. My trying to protect people from my problems isn’t valiant or noble; it’s not caring about myself enough to be able to share.

I’m struggling with Dad’s prognosis. It’s somehow different to know for certain your time is limited with someone you love instead of being taken by surprise by an untimely passing.

I have been having so much increased anxiety lately, and it’s terrifying. Depression is also rearing its ugly head at me again. I sleep too much or not enough; I’ve started smoking more, which is bananas because I was already considered a heavy smoker; I am trying to pull my signature “push people away” move, which is always a great idea and works so well for me. Alienating the ones you love solves everything, right? Right. I find myself wishing I could work all the time because at work, I don’t think about anything but my job. After I’m off for the day, I sit in my car for almost an hour, dreading driving home to only sit in my room alone with my thoughts. I’m neglecting myself more so than I usually do. My room is a mess, clothes are piled in my laundry hamper waiting to be folded, hung, and put away but there they sit untouched. I don’t eat during the day and save my only meal for dinner, which is usually something fast food and disgusting for me. My only saving grace is that I haven’t really turned to alcohol much, as historically speaking, I am fond of drinking nightly, but I haven’t stooped to that level…yet.

I know I need to spend time with Dad while there’s still time to spend, but we end up talking about funeral arrangements or getting him set up for hospice and that he wants to bring in a hospital bed to his house and die there…and I start thinking of all the places I’d rather be than with him, or what a relief it’s going to be when he’s finally gone and I feel like the lowest piece of trash for having that thought cross my mind. (This is actually rather comical, if I do say so myself, but Wednesday, I contacted hospice to see what needs to happen in order to get Dad their services. I was emailing a nurse, giving her information, when she replied back on Thursday, “I’ve been looking into this some more, and it actually looks like we already had a consult with your father on Tuesday. I’ll have the nurse who visited your dad get in touch with you.” Me, being the jerk I am, texted Dad, “how’d the hospice visit go, FATHER? You forget as your power of attorney, I know all and see all.” Well, I thought it was funny anyway.)

I’m sorry to ramble, I’m sorry to put this out into the world wide web, but anymore, it’s the only avenue I feel I can share this stuff, which is righteously fucked up. I apologize for the goddamn therapy session you all suddenly find yourself unexpectedly invited to. I don’t feel comfortable talking to actual people about this because I (mostly) write better than I speak, which is also fucked up. If I had a nickel for every time I’ve lied to someone by saying I’d try harder to communicate, I’d be like Scrooge McDuck diving into his silo full of money, doing the breaststroke in an insane amount of nickels.

My inability to talk is and always will be a problem for me. So far, only a few brave souls have endured this flaw of mine; everyone else leaves.

I digress.

While the feelings of helplessness and depression have gotten uglier, do know I visited a doctor’s office this morning and asked for some assistance in managing these symptoms, and was given a prescription for anxiety medication. I hope to fuck it helps. I need it to help. I already know that when Dad dies, I’m going to be irreparably damaged. It’s already starting to kick in, as the other day I texted Dad and thought, “in a few months, I won’t get to do this anymore.” Cue the waterworks.

Again, I’m sorry for the morose nature of this post, but if you read it, I appreciate your time.

Yours,

E

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