If I swore, I’d be cussing up a storm. If I believed in a god, I’d be looking skyward and yelling.
But my yells wouldn’t be loud, angry screams. They’d be sobbing words that would be barely audible or understandable, “Why me? I am getting better. I thought I was getting better!”
And I may be getting better. But I don’t want to delude myself. Perhaps I am not getting better. I really have no clue what’s going on.
This post follows no visit with my doctor; it’s no preparation for a visit with my therapist … two common reasons for me to give a report or assess where I am at.
This is just a post about me and my head full of doubts. Here’s what I know:
Again, the strength: I do feel more so much more capable than I had as recently as June and going back to March. I enjoy things like reading and blogging and exercising and hanging out with my puppy and my wife. There are parts of me that feel so much better.
And while I can’t say am anywhere near liking myself, in the span of just a week or two I’ve identified small pathways there. I can see how I can stop detaching me (who at times I rather hate because I don’t understand yet how my new self is working) from my enjoyable experiences I often have. And I can see how that enjoyment can get attached to the new me.
But the last week and a half have been really rough and Anxiety-filled. And it’s been punctuated by a couple of terrible days. Days of self-doubt, yes. But I’ve also fought back from the doubt and said I am just plain old burning-hot angry at some things I think I deserve to feel burning-hot angry about.
But then the doubt comes back. And I want to apologize for this worthless piece of trash I feel I am. And then i start sobbing uncontrollably.
It happened today. Twice.
I woke up at 2 am, filled with Anxiety. I went downstairs with my pup, Franco.
He sat in my lap as I let the Anxiety wash over me (as my therapist advised me is the best thing to do if the Anxiety is already there). And then, once it passed I told myself to write, to blog.
A short span of peace.
My wife wakes up at 5 am. And I have to tell her that I’ve had yet another difficult night in a string of difficult nights. These nights — and several days — set upon me because my therapist (appropriately) identified that I am still depressed. She (and I think or I thought) this was more of a “Michael you’re going through a loss of prior self and need to accept” depression (in other words, temporary depression) rather than “your meds aren’t working” depression.
If … if it’s the “you’re meds aren’t working” depression … I am in for a huge fall. I went through the two months of being bed-ridden depressed recently. I clawed my way out. I do not want, and I am scared to death to have to go through that again.
Thankfully, most indicators don’t say that’s what’s happening.
But that doesn’t mean every thing is hunky dory. I don’t just have to ride this phase through. It’s not like this is just all in my head. I mean, yes, it is in my head. But it’s also about how me, my head, and my “self” relearn to navigate in this world. And, I must say, some of this new reality feels completely unfair.
Unfair, yes, in a “why me?” sense. But also unfair in a burning-hot angry “this [the world / my world] is just plain old not right or fair” sense.
I don’t want to get detailed. Because, first, I may be wrong. I may be in need of a med change. I don’t want a wounded mind to be blaming things that just won’t accept or deserve to accept my blame. I could also just be vulnerable after several nights of very bad sleep as I grapple with some really tough, life-changing stuff my therapist (appropriately) thrust upon me.
But meanwhile, there’s the doubt.
“What’s happening to me” doubt. “Sobbing uncontrollably” doubt.
Followed by periods of the day when I am reminded that: I am strong. I am capable. I am making a ton of difference in the world. And I can even laugh — even at the unfair world — once in awhile.
But the doubt and the pain and the Anxiety are there. Or they were at least just a few moments ago. And they will return. And I will have to just sit and wonder, “Why me? I am getting better. I thought I was getting better.”