To those of you who have followed me for a while, hang in here….I’m going to repeat..and possibly a repeat, of a repeat, of a repeat.
I want you to imagine you are a 47 year old. I suppose male or female, it doesn’t matter because the same could have happened to a male. Which it did, but my husband adjusted.
Move from the only area you have known for 47 years—3000 miles away.
Lose identity and sense of self due to kids flying solo.
Lose 4 family members in a 6-month time frame. Two one day apart and the last one 3 months later.
Have gallbladder surgery but end up still feeling sick so a visit to the emergency room was in order. While having the issue taken care of, the doctor informs you have a nodule on your lung.
Yes, the big C.
How would you deal with that?
Physically, I healed but my mind went deeper into a depression. Far beyond the grief. I had to deal with mortality.
I did what I was supposed to…I found a therapist who later suggested I see a psychiatrist to push some pills on me.
The pills did a good job, but I’ll tell you, it really makes me question putting something in my mouth from a bottle smelling of chemicals.
Then my sister died. I died a little that day as well. The depression got all mangled with the grief and I never knew if I were in the stages of grief or if I was depressed. All I knew is that I didn’t want to exist any more. I just wanted to fade off like a ghost.
But I had my pill pusher, and he kept prescribing different pills. He never answered my question if it was normal for a person to be taking so many different drugs. The pills continue to work for the most part.
But deep down, I feel strong. I know that I will have more losses in my life. Life changes constantly. I have never backed down from a challenge and I don’t see why I am letting this pill pusher give me so many drugs.
So, a little temper tantrum is a-going to happen in March when I visit him next. Gradually, we will taper off this medicine cocktail. I hope to get rid of most of it. In order to counteract what the chemicals are supposed to be doing, I am going to take care of my mental health by taking care of my physical body. By listening to when I need to pull back and take a breather before things spiral. To walk myself through my fears with my head held high. To participate in life whether I feel like an odd duck or not. Who’s perfect anyway?
Am I blowing smoke? Maybe, but for now it’s coming out of my ears. I have let doctors live my life for me for the last 7 1/2 years. It’s time I take the controls with the lessons I have learned from them.
Yes, I can fly and be successful. Will my wings get clipped somewhere along the way? Possibly, but I know where I can get some drugs.