Raising the Bar

I left work at 1:00pm yesterday due to a horrible cold that made staying awake feel like the most difficult challenge I have ever faced in my lifetime. I was in bed by 2:00pm and I didn’t wake up until today at 6:00am. That’s a sixteen-hour refrain from my waking state. I guess my body needed the rest. I have been going out every single night and all day on the weekends. My body said “Stop.” and then stopped me.

I called in sick today, but worked from home for half a day because the guy that covers me at work was on vacation. Still, I was happy to have not had to venture out into the ice cold at 8:00 in the morning, even if my heating bill is going to send me out in search of a second job.

I did get up and go through the motions of getting ready this morning. I made it into the shower, got dressed and even put on my makeup, but when the time came to blow-dry my hair, I knew I was staying home. My eyes would not stay open without tearing up and sneezing seemed to be my new favorite hobby.

Even as I dialed my boss’ number, though, I knew I was staying home because I was sick and because I was depressed. I have noticed depression coming on more and more over the last few weeks. I am thankful for my level of self-awareness because I recognized the signs. I had lost interest in almost everything, my job included, and I have been having a tough time coping with the end of things such as my class, my show and my therapy with Clay.

Today I went to CVS to pick up my new prescription for Zoloft. I have decided to begin taking an antidepressant again because if I don’t try to help myself, I won’t ever feel better. I am tired of crying and tired of talking about something that happened two years ago. Nobody expects me to still be upset and I feel as though most people are tired of hearing me talk about my loss. None of that will shape how much I talk about my loss, but taking an antidepressant could free me up to take larger strides into my future. If I don’t try my hardest to keep moving forward, I might never know the joy that my future holds.

This morning was a testament to how depressed I can get. I logged onto my computer and began working. My computer malfunctioned and so did my thought process. I began by thinking, “My fucking computer is acting quirky.” and then thought, “I hate this fucking laptop.” and “I hate my job.” and then “I HATE MY LIFE!” and then before I even knew what hit me, I was curled up on the futon crying, “My husband died.” Behavior such as that is hardly conducive to a bright, new future. Perhaps Zoloft will help me raise the bar on my base level of optimism, which, on a good day...actually, on most days is at a pretty good level. My problem is sustaining that level over a vast amount of consecutive days. My moods are not consistent. I need to learn to let go. I need to find a way to convince myself that letting go is not synonymous with forgetting.

I am considering attending the bereavement group at Dana Farber again if the mediator will have me. She seemed to want only those who have been grieving for 6 months to a year. Even she seems to have placed a statute of limitations on grief.

I think, a lot, about how much good I could do for others and for myself if I just reached out and tried to help somebody else in life. I want to do that. I hope to be able to do that someday. I need to harness my own pain, first.