Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Removing the Mask and Revealing the Darkness

It's been a while.  It was sort of as if the journey was over when I finished treatment.  That's not true.  Not at all.

Things haven't gotten any easier for me emotionally.  It was probably last April when I started looking for a therapist.  With the state insurance plan I had at the time, that wasn't easy.  Almost no one took it.  In July I finally had a first appointment.

With the stress I was going through from treatment, recovery, losing my relationship, friends, job, body parts, and the life I used to have.... it all got to be too much.  Toss in one medication I started in February that can cause "depression or suicidal tendencies".   I was a mess.  And that's putting it mildly.

No matter what I did to try to reach out for help, it just wasn't there.  It's hard to ask friends for help.  Jim was already overloaded with everything else with me, and honestly, I don't think he realized how bad I was.  No one did.  But I was sinking down deeper and deeper into a major depression.

Last June was the breaking point.  Another big argument with Jim.  I couldn't handle anything else.  I needed help and couldn't find it.  I didn't know what to do.  I knew I needed help!  But how?  Where??  Everything was so dark, so overwhelming.  I had no stability, no security.  I didn't know what I was going to do about anything and I was terrified. 

In front of Jim, I grabbed my basket of medications, then went into the bathroom and locked the door.  I'm not sure how many pills I took before Jim literally knocked the door down to stop me.  He had me at the emergency room less than 10 minutes later.  I just wanted to fall asleep and not wake up.  I couldn't take the pain anymore.  I was so sad, so hurt, just stuck in this deep dark hole with no way out.  I just wanted it all to stop.

Jim knew it was a cry for help.  It was in front of him.  He knew I had been trying to find a therapist but couldn't.  He knew that's what I needed.

The emergency room disagreed and transferred me to a psychiatric hospital, locked ward.  I did NOT belong in that place.  I still have nightmares about it and the people who were there.  Sad part is, not once did I get any therapy while I was there.

I was transferred in on a Wednesday.  Thursday counted as day 1.  It was a 3 day hold and they don't do discharges on weekends.  Lucky me got to stay over that weekend until Monday.  It was 5 days from HELL.

The hospital messed up in trying to get me a therapist, got me someone who did NOT take my insurance.  I was a mess when I realized that.  The ONE thing I wanted from them and it didn't happen.

Somehow I was able to find somewhere that did take my insurance, a state, public center.  When I called, they first told me it was a 12 week wait!  For a therapist?  How is that helpful?  I ended up with my first appointment about 4 weeks later.

My medications have changed and Ativan has recently been added as needed.  Between that and a great therapist, I was starting to get the help I needed.  My therapist is a cancer survivor, so she understands the emotional trauma the diagnosis can cause better than others. 

I was officially diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder and PTSD, all related to the cancer diagnosis.   It hasn't been easy.  There are some bad days and some not so bad days.

One of the biggest challenges is still about reaching out for help.  Two years ago, when I was losing my hair to chemo, I tried to reach out to people I thought were friends and I was knocked down hard.  I think that whole situation and how abandoned  I felt had a big impact on my emotional health.

Most days, if I leave the house, I put on my mask.  The happy face.  Who would want to see the dark despair that I feel most days?  How could I share that?  I couldn't handle rejection again.  I'm not emotionally strong enough for that.

There are very few people who really see me as I really am.  There are very few people I have been honest with and shared some of what I have been through.  Only Jim knows all of it, because he lives it. That's not healthy for me either- and he's another story and another big part of my issues.

Growing up, whenever we had an argument in my house, when it was done, it was over.  That was it.  Never discuss it, never bring it up.  Why talk about it?  Why bring up something unpleasant?  So just put on the happy face and pretend all of that ugliness from arguing never existed.

Everyone has difference sides of themselves, different parts of your personality that is shared with different groups.  Family may see one side, another side for work, and then another side for friends... and some friends see different sides too.  Does anyone know all sides?  The whole you?

Jim is the only person who knows me completely, all sides.  A few friends have seen most sides, but most people only see the "good" sides.  The happy sides.  They don't know the sadness, emptiness, hurt, despair, terror, darkness.  I don't share that.  I don't let people see that.  I put the mask on.  Being real would make me too vulnerable.  That's scary. 

I try so hard every day to do something to get through this, to make progress.  I consistently go to my therapy appointments, do all the "homework" she gives.  I've tried hard to get out of the house more and to be more social and active.  But it isn't easy.  Some days I can barely make it from the bed to the sofa.  There have been days when the only reason I showered was because Jim had already seen me in the same clothes for 2 days and I figured I should have something else on when he got home from work.  If I was living alone?  I'm not sure I would make it out of bed, forget about leaving the house or even showering.

Several months ago, I de-friended a few people on Facebook.  Part of the group I was friends with 2 years ago.  There were 11 of us.  I now talk to 3.  Seeing pictures they would post, spending time together, doing things that I was once a part of, it hurt.  It reminded me of the life I used to have and the life I lost.  To protect myself, I had to stop seeing it.

Out of the ten friends from that group, I had falling outs with two, although with one, we emailed a bit and sort of let it go.   I consider three of them friends now.  Two- I wasn't ever really close to them.  The other three.... I gave up.  Emails, texts, messages were barely returned, and if they were it was to say how busy things were and that they couldn't make plans.  Then I'd see pictures of them getting together without me. (which is why I felt like I had to defriend them.)

A few days ago, a friend from that group posted pictures on Facebook.  There was nine of them together at her house.  She called it the "running group".  The 11 of us had met over the years through the Couch to 5K trainings that I had organized.  That I had organized.

Seeing those pictures, all of them together, the "running group", it hurt more than I could possibly express.  It was another reminder of the life I lost.  It brought back everything and everyone I had lost. 

The person I was before cancer no longer exists.  She died.  With cancer, I lost my health innocence, my breasts, my ovaries, my hair, my job, my memory, friends, my relationship with Jim, my home, my independence, the lifestyle I had with exercising, running, kickboxing, the ability to naturally get pregnant, the option to breastfeed IF I can ever have a child (I have my freeze babies, but my insurance doesn't cover any infertility- even for cancer survivors.  It isn't "medically necessary".)

The other day I wrote in my journal.

I try so hard to work through everything and to feel better but it doesn't matter.  I keep getting knocked down.  I hate my life and I hate who I am.  I hate everything that happened to me and I'm struggling so much with everything I have lost.
The person I was no longer exists.  And I don't know who I am anymore.  Every dream and hope I had for my life is now lost, gone. And here I am- lost and alone.  I'm having such a hard time with all the losses.  I feel so along.  I am so broken and so hurt.  So damaged.  

I feel lost, broken, damaged, empty and alone.  Sometimes I do genuinely enjoy a moment.  Here and there.  Nights are the hardest.  I can't distract myself from the thoughts when I'm lying in bed. 

It took me a long time to write this, to share this.  Only a few people know about my depression and fewer are aware of how severe it really it.  Posting this is scary.  It's removing the mask.  It's letting others look down into darkness. 

I want things to get better.  I want to be happy again.  I want to have hope again and have dreams again.  Right now I'm not there.  Right now it seems like all of the dreams I once had are unobtainable and out of reach. 

Maybe by being honest, by taking off the mask and showing another side, maybe just maybe it could help someone else from having to through what I went through.  Maybe someone won't feel so alone.  Maybe someone will understand.  Maybe people will reach out more to friends who are having a hard time.

Maybe one day things will be better.  Maybe. 














1 comment:

  1. no posts for almost eight years. :-( Heartbreaking journey.

    ReplyDelete