Remembering

Today is the one-month anniversary of my Dad's death. He went into the hospital on November 5th and died on the 8th.

I am not at work again. The anxiety is too much. It reaches into my stomach and pulls everything out until there is just a sick feeling. A feeling that I can't rid myself of and cannot control, one that makes me physically uncomfortable.

I feel safer in my house where no one else can get to me, no one else can see me. I can cry or just curl myself into a ball on the bed, lying motionless.

I am going back to see my trusty and wonderful therapist that I left behind in May. My need for him was over until recently. I must talk to someone about this anxiety.

He is a psychologist not a psychiatrist so he cannot adjust my meds. I feel like I could pop Xanax as if they were sweet tarts. I do not do this, however. More often than not, I forget to medicate myself. My diabetes is currently in charge of my poor pancreas, not me. I need to do better with that. Need to take care of myself all of the time, not just once in a while.

Some days pass quickly, in a blur, and others drag on forever. Sometimes hours are eternities and others mere seconds.

I still feel all the feelings that come with grieving: sadness, anger, guilt, weariness, and selfishness. It's like they have become entities that choose times to do battle with me, when I am peaceful they strike to remind me that no, not everything is okay.

Five years ago, on December 5th I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis so Monday was almost a double whammy. Remembering Dad, remembering that you have MS and stress is not good for it. Meanwhile stress swirls in and out, like a rogue winter wind. Thankfully, the MS has mostly remained under good control. There have been a few bad days where I was just too exhausted and it all caught up with me.

Thank goodness for remission.

Thank goodness for my many friends who continue to support me during this time of adjustment. How do you ever get over the loss? Yet you do, your life moves on, and you must become in charge again.

Thank goodness for the fact that even though there were years of bad blood and resentment, that those days were pushed into the past safely and securely while a new relationship had been building in the present. Therapy and meds have literally saved my life, saved myself from being a victim of all the bad, and turned it all around until I faced everything head on and said, "Okay, this is my best me and I'm not going to take anything less than the best."

Thank goodness for therapy and meds, truly. Without them I would not be here today, sitting in this room, typing out my feelings, tentatively feeling an ounce better than I was when I started this.

Thank goodness for my Dad who used to throw me in the pool over and over forcing me to swim to survive. I now love to swim and that is one of his many gifts to me. I am a lucky, lucky girl.