CW: food and anxiety stuff
It’s done.
Yesterday I hit submit on the last action item to hand my father back his life. To manage on his own. Without us. The final good-bye.
The last three weeks have been very tiring. I have been low energy, mostly depressed and doing my best to eat well, self-care and be mindful (gawd that sounds so textbook!) The guilt and sadness runs deep.
The truth is what I’m most “mindful” about are the people I’m surrounding myself with, making sure I am connecting with family and friends. I cannot handle large crowds right now. I canceled, last minute, on a concert as the thought of a screaming venue of rock music and people in seats was creating an anxiety attack. I was also having anxiety about canceling on a friend and what she would think of me. And that anxiety of just getting over myself to go out and have a good time. Once I made the decision I felt such relief. I stayed home in PJs and watched shows with Norman instead. I am reaching out and asking people to get together. It helps.
The truth is my “self-care” is borderline between Yay, I did the thing! and Can I make this hole any deeper? Please?! I find my mind wandering. A lot. On nothing or everything. Or realizing I just spent 20 minutes on Pinterest when I should be writing that status report. Or worse, staring at the monitor with a half-written status report and writer’s block with tears in my eyes. It’s really hard to be functional and in the office when I’m shoving teary tissues into my sleeve or averting my gaze when walking.
The truth is my eating is so-so. I don’t want to cook at all (made more difficult given I don’t like cooking). Even pouring a bowl of cereal sounds like effort. I am not stress eating. I am not overeating. I’m trying to get stuff already made or delivered or eat out to make it easy. I am eating enough. (even in writing that I worry how family and friends will react. I’ve added, deleted and added it back again. I always want to be honest in posts. I do not want anyone stopping by with a meal to watch me eat it. These are the fearful things my anxiety tells me will happen. I am providing my body nourishment. It’s taking more effort than usual. Effort I am willing to invest.)
All of this truth is extremely weird and uncomfortable for me. When I’m spinning like this, I am familiar with going through the motions and emotional eating and Doing What Is Expected. I am not familiar, nor comfortable, with having to remind myself to eat or shower or attempt to be a functioning human.
Depression is such a fucker.
I’m tired of telling my friends I’m just OK. Or barely OK. Or not doing well at all. Or depressed. Or anxious. Or spinning. My depression is telling me I’m not worthy of asking for help from anyone. I’m seriously and honestly afraid they are going to tell me to pull it together and get over it already. My rational mind tells me that the depression is lying, that only three weeks have gone by even if it feels like three years.
Right now I’m living in rapid oddball emotion and that monster is telling me everyone will go away. Everyone. Will. Go. Away. Depression is a total asshole.
So what’s next?
I do some of my best thinking in the car. The last few mornings I’ve flipped between tears and near panic attacks feeling so overwhelmed with the gravity of emotions and turning away from a parent that truly does need support, one I have conflicted love or despise for the expectations put on me growing up.
This morning I was looking for memories as a reminder of what led up this point. In college I brought home a C in Abstract Algebra, my first and only C on a report card. My father started to lecture me that a C wasn’t good enough, that I needed to get Good Grades so I could get a Good Job and make a Decent Living. That he expected better of me. I lost my mind. This course was so hard. C was one of the better grades in the class. Many of my classmates brought home Ds, or failed and had to retake the class. With sobbing tears and physical shaking I explained that this was one of the hardest things I had ever studied, that some were barely passing and that my GPA was not impacted. I just wanted my effort to be acknowledged. I do not remember exactly what he said to me, what I recall is something like — some people got Bs so this is still not good enough. I cried for quite a bit of time after that. And what’s fucked up is during those tears I was trying to figure out how I could do better. When a short time before I was emphasizing how I was doing everything to study and get the best grade I could achieve.
As if by magic, lyrics jumped out at me…
Gritting your teeth, you hold onto me
It’s never enough, I’m never complete
Tell me to prove, expect me to lose
I push it away, I’m trying to move
Hoping for more, and wishing for less
When I didn’t care was when I did best
I’m desperate to run, I’m desperate to leave
If I lose it all, at least I’ll be free
For the first time in weeks I felt…hope. Then I was crying for a different reason. I have been playing this song over and over since and that Hope is sinking in. It’s a relief.
I still feel depressed. My focus today is to solidify that hope in my heart. Earlier this week someone pointed out I’m going through the stages of grief, it honestly had not occurred to me. Now that every task is finished, and I’m feeling some hope, perhaps more healing can begin.
I’m realistic that this is not completely the end. We did leave some doors ajar, it is up to my father to do anything about that. Not me. Or at some point a health emergency arises and who gets the phone call? Or when he eventually passes. Will I feel complete and resolved? Who knows, I cannot worry about that now.
Today — it’s time to think about healing and holding that hope. It’s time to start feeling free.
