To tell you this breaking news: Zack and I are spending our first night in our NEW HOUSE. And, I gotta say, it is pretty crazy cool.
Also, moving is exhausting, so we are going to bed super early. Good night.
(!)
Well, I said that I was hoping that my post yesterday would get the ball rolling, and boy did I ever get what I was asking for.
I have a lot of people in my life who love me and care about me. What’s more is the people who care about me are real go-getter types–the kind that like to DO things about stuff. So when they ask me what they can DO to help me, and I say, “I don’t know. Why? Did you have anything in mind?” They are like, “UH, yeah. Here’s the plan. Let’s get started.”
So that’s how I wound up talking to a psychiatrist today. I didn’t have any intention of talking to a psychiatrist today. I was going to wait until we got settled into the new house, and then I was going to go to see a counselor. Instead, the go-getters in my life saw to it that I got the help that I need–the help that I’ve needed for months now. They saw to it by literally walking me to help’s front door and dropping me off.
Today wasn’t the worst day I’ve had recently. In fact, it wasn’t even a particularly bad day at all. That made for funny conversations with the doctors and nurses doing my initial psych evaluations. Usually people are at the bottom of their proverbial barrels before they finally go in to an office to see a doctor; I know that’s been my pattern at least. So when the nurse asked me to rate today on a scale of 1-10, I was like, “Uh, well, today’s actually been alright. But these last few months have been pretty rough. So, you mind if I give you a range?”
I’m feeling thankful today. Thankful for a husband, family, friends, and co-workers who care about me. Thankful for the go-getters who surround me, and help me when I don’t have the energy to help myself.
I should tell you the truth. The truth is, I’ve been incredibly sad for the last few months.
Every sentence in my mind these days starts with the phrase “I should.” Therapists don’t look kindly on the word “should” or the sentiment behind the word. It implies that there are expectations that I’m not meeting. And those expectations, I discovered during my last round of therapy, are often ones that I’ve placed upon my own shoulders. I should, according to my own plans, be doing a lot of things that I’m not doing.
I should be packing.
I should be running and doing yoga.
I should be studying up on Critical Care Nursing.
I should be spending more time with my family and friends.
I should be blogging every day, just like I have been for the last few years.
I should be happy.
I should be really, really happy.
But I’m not.
The depression is different this time than it was last time. The best way that I can describe it is to say that it’s more intermittent. I’ve been trying to convince myself that the fact that the heavy moments are waxing and waning means that the depression isn’t as severe this time around, but that’s just not true. It’s just as bad. It’s worse, even.
I can’t explain it. I don’t know why. I have every reason in the world to be happy right now. Supportive and kind husband. New house. New job. The life that I wanted is all falling into place. But if you were to be a fly on the wall in my house, all you would see is me sleeping. I don’t call people. I don’t go see the people who love me. I don’t do anything. I just go to sleep.
This time the lies in my head are louder than they ever have been. I hear that my boss made a bad choice by hiring me; I hear that I’m a risk that doesn’t pan out. I hear that I’m not worth the trouble that I cause. I hear that everyone’s life would be easier if I wasn’t around. I tell myself that all of these things are lies, but that doesn’t make them stop.
I should be doing the things that I know I can do to make myself feel better. I really should. I should start by trying to eradicate ‘should’ from my vocabulary again. I know that eating well, exercising regularly, setting a sleep schedule (and following the sleep schedule), and talking about what I’m feeling are helpful to me. I know that not talking about things, sleeping all the time, and existing on a diet of red wine & baked Cheetos are not good for me. I should be calling the therapist’s phone numbers that are sitting in my inbox, a gracious gift from a dear friend who did the leg work of getting recommendations for me. (I’m terrified of going back to therapy, ever since my last therapist almost killed me. But, that’s a discussion for another day.) Perhaps this is the first step. Perhaps not telling you all how I’m feeling is my version of living in denial. If so, then just imagine me standing in front of a room. Hi, my name is Sarah, and I’m wildly depressed. Again.
There are good days, though. The good days give me hope. Last time, the depression was steady; I generally felt the same amount of sadness every day. This time, I have incredibly good days, and then, days that are so dismally bad that Zack worries about my health and my acute decision making, and offers to come home from work to be with me. Those days are very, very bad days.
I wish I had an eloquently hopeful way to sum this up, but I don’t. I guess I’m just hoping that coming out about how I’m really feeling will finally motivate me to do something about it. Fingers crossed.
A eulogy for Cruz, written by my dad.
There are two kinds of cat people. Some have their cat’s claws removed, and some do not. The first person keeps his cat indoors because he can no longer protect himself. The other lives in fear that the cat who rules his life may revert to some not-too-hidden instinct and shred some valuable body part. You can tell by the condition of my sofa which kind of person I am. My cat, Buio, scoffs at the idea of a litter box. He tells you when he wants to go outside to do whatever he pleases. Yes, there are dangers out there, but the dangers may be greater for every bird, squirrel and rabbit in our neighborhood. Tigger (my childhood cat) went where he wanted, lived a long life, and died of cancer in your mothers arms. What a great life.
We lost Cruz today. Somehow his adventures ended in injuries that were fatal. There is sadness in the thought of his passing, but the story of his adventures is great.
He began life in a small post-college apartment, forced to endure living with a yappy dog that he could whoop with one paw. They became wonderful friends and played constantly when Cruz was in the house. He already came and went when he wanted.
Soon Sarah moved to Camp Eagle in the Texas Hill Country and it fell to dear old dad to transport the beast across Texas. I thank God that I am still alive. That cat knew I was coming. We somehow managed to catch him, wrap him in a towel, and make it to the car. Being the free range cat people that we are, we do not own a cat carrier, so we placed him in the back and began to pray. He moaned, pouted, glared. We knew that our lives were in danger. For some reason, he chose not to kill us, but I do not think that he ever truly forgave me.
Sarah asked if she should let him outside in this new environment that included hawks, wild hogs, and even mountain lions. I said that is where he belongs. He has an air of self-preservation. He is big, just as mean as he has to be, smart, and he has claws. I pitty the fool that messes with him. He quickly found a friend in a wild cat that lived on its own in a nearby barn. Together they ruled the camp. Mountain lions respected their territory.
Life led Sarah to calmer surroundings in Fort Worth. An older, quiet neighborhood with different challenges for a giant tabby. Sarah asked the cat to live this new life, and he agreed under certain rules. A small window on the glassed-in front porch remained open so that Cruz could come and go as he pleased. Every day he came in, he loved, ate, purred, talked, and made sure the dog was in her place as his minion, and then he ventured out again to rule the neighborhood.
The reign has now ended. He gave pure cat love on his terms, as a true cat does. Sweet cat love. Now he plays with Tigger and Ada. His claws are intact.
We will miss you.
There are some Scenes From Life that you hope you never encounter. I encountered one of them today.
Zack and I were on the couch in our pajamas this morning when our neighbor knocked on our door. She asked, “Do you guys have an orange tabby cat?” She told us that there was a cat beside her house, and it was injured. She didn’t know what happened or how bad it was, because she hadn’t wanted to scare him away. She just recognized him from afar, and came to get us.
It was Cruizer, half-buried in a pile of leaves between two houses. He didn’t move as I walked up to him, and as I got closer, I could see that his face was crusted over with a mixture of body fluids, including dried blood. Both of his eyes were crusted shut. He hadn’t come to the house for two days, Zack told me, as I reached down and scooped him up. I was sure he was dead. He looked dead, but I could feel him breathing. He moaned one sad meow, letting me know that he was alive, but he was badly hurt.
We thanked the neighbor for coming to get us, and I walked, barefoot and in my pajamas, straight to the car. Zack grabbed the keys and I held Cruz as we drove to the vet. Cruizer, who is notorious for moaning during car rides, was silent the whole way there. I cried, and my tears beaded up on his fur, as I petted him over and over and told him that I was so so sorry.
The vet said that he looked bad, and prepared us for the worst. But the X-rays were, in his words, “surprisingly good considering his condition.” The vet thinks he was hit by a car, and survived the ordeal without any broken bones. His lungs showed signs of bruising, and he was severely dehydrated. The vet said that they needed to keep him overnight, (“hospitalize” was the word he used,) to give him IV fluids and try to get his pain under control. While we were standing in the room looking at the X-ray, Cruizer picked up his head from where it was resting on the table, and turned it the other direction. That was the most we’d seen him move since we found him. We watched him and petted him while the vet explained his concerned for Cruz’s kidneys, because of the severity of his dehydration.
When I called this evening to check on him, the vet said that Cruz was comfortable, and that he seemed to not be in pain. He had slept all afternoon. I asked about his lab results, and he said his blood draws had indicated some liver problems. We’ll know more tomorrow, he told me, because he had to send out for special labs that they can’t do there in the office. He told me to check back in the morning.
I just wish I could bring him home. I feel so helpless knowing how to take care of a human in his condition, but being totally lost when it comes to taking care of a cat. I feel so bad for him, staying the night there, alone. I hope he’s comfortable. I hope he has something soft to sleep on. I hope he makes it through the night.
I really hope he makes it through the night.
I have eaten three Tootsie Roll Pops, one package of now-and-laters, one ice cream sandwich, one roasting pan full of chicken nuggets and french fries, and drank 1/2 a bottle of wine today.
Period, you will not surprise me. I am expecting you this time.
Tonight’s Order of Operations:
Steak Fries
Chicken Nuggets
Red Wine
Sleep
Zack: What are we going to put in the Virgin Mary Display Alcove?
Sarah: You mean the display shelf when you walk into the house?
Zack: Yeah.
Sarah: I don’t know. I was thinking we’d hang Jenn’s Birch Tree painting.
Zack: It’s not wide enough for that.
Sarah: Seriously? The painting’s not that big!
Zack: No, for real. It’s like, this big.
Sarah: Why, what do you want to put there?
Zack: I was thinking about The Gnome.
Sarah: Old Man Martin?
Zack: Yeah. But he needs to be all one color.
Sarah: We could paint him all white.
Zack: I was thinking silver.
Sarah: I like white better.
Zack: <to the tune of “Silver Bells”>”Silver Gnome! Silver Gnome! It’s moving time in our new home! Silver Gnome! Silver Gnome! Soon it will be moving dayyyyy!”
Sarah: Okay, fine. Silver is fine.
Zack: It’d be even cooler if we could get it to have a mirrored shine. Like chrome.
Sarah: Chrome Gnome?
Zack: I DIDN’T EVEN THINK OF THAT! IT’S SETTLED! CHROME GNOME IT IS!
Sarah: Okay.
Zack: Seriously?!
Sarah: Seriously. Let’s do it.
I believe it was this day, four years ago, (ish?) That my brother-in-law met my sister-in-law, Jennifer, at The Anti-Valentine’s Day Party, (or, Valentine’s Day Recovery Party) Zack and I hosted.
Am I right? Was that (just/only*) four years ago? If so, happy meet-a-versary Jenn & Jared. Aaannnddd, I’m not saying Zack and I are trying take all the credit or anything, but, uh, you’re welcome.
(love you both.)
(*Isn’t it weird how time can seem like forever and no time at all, all at the same time? Dad was saying that it felt like just the other day that Zack and I got married, and at the same time, it feels like we’ve been married forever. I totally know what he means. It feels like Zack and I have only been married for a minute, but it also feels like we’ve never not been married. When I express that sentiment to my dad all he said was all, “Yeah, just wait until you’ve been married for 30-something years. I’m talking, like, more years married then not married. Then we can talk about the tricks that time likes to play.” He’s right, but I couldn’t admit it. I just told him to stop bragging.)
I just got done submitting an application to the government to ask them to please pay off my loans for me. It’s 11:25 PM, and I have to get up tomorrow at 5 to work my 4th shift in a row.
Boo hoo, poor pitiful me.
No but seriously, I am a zombie.
