I started this post in early February. That doesn’t sound all that long ago, but, in some ways, it feels like a lifetime. It was a Sunday. I remember that only because it’s the same day I heard this quote:
The greatest moments of your life are the most difficult ones. That’s the only time you learn.
- — Mandy Patinkin (CBS Sunday Morning, 2 Feb2020)
Entering and formatting the quote is as far as I got with that draft. Until today.
When I started this post, I was still actively working and quite stressed-out. I feel much better these days, in many ways, but know I still have work to do.
Even I am amazed that I am not ready to go back to doing my job. It’s really a very stressful role. Hopefully, I can figure out how to return to that position, IF the position is even still there.
Whatever. I am still working on me. Continuing the slow process of real, serious introspection and applying the lessons I have learned and continue to learn every single day.
It’s been interesting, really. I have been learning a lot and am confident I’ll be a better person when all is said and done. I just wish I had some idea when “done” will be.
Because I am not currently on the job, it is difficult to know if I am recovering and, if I am, how to quantify how much I am improving. That measurement isn’t as important to me personally as it is to my employer. So far, there is no date for my projected return to work. The only thing I do know is that once I am cleared to return to work, I need to give my employer two weeks notice before I can actually resume my duties. I use the term “resume” loosely as there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to return to the same role. I’d only been with my current employer for nine months, so am not protected under the Family and Medical Leave Act of 1993 (FMLA), a US labor law that requires some employers to offer employees job-protected, unpaid leave for qualified medical and/or family reasons.
Basically that means I had to put my job on the line to take time off, which is needed to take care of myself. My job might still be available. I just don’t know if I will be able to do the same job. Or if I will want to. With the current pandemic situation impacting the economy, I don’t know if there will be any job openings when I am ready and able to return to work. But, you know what? I am not worried. I need to get better. This treatment is long overdue.
I continue to see a counselor — his name is Bob — on a regular basis. Next week, I have an appointment with a psychiatrist, who I’ll see in addition to Bob. I have never seen one of them before, so am quite interested to see what they have to say, if they will adjust my medications, etc. (Bob can’t prescribe or assume responsibility for medication management.)
I’ve had issues with depression, off and on, for a little over 30 years. It may even have been longer. I just know that late 1989/early 1990 was the first time I seriously contemplated killing myself. In hindsight, I think that first episode may have been postpartum depression. Or plain, old depression. I mean, my life had just undergone a drastic shift. I was still very young (only 23!), unmarried, knocked up, living with someone that was NOT meant for me. Younger people have done it, I know, and with more than one kid. But I had never so much as babysat or changed a diaper. Not even on a baby doll. Not that I ever had many dolls. LOL. The few I did have only had pull-up pants or undies or something. Nothing as sophisticated as a realistic diaper.
I was 23. So it’s actually a little shy of 30 years. But still. That’s more that HALF of my life. And the first 23 years were a little tumultuous. Not horrible, overall, but there were definitely some major incidents that I may or may not be completely comfortable sharing with the world. That could be what got this all started. (Or, it could be everything else that has gone on in the past five+ years!)
I’ve been taking antidepressants for about one-half or two-thirds of the last 29 years, but never in conjunction with counseling. I did try counseling in the past. I saw one or two different doctors, neither of which was good enough to see through my facade. They took my “I am fine” proclamations at face value and never probed further. My skeletons were hidden VERY well.
Maybe it’s good that the job stress was so intense this year.
I am hopeful. Optimistic, even. This time around, I’m older, more mature, and really ready to exorcise all this shit from my brain and fix whatever is broken. Or at least learn how better to cope with the emotions, anxiety, and stuff that, combined, has me bobbing in this fog of mental incapacitation.
It’s all very weird. Otherwise, I am good. Confident that I am on the right track to figure this all out. Mike and I remain healthy and are keeping our distance from others.
Nothing like social distancing and sheltering in place to enhance the meditative possibilities. I am focused on recovering, and really hoping you-know-what leaves all of my family, friends, loved ones, etc. alone.
