my life; a reality check

There is a commercial out for a movie (I don't know which one) where the parent sends the child off to school and says "Have a day."  Then he turns to the mother and says "I don't want to put too much pressure on him."  My husband said that to me before he left for work the other day and it made me smile.  Now, getting me to smile in the morning is quite a feat these days, so that is noteworthy, but really it was a bit of an ironic smile because of the truth in it. 

Most of the time this blog is all about rainbows and miracles and hope, but sometimes life is harder than my Facebook page makes it look.  This blog is a bit more honest and a little depressing, so if you are here for the miracles, you might want to skip this one.  The real truth of my life now is that with very few exceptions I don't have good days and bad days; I simply have days.  Sometimes it feels more like I have bad days and regular days.  And with time, it seems to get worse/harder, not better/easier. 

Morning is the worst part of the day.  I wake up.  I lie in bed and try to go back to sleep.  Can't do that, so I do what most people do (I think), I go over my plans for the day in my head.  If it is a regular day, not a bad day, my first thought won't be 'oh, crap, I had a 7:00 meeting this morning'.  Even on a regular day, it doesn't matter what those plans are, I don't want to do any of it.  I want to stay in bed.  I want to be alone.  I want to read a book.  I want to cry. 

Next I go over my blessings.  I have a wonderful husband, a son I'm proud of, super good friends, great step-kids, beautiful grandchildren, dogs I love, a beautiful home, enough money to live comfortably, a family that loves me, a cat that tolerates me, my health.  I don't have any right to feel sorry for myself, but the last thing I want to do is whatever it is I am supposed to be doing today.  No matter what it is.  No matter if I made the plan to do it myself because it used to be something I would enjoy.   I just don't want to go.  Don't make me.  (says the voice in my head)

I lose that battle (or win it, depending on perspective).  I get up, brush my teeth, shower, and put on my big girl panties.  I push all thought to the back of my head and go through my morning robotically.  I have already not done things that I keep telling myself I will do.  I did not get up 30 minutes earlier to walk the dogs, I do not put on make up or fix my hair.  I stand in my closet and look for the easiest thing to wear, not the nicest; what can I wear flat sandals with?  What won't feel tight around my ever growing tummy?   I drink a glass of tea and take my vitamins.  If I'm doing well, I will make a fruit smoothie to drink on the way to work and a veggie one for lunch.  If not, I just leave for work.

Now, I am a responsible person, don't get me wrong.  I do what has to be done.  I go to work.  I do my work.  If I make a specific plan to be somewhere and someone is planning on that, I will be there and I will do what I said I would do.  It is usually just myself I let down.  I don't get that workout in, I don't put out that extra effort to look nice, eat healthy, clean the house, go to that social function I said I would attend, or plan a nice dinner. 

What is missing is joy.  I don't have joy in my life.  I used to joke that David was my Pride and Michaela was my Joy.  I think I was right. 

I appreciate beauty.  I will stop for a sunrise or a sunset or a rainbow and enjoy the beauty of this world.  But I can't remember when I felt truly happy, or silly, or goofy, or fun.  I can't imagine something that would answer the question "what would I like to be doing right now, just for fun?"

I know I used to have a sense of humor. I know I used to make really bad jokes and laugh really hard at stupid things. I remember that I used to laugh until I cried on a regular basis (embarassing). I remember that Michaela used to call me cheesy for my weird sense of humor or roll her eyes at me as she laughed, saying oh, god, mom.    And I would try to convince her that it was funny stuff.  I know I used to dance, with my husband or just around the house.  And I used to sing out loud.  I remember that person and I miss her, but I don't think she's coming back. 

If you follow my Facebook or know me in real life, you know that I have had a series of successes lately.  A bunch of really nice things has happened in my life.  Things that should make me happy.  And they do please me.  But not like they should.  I sell an image and smile, but there is no little happy dance.  I am accepted into a huge art festival, I smile a little smile and post it on facebook so everyone will know how wonderful my life is and how much I appreciate my blessings.  But no happy dance.  No running out and shouting to the world.  No celebration.

On the other end of the spectrum, when something not so good happens.  I'm not talking tragedy here, just a little life annoyance.  I can't handle it.  It takes me down from whatever little perch I was holding on to.  I get angry.  I get sad.  I cry.  Sometimes I don't do things or say things because I just can't face the possible consequences...rejection, argument, whatever. 

Finally, comes the end of the day.  At night I reassess my day and determine that I could have done a lot better.  I kick myself around for the things I didn't do and maybe some of the things I did do.  I promise to do better.  I try to make a plan to do better.  I put off going to bed, I can't even explain that one.  I don't want to get out of bed in the morning, but I don't want to get into it at night.    But eventually I do.  And I sleep.  And it starts all over. 

So, no, I am not a crying, whining mess (most of the time).  The people around me seem to think I am ok.  That I am doing just fine.  That I am brave and strong.  That I am out enjoying life to the fullest.  They don't get that I don't feel anything inside but pain.  That I don't feel like I have anything to give, anything to offer.  No, I don't cry every day, but I could.  At the drop of a hat I could be in tears.  Every day.  All day.

Of course, what I just described is clinical depression.  There is no question of that, really.  So I should also say that I was on anti-depressants until a few months ago.  I hated them.  I felt nothing when I was on them.  I didn't cry, but I didn't laugh either.  I thought being off them and being able to feel would be better.  That I would feel more pain, but that I would also feel more joy.  I was willing to accept the downs to get the ups back.  I was wrong.  I feel the pain, but the joy is still gone.  I have been debating going back on them.  At least on them, I had the energy to try to live.  I suppose that is the answer to my own question, right here in black and white.

-- I thought about not sharing this blog because it is such a pity party.  But I know there are a lot of bereaved parents out there who read my blog and I feel it would be a disservice to them to not acknowledge this part of my (our) life.  They should not feel like they aren't coping if they feel this way too.  My blog is intended to offer hope and commiseration for those of us who are lost, but not by hiding behind rainbows and unicorns.  Sometimes just coping is the best we can ask for until a better day comes around.