So here's the thing about recovery. Every day, EVERY DAY, I've got to adapt. Good day? Wow, now I can make plans, get things done, achieve some goals. Bad day, damn. Guess I have to scale back, take a breather.
What about dizzy days, ever had those? Today is a dizzy day and this week has been full of dizzy evenings. Twirling when I stand, spinning when I lay down, nauseated when I walk kind of days. Time to adapt again; no driving, no coffee (oh, no!), stillness ad infinitum. Create a day of sitting, internal movement, typing and thinking only. It's boring, it's frustrating, but it's part of the whole uphill road I'm on. If I want to get to the top of the damn hill, I've got to keep climbing.
When you first hear the words "post-partum depression", you picture little tiny infants and a woman still in her maternity clothes, unshowered and overwhelmed. But my baby isn't a baby anymore and my maternity clothes are long gone. I'll give you the unshowered, but it's still morning. The overwhelmed comes and goes. In my opinion, (and, hell, this is all about my opinion, right?), the long-term reality of recovery is flippin' ridiculous. There's the medications, the disturbed sleep and appetite, the exhaustion; all of it playing into the roller-coaster of consuming doubt that I'll ever be myself again.
And then? Then, just as I'm starting to get my feet solidly on the ground, my brain starts spinning like a top at every movement. Just as my family is starting to believe again in my stability, the foundations around me... tilt. That's the worst part. Not only do I have to shake it off, call it a new day and adapt, but so does everyone else around me. If I can't drive, someone else has to take the kids to school. If I'm too dizzy to stand and move around, then it's a sure bet I can't take care of my girls by myself since all they do is move around.
I'm frustrated. I'm irritated. This is so OLD, and DONE and FINISHED that I can't believe I'm still even talking about it. On the bright side, I am trying to revel in the heat of my irritation. At least at this point I have the self awareness to see that this is not me, this is not my fault and it's really fucking inconvenient.
Soon, all the Brain Chemistry of Wackiness will again lay placid and calm and helpful. Soon, my husband will be able to leave for work without wondering what on Earth is he going to do to take care of me. Soon, I will be myself again.
I live in the constant anticipation of "soon". But today, I adapt.