Coping

I've made no secret of the fact that Michael and I saw a marriage counselor for a number of years. It all started with a motorcycle . . . a long story for another post. The motorcycle got us into counseling, though, and through counseling, we overcame some big hurdles, grew together, and ultimately "graduated" with a good, strong marriage. No kidding. Our therapist actually said to us, "You guys are good. You're ready to fly solo. Call me if you ever need anything." It was a great feeling, knowing we had come so far. We still laugh and say that the motorcycle saved our marriage.

When Finn was born a little over a year ago, and subsequently hospitalized and diagnosed with Down syndrome, it was the worst trauma Michael and I had faced together. But the ordeal united us even more.

After that, it felt like we could survive anything. Of course, it's easy to feel that when you can't possibly imagine that life has yet one more very fucked up curveball coming your way.

When Michael was diagnosed with cancer last February, it felt like the world was crashing down around us. How could this be happening? We've had our "bad" already, for crying out loud! We clung to each other and made sure the other kept breathing in and out and putting one foot in front of the other. For a while, it all seemed relatively easy. Michael's pre-surgery chemo and radiation went fairly smoothly and certainly wasn't the nightmare I had always envisioned cancer treatment to be.

And through that all, there was this little part of me that felt really proud of the fact that we, as a couple, and each of us individually, were holding up so well. I was already fantasizing about sending our old marriage counselor a Christmas card at the end of the year and mentioning in a brief note that Michael - that we - had fought and survived cancer. I wanted her to be proud of us for dealing with something that huge on our own.

Silly, I know. Probably all goes back to my deep-seated desire for approval or something.

Anyway, although I refused to foresee it, the cracks started appearing in the armor when Michael had surgery in June. That's when I started slowly but surely falling apart.

I have finally admitted to myself just in the last week or two that I believe I am depressed. I have lots of experience with depression, as I've struggled with it for the better part of my life.

This morning I came unhinged a little. Yelling at Michael for being sick, as he laid in bed for the second day in a row post-chemo. I'm ashamed. This is the man I love, and he's sick from chemo, and I'm yelling at him. Telling him that I can't take his pain and suffering anymore.

I feel very helpless. He's been suffering from chronic pain since his surgery. The weeks he has chemo, he's laid out from it. This cycle has hit him harder than any of the previous cycles. And when he's laid out, I'm a single parent to a large degree. It's a lot to deal with. I feel alone. I have zero family support. I'm angry and resentful and tired, and having a hard time seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. We still have months of more of this ahead of us. And sometimes it all just feels like too much to bear. I feel inept and completely not cut out for this roll. I'm depressed.

And for the first time in my life, I'm giving serious consideration to asking my doctor to prescribe an antidepressant. I have really mixed feelings about it. I've always shied away from the idea of taking meds for depression in the past. I hate the idea of relying on something synthetic to make me feel okay, to help me cope. I've always thought that it's largely a mind-over-matter thing . . . like I can will myself out of a depression if I try hard enough. And I have issues with it, too, because to my knowledge, my mother was on various antidepressants pretty much the whole time I was growing up and I never saw her ability to cope improved by it. But maybe I shouldn't use her as a guage.

The fact is, I have to do something. It was one thing when my depression only hurt me, but now it's hurting my whole family. I'm taking it out on my kids and my husband. I'm pretty sure I'm making everyone miserable.

I actually called that therapist, and I'm going to see her next week. Maybe talking to her will be all I need to get back on track. I don't know.

Why am I sharing something so personal and potentially shameful in such a public forum? I'm questioning that myself. I guess I need people to know where I'm at. And hey, maybe there's someone else out there struggling in a similar way, and maybe that person will feel a little less alone by reading this.