Things were going so well.
My depression was no longer an issue. I was off all my medications and felt strong. I no longer dreaded getting out of bed each morning. I slept well at night and woke with enthusiasm for the day ahead.
My marriage was in a better place than ever before. So much so that I had resigned my job to focus on looking after my family and pursuing my hobby with a view to turning it into a home business. We had decided to get a puppy for our son and had chosen a cute little toy poodle cross. We just had to wait for her to be old enough to come home.
Life was good. We had so much to look forward to and were excited to discover how our new life would unfold. Having been through so much over the previous 3 years and more we were grateful for the peaceful place we finally found ourselves in. We had beaten the odds by not just salvaging our marriage but building something wonderful together.
When a routine check up with my lady GP turned into an urgent mammogram and ultrasound I didn't believe anything could be wrong. I was sure I'd been through more than enough already and the future was secure. When the mammogram turned into an urgent return visit to my GP I still didn't believe for a minute I would get bad news. My husband offered to come with me to the GP but I laughed it off and said I'd be fine, that nothing was wrong.
"You have breast cancer." The words echoed around in my head but didn't sink in. When she passed me a box of tissues I just looked at it confused. When I looked back up at her the look of sympathy and concern on her face finally penetrated the fog. "But I don't have a lump!!!" She explained to me that I did indeed have a lump but it was almost impossible to detect without the scans.
That day was the start of the hardest year of my life. I'm sure it was the hardest year of my husband's life too. It was also the start of massive changes in our relationships, our priorities and our hopes and dreams. That day in November 2011 changed everything. The following 12 months, with all it's horrors, set us on the path we are on today. It taught us that together there is NOTHING we can't achieve. Together we are heading in the direction of our dreams.
When I'm feeling brave I will write more about that particular journey ... because although it was a very difficult time it also made everything else possible. It taught me that there is ALWAYS a silver lining even if it's not obvious at first.
24 October 2013
7 October 2013
The Void
Some days it was just too hard to get up and face the day. I would stay in bed with my eyes closed hoping it would all go away. The constant lump in my throat, the tears poised just waiting, the desperate sadness. Nothing could break through the fog of misery I lived in following my breakdown.
And then came the pills.
In truth the medications didn't break through the misery but rather they suppressed it. Suppressed everything. Eventually, when my health care professionals (don't get me started on what I think of them using the words "health care" in describing what they do) decided they had me on the right blend of chemicals to "fix" my faulty brain, I became a blank page. I didn't feel miserable anymore. I didn't feel anything most of the time. Sometimes the anger broke through but I had a pill for that! Mostly I felt numb. Not miserable or depressed but also not happy, excited or enthusiastic, not anything much at all, good or bad.
Within the void I didn't care enough about my life, my family and friends, to try to resolve anything. And so bit by bit my life fell apart around me. I distanced myself from my friends and family. I did as little as possible with my son and I fed my marriage of 10 years to the dogs. In my mind it was over. Instead of working to resolve our problems I was willing to throw it all away. And we came close, extremely close, to the point of no return.
At some point I started to question the medications I was taking. But nobody was interested in helping me get off them. Not until I went to my GP with the ultimatum "either you help me get off this stuff or I'll do it on my own". I think he saw how determined I was and so agreed to help me. It wasn't an easy or quick thing to do but once I was off all of them I actually began to care about what was happening to my world.
I started to doubt the path I was on. I wanted to save my family if it was possible. I didn't want my son to miss out on seeing his dad. I didn't want to put him on a plane once or twice a year to visit and go through the trauma of constant goodbyes. And I didn't want to be alone.
And then came the pills.
In truth the medications didn't break through the misery but rather they suppressed it. Suppressed everything. Eventually, when my health care professionals (don't get me started on what I think of them using the words "health care" in describing what they do) decided they had me on the right blend of chemicals to "fix" my faulty brain, I became a blank page. I didn't feel miserable anymore. I didn't feel anything most of the time. Sometimes the anger broke through but I had a pill for that! Mostly I felt numb. Not miserable or depressed but also not happy, excited or enthusiastic, not anything much at all, good or bad.
Within the void I didn't care enough about my life, my family and friends, to try to resolve anything. And so bit by bit my life fell apart around me. I distanced myself from my friends and family. I did as little as possible with my son and I fed my marriage of 10 years to the dogs. In my mind it was over. Instead of working to resolve our problems I was willing to throw it all away. And we came close, extremely close, to the point of no return.
At some point I started to question the medications I was taking. But nobody was interested in helping me get off them. Not until I went to my GP with the ultimatum "either you help me get off this stuff or I'll do it on my own". I think he saw how determined I was and so agreed to help me. It wasn't an easy or quick thing to do but once I was off all of them I actually began to care about what was happening to my world.
I started to doubt the path I was on. I wanted to save my family if it was possible. I didn't want my son to miss out on seeing his dad. I didn't want to put him on a plane once or twice a year to visit and go through the trauma of constant goodbyes. And I didn't want to be alone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)