Except maybe the lack of Instagram. I did truly miss whiling away my day scrolling (creeping?) through everyone's filtered offerings. There's no telling how many photos of pumpkin spice lattes and riding boots and Zara scarves I missed. It was like a little piece of my basic white girl soul died that week. As soon as I got my discharge papers and was allowed to go get my stuff (contraband the nurses took away from me when I checked in) out of the locked storage room, I fired up my phone and went straight for Instagram. Seriously. I let the 500+ emails gather a little more dust and was tempted to delete the 200+ text messages without even reading them (I didn't really need any fake well wishes from so-called satellite friends who heard where I was and were more interested in the gory details than how I was actually doing.), but there was no effing way I was letting another second go by before I got my Insta-fix.
Being forced to be still and spend the entire week focused on me and only me was glorious. I missed my people so much it hurt - I had never been away from my girl for that long, and it was the one thing that nearly took me out. I couldn't deal with it. It took me a couple of days before I could keep from sobbing uncontrollably every time I heard her voice. - but it was the first time in a long time (quite possibly the first time ever) that I quit giving a damn about anyone except myself. It was also nice to be the center of everyone else's attention for once. (Don't lie. We all want/need it at some point. I don't believe you if you say otherwise.) I relished the fact that everyone spent that week putting me first. I knew it wasn't a permanent state of affairs, but it was still nice.
I've mentioned before that coming off the high of being home and the holidays and the constant attention has been hard. Trying to find a happy medium will always be hard for me. Today I feel defeated and angry. I can't decide if it's directed at myself or if it's directed outward instead. The truth is that it's probably a little bit of both - whether it's justified or not.
I walked out of that hospital a different person. Everything about me changed. I've been holding onto that feeling with a death grip ever since because I'm so afraid of losing it. I don't want to end up back where I was then. I'm just not sure anyone else got that memo. Let me stop you before you start in on me with the lecture that only I am responsible for how I feel and that only I am responsible for my life and what happens in it and that no one can make me feel or do anything unless I allow it. My rational brain gets that. My rational brain knows it to be true. I'm just not in the mood to be rational right now.
During our family session and during our hour-long visits at night, my people were all asking what I needed from them. What did I need them to do to help me get better? What did I need them to change at home so I didn't feel so alone and isolated? What changes did we all need to make so my treatment and recovery could continue at home? What were they doing that was contributing to how I felt? How could they change it? What could they do better? I felt like I came home to a hero's welcome. Things were different. Things were better. They had actually listened to me. I felt like I could breathe at home. There had been some major changes to our living situation about six months before I lost my marbles; what started as minor kinks had morphed into full-blown rats' nests that were gnawing holes in my insides.
It's probably not realistic to expect them to feel as changed as I do. I get that, but it doesn't mean I'm still not wishing for it. Spare me all the rational, upbeat advice here. I'm deep into my own little bubble and plan to marinate here a little longer. I'm allowed. I don't really know where this post was supposed to go, but I'm pretty sure it's not there.
I'm afraid they're forgetting where we were - where I was - five short months ago. It terrifies me to think I could be headed back down that road to hell and the powerless feeling that comes with it. I don't feel like it's happening, but I know it can happen FAST. I wake up scared every day.
I didn't go to the hospital for a broken leg that heals and doesn't have to be treated ever again. I went to the hospital for something that can be managed and treated but never cured. I came out with a treatment plan that is permanent. I won't look up one day and be free of my issues. I won't ever leave it behind. I'm doing my best to manage my meds and maintain my mental health, but it's a struggle every single day.
I don't know how to start that conversation without coming across as an ungrateful bitch. I guess maybe I am an ungrateful bitch. I just feel like they forgot. And I'm scared to see where that road will take us. I hope and pray this is just another bout of me being overly dramatic and overly sensitive and not a gradual erosion of my progress that will end in a total bipolar crash and meltdown. Such is life, right?
xo
No comments:
Post a Comment