And I’m feeeeling . . . not so good, actually (35)

My bedroom

One of my favorite songs is “Feeling Good” sung by Michael Bublé. I play it a lot, especially when I’m driving around. Sometimes I play it just because I like it and others times with the hope that I will, indeed, be feeling good after listening to it. But lately, no matter how often I play the song, I don’t feel much better. I’m feeling rather down these days.

Since the fire I’ve had some difficult days, but I’ve also had a few days that weren’t too bad. Overall, I would tell myself, I’m not doing too badly considering, you know, everything that’s going on in my life. Except I can’t focus very well. I don’t get enough sleep. I often feel my jaw tightening with tension. I feel like I’m ADD or something; my mind jumps around a lot. This isn’t typical for me, so I know something’s up. I’ve had a few incidents when working or driving or talking when I lose focus. Luckily, no major mistakes or driving accidents or offended friends yet, but I know I need to take some action.

About a month or so after the fire, I felt overwhelmed and sought out a few recommendations from friends who, I knew, had gone through some therapy at one time or another. The problem was that each one was rather far from home or office, and in the end, the time and energy it would take seemed like more a burden than a solution. Or maybe I’m just biased against therapists. My father was a psychology professor and then chair of his department during my teen and college years. We had a lot of psychology profs and grad students at our house for parties and, well, it was interesting to say the least. I grew skeptical about the whole business. When I’m viewing the profession rationally, I realize the good it can do a person to get treatment from a therapist, and I certainly encouraged my son to begin and continue working with one. I’m just not ready to start myself, yet.

Instead, I consider calling my doctor about going back on the anti-depressants I took during the transition to menopause. At that time, I had resisted taking medications despite the fact that many people I knew were taking them for various reasons with generally good results. Then as now, I figured I could pull myself up out of my blahs without help. Nope, no meds for me. But my post-fire life has been too challenging. I worry about my son, his depression issues, and our tense relationship; I grieve for my friend who lost her son to depression and suicide. I miss my home, the comfort of my bedroom, living with my own stuff. I think too much about work, insurance, my contractors, rebuilding my house, selling my house, looking for a new house, my weight, my health, too few close friends, not enough money, and no romance at all. Phew! It’s time to acknowledge that I can’t do it all on my own; I need some help to get through this. So I make the call.

My bathroom

This entry was posted in Depression, House Fire, My Life, Personal Memoir, Son, Stress, Therapy and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to And I’m feeeeling . . . not so good, actually (35)

  1. shoshwrites says:

    Debra – I certainly agree with you intellectually, but the emotions sometimes take longer to catch up. In the past, I have been fairly good about taking ‘me’ time away from my job and parenting responsibilities. Unfortunately, I can’t put all the post-fire/rebuilding tasks on hold, so I soldier on. We do have a Jewish Family Services organization, so I may take a look at that, too. And though I’m not really the ‘freaking out’ kind, I do let out some rants around friends now and then. 🙂

  2. If you had a broken leg you would not expect yourself to just pull out it . You would get expert help. A doctor. You would find one close by because your abilty to travel would be limited by your injury. Or a friend might need to drive you because you couldn’t drive at all. If you couldn’t find a friend you would call 911. You are really strong girl…..but anyone under the kind of presure you have experienced is bound to need outside help. It is corny as all get out but true…we need to put the oxygen mask on ourselves first. It is even harder when you don’t have an intimate partner to support you through this experience. Sometimes we just want to say things and express feelings that might be hard to share with family and friends. Jung calls it the shadow. It is the truth that we think we are not allowed to feel but unexpressed turns into depression. Find a therapist that is near you and someone with whom you resonate. Do you have Jewish Social Services or The Women Helping Women organizations near you? They may be able to provide much help to you at this time and for sure spiritual and emotional support. ((((hugs)))). Debra PS it may not help to know that you are reacting in a normal way to this, it seems maybe even too steady and on top of things. You may feel better if you can let your guard down and freak out a little with someone who can not make it about them, not try to stop you, who will understand how to witness that kind of release and support you.

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