So, today I went to see my doctor for a check up. She has been the most amazing doctor I have ever known this past year, and thank goodness I have her. I have a very good relationship with my doctor, I can talk to her about anything; her door is always open to me, she is always on the other end of the phone if I need her, she's even round at the house every few days checking on my dad now. If she wasn't my doctor I'd be hunting her down on Facebook and befriending her.
Two weeks ago she put me on anti-depressants. I was reluctant for a long time. I want to grieve. I want to go through the necessary processes in dealing with what is happening. It won't make you happy, she told me. It won't change the situation. It will merely take the edge off. She didn't force them on me, the decision was all mine. But knowing that things were only going to get harder I finally accepted them after things started building up speed after Christmas. I don't think I do need them right now. But I don't know how I will cope without them in the weeks and months to come.
So far I think I must sound pretty logical, pretty with it. Taking things on board, understanding the pain and feelings to come. I was. I still hadn't accepted it; I don't think that will happen until the day comes that I still can't yet bring myself to think about or talk about, or even say the words of what will happen 'that day' but I was preparing for it. I was processing my thoughts, I was talking through them with my counsellor and doctor. And then something changed. The anti-depressants won't make you happy, she told me. Would they make me numb though? I sat in the waiting room this morning unsure why I was there because unlike every other visit, today I had nothing to say. I was feeling nothing.
DENIAL. I'm right back at stage 1 of grieving. I've shut down. I've put my guard up. It's not happening. It's getting so close to the end. He is so unwell. I can't function anymore. I can only function by blocking it out. It scares me, because in my happy little bubble, it's going to be horrible when it pops. In my little world where it just isn't happening, its going to hit me like a tonne of bricks when 'it' happens.
I cried when I asked her how long. I cried when I asked her what would happen. But then off I went to work like I had been to see her about a rash, something meaningless and normal.
I've cried a lot tonight. I was going to write this earlier. Denial would have been an accurate description of where I'm at right now then. But my dad was awake so I went to sit with him. And I cried. I cried my heart out. He was dozing so he didn't see. I have to be strong for him. I forced the tears to stop so I could read to him, but I had to fight the occasional voice cracking moment. Today I was so certain of where my head was at. It wasn't where it needed to be but at least I knew where it was. Now I'm confused. What stage am I at? How am I coping? Is this normal? There can't be set stages of grief if you keep jumping around them all at random.
