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.