Monthly Archives: March 2015

Metamorphosis – gently climbing out of the cocoon

Standard

My fingers get caught on the strings, my hands and legs are tangled, words stuck in my throat make it hard to breath. I am entering the metamorphosis of my new life.

Cocoon FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Image courtesy of Michelle Meiklejohn/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Something has changed for me, or about me, or around me, or maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s the weather. March 20th heralded the first day of spring (a date I always remember because it was Bob’s birthday). Though it’s not spring-like temperatures there is hope of warmer days and more sunshine. Maybe I’m just starting to feel better and this is the next phase in my new life without Bob. Maybe I’ve come to realize that if I am to go on with my life – something I had a hard time believing after Bob died – then I have to start moving ahead. Life can’t look like what it did when he was with me. This is another life I have to create without him. Just saying that seems almost unfathomable. I could never see a life without him before.

So what about my fingers, hands, legs and words caught in my throat? It’s all about moving in a new direction, I think. One thing I decided was to learn to play the guitar. I’ve had guitar hanging around collecting dust for years. I bought it for our daughter, but it never panned out for her, piano was her main musical interest so she left the guitar with me. I kept saying I was going to take lessons but never did. Now I’m about six weeks into my lessons.

My fingers are getting stronger but strumming is frustrating. Trying to change chords quickly ends up sounding like a sick chicken when I don’t press down hard enough on the strings. I repeat the sequence of chords and strums over and over and over again, hoping that it will eventually kick in. I’m not going to give up. I love music and just being able to play a few songs and sing to myself is enough to make me happy. No one will judge me and it fills my time with something I enjoy. So I will keep strumming and repeating the chord progressions until it sounds more natural. Hopefully that will happen soon.

My body aches from little exercise. I walk most weekday mornings with a couple of friends but I haven’t been working out and, truth be told, I don’t really enjoy it. I do love swimming but it’s easy to talk yourself out of going to do some laps when it’s cold outside. As a freelance writer my schedule it’s 9 to 5 so it’s also easy to tell myself I will have to miss a fitness class rather than leave my desk. But last week that changed.

Three days a week I make a concerted effort to attend two Aqua Zumba classes and a Pilates class. I’m uncoordinated but no one can see if my left foot and my right arm are moving when it should be my right foot and my left arm because we’re all jumping and splashing in the water. I move constantly for an hour. It’s invigorating and my clumsiness has me laughing.

Pilates is a huge challenge. I got into it years ago but now I’m out of practice and out of shape. The class is advanced but I persevere. I have a couple of Pilates DVDs so today I watched them and did the workouts following the instructions. Hopefully the week I’ll do better, and the week after progress more, baby steps.

My fingers get caught on the strings and my hands and legs tangled, but what about the words stuck in my throat?

My grief journey path has included acknowledging my depression and anxiety and getting both under control. As well as adjusting my medication I’m taking part in group therapies. The most recent is Behavioural Cognitive Therapy (CBT) for Depression. According to the Canadian Association of Cognitive and Behavioural Therapies, “CBT is based in the science of thought, behaviour, emotion and physiology.

Butterfly freedigitalphotos.net

Image courtesy of arkorn/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

In my case it isn’t an issue of getting out of bed each day and functioning as a ‘normal person.’ Mine is about controlling my thought patterns. I do a lot of negative self-talk, suffer from low self-esteem (no amount of awards or kudos seems to make me believe otherwise) and exhibit constant self-­sabotaging behaviour. I’m learning about the harm negative self talk can do to self-esteem and the mantra “would you say that to someone else?” needs to be ingrained in my psyche. Change generally doesn’t happen overnight but I hope this is truly the beginning of my metamorphosis and not just a temporary high. I know I will have good days and not­-so-­great days, but I’m hoping I can hold onto more positive than negative.

I’m thankful for the friends I’ve made and those who have stuck with me through my journey.

May you too begin to see a metamorphosis, even just something small, as
spring arrives.

Advertisements

Alone and Lonely

Standard

The last post I wrote was when I was in crisis. I am through that portion of the journey, with lots of help. I have been in group therapy and continue this route. I am not crazy, but I am more aware of my mental health issues – a propensity toward depression and anxiety. I understand the signs. I have been good in my healing. But I am still alone and lonely.

I haven’t written much since I fell apart. The main problem was that my antidepressants weren’t working. That means that they were actually triggering massive depression. Over the course of a week when I was in hospital they changed my medications and I was given some unique insight into depression and anxiety and how I fit the mold, and how to break the mold, if I want to.

I have good friends and a stable life, but I have dual personas. One is the ‘normal’ person that most people know. I get up and attend to my ‘to do’ list in life. I feed the cats. I do work that’s presented to me. Even when I don’t feel happy, I try my best to feel happy. Sometimes it’s an uphill battle against anxiety and depression and still the grief; that lingering, ever-present grief.

March 10, 2013 Bob called me to say he was going into emergency. Last year at this time I was re-living every moment. This year I’ve been spared the moment-by-moment memories, but there are always reminders.

It’s time to file taxes and as I go through my past year’s files I am struck by the fact that last year was the last year anyone would file taxes for you, Bob. When I see your name on all the documents I felt sick. I’m not sure why. Am I still in denial? Sometimes, like in the first months following your death, I think this is just a dream and I’ll wake up…

Yesterday was the first day of spring. It would have been your 66th birthday. This year I will be 60. We would have celebrated this milestone together. But I just want to stay in bed when that day comes.

IMG_0309My cats – Cassie and Joey – are my blessing. They keep me focused on the need to get out of my bed, even when I want to stay buried under the covers. I get up and feed them. I laugh at their antics. I live each day as it comes. But it still isn’t the way I wanted it to be.

My time in the hospital changed how I view the world and how it views me. It brought my family together, and created small tears in other places. It brought me new friends, and others drifted away.

I seek answers and have found them in other worldly ways, through mediums who speak with those on the other side. Whether you believe in it or not, it has brought me some comfort, and the messages are the same, no matter the medium, no pun intended (but that says a lot, at least to me, about the validity of the messengers and the messages).

I start a new therapy this week. I cried my way into the acceptance phase asking, “Do I have to be depressed to write the best I can? I need to find out.” Maybe I will, or maybe I won’t. Maybe writing needs to be fueled by that single glass of wine on a lonely Saturday night with two cats in the dark because I’ve been writing this and haven’t turned on the lights in the house.

I am lonely, Bob. I have been told you come and brush your hands along my hair and brush your fingers gently across my face, that you say you never told me “I love you” enough. It’s true we weren’t gregarious in our affections. I am told that you are always with me, but I don’t see you and I don’t really feel you…maybe it’s not rational thinking, but I hope you are somewhere safe and happy.

I keep saying, this isn’t the life I chose, it chose me. I don’t know where it will take me. And I’m not sure that anyone cares but me. I miss you. And I’ll say it now, “I’m lonely.”