It’s very early on Saturday morning, and it has been a long while since I have felt like writing. So where am I in this grief journey? Well… the abrupt cessation of writing seems to coincide with about the time I was prescribed flouxetene (generic Prozac in case you are wondering)… my head doctor as well as my therapist seemed to think this was needed as I approached the 6 month anniversary of Carson’s death. I was hesitant to take it, mostly I think pride as well as a bit of “shame” factor, although I’m not sure if pride and shame can really be separated. I never feel it’s a bad thing if a friend or acquaintance seeks help for depression or anxiety yet for some reason it’s a very hard thing for me to accept in myself. Our dad taught us to be “tough” I think is the main driver there, and a pill seems to equate with weakness. Anyhow, I got over that although it crosses my mind fairly often.
Ironically, after having this “shame” conversation with my therapist, who gently urged me to take the shrink’s advice (they work in conjunction sharing their notes about me), she added that it wasn’t necessary to share with anyone that I was taking an anti-depressant. In a way that is funny to me and in another way I want to question her comment next time I see her… it’s as if she was validating my shame. Oh well. I fully understand the stigma of mental health issues, but at the same time, I feel a need to share that it’s okay… who else may be suffering because of their own shame issues surrounding not being able to “snap out of it”?
So what has Prozac actually done for me? I have a very narrow range of emotions and tend to stay “between the lines” is how I explained it to my shrink last week. He suggested increasing the dosage (I’m on the lowest dosage) but I told him I didn’t think that was necessary. I can laugh although not as long or loud, and I still cry although not as often or long. Static. I have also noticed in the last month I feel like Carson is coming back home. I’m not sure if it’s the head medicine or what is called the “denial” phase of grief, or perhaps a combination of the two. Intellectually I know he is not, I visit his grave, I see his little wreath with his picture attached in a plastic pouch, so yes, I know my Carson is dead and buried. But I feel I’m waiting on him to come home just any day also. It’s hard to explain.
I do feel more focused at work although not at the level I was prior to December 2. I suppose the meds have helped with that, as well as more time passing. Mostly I feel I’m in limbo, waiting for something to happen or change. And I wonder if I will feel this way for the rest of my life? Waiting instead of just living each day.
I still need to have something scheduled to look forward to; currently it is going to Abingdon for our annual 4th of July foodfest. This year sadly, no boys there. The nephews have all moved off…. Carson is gone. My father’s absence is felt so strongly each year at the 4th because I believe that was one of his favorite things, being with the family enjoying a hot summer day with lots of great food and proudly watching his grandsons. We traveled to Baltimore in May to spend the week with my sister, was a nice time. I’m just running out of things to plan to look forward to.
What else has helped me? Outside of the head med, I am hopelessly in love with my dog that I got end of March. She has been terrific therapy for me. I have been a confirmed cat person for at least 30 years and never thought I could become so attached to a dog, but I have. She makes me laugh alot. She even sleeps with me now and I said that would never happen. Having supportive and loving friends, family and co-workers has helped alot too, I always knew I was blessed with great people in my life but it’s the tough times that confirm this. New friendships formed through Listening Hearts group, which is a bereaved mother’s group, has been a lifesaver as well. Having the kids still come around, I am always so glad to see them all. It’s an honor to be allowed in their young lives, a time in their lives that generally the last thing they want is some middle aged woman to hang with here and there. They are so sweet to come by or call fairly regularly.
I suppose in a nutshell, my life is “row row row your boat…. life is but a dream” right now. Not so merrily, merrily, merrily however.
