So the last few months have been the roughest of my life. My mother, aged only 59, passed away, while we held her hand in the hospital bed. Then, days later, we had another blow that could have seriously affected my marriage had it not been sorted out so quickly… And then – wham, my dad isn’t my dad.
Since then, I’ve spent time in a bubble, teetering towards sharp objects but managing not to pop the bubble. I’ve been numb and distant. I can waste minutes staring off into space, getting lost in my mumbled jungle of thoughts. I sit and watch a movie, but couldn’t tell you the storyline.
Yesterday I woke up and discovered that the kitchen was a mess, despite me asking my husband to clean it up. And I broke. I burst into tears. Such a trivial thing to set me off. But it was like I opened the floodgates. I knew I needed help. I dressed my children and took myself to my doctor. I laid it all bare, told him everything (He already knew some of it from the previous month’s visit). He smiled and said, “You don’t have to feel like this…”
He prescribed me a low dose antidepressent, something to just take the edge of slightly. And knowing I’ve done something? That makes me feel a little better.
Posted by chelseak, 3rd September 2013