Definitely Down
So the past month has been horrible; a time to forget, and move on away from. I have been so down, but down without fully realising what has been happening to me. My concentration is shot to pieces, any work takes me hours and I never seem to finish. The stress generated by my inability to work to my previous standards engenders, naturally, even more pressure.
I can't sleep, and when I wake in the morning, I can't get up. The joy has gone from my life and I am irritable with all I love, save my girls, for some reason. And, every time I am irritable with someone I love, I beat myself up completely about it. I have written reams of self hate diatribe and yet, somehow, I watch my fingers typing with no understanding of where these feelings are coming from.
Certainly, I tried to rationalise it all at the beginning; that coming through Cancer is much like a major trauma and that I was suffering from the post 'is this all there is'. syndrome. But I feel so ashamed, so very very ashamed that I can even write something so self pitying. All over the world there are those, so much less lucky than I have been, who wake and fight cancer every day, and here am I, delivered by a faulty PET scan, looking around wanting to run and hide. How selfish, how self-involved, and ultimately how completely pathetic.
Thus, you see how my mind has been working, or rather not working. It was only last week, as having put up smoke signal after smoke signal at work and home and not being acknowledged that I decided to go to the doctor. I was extrememly concerned about being laughed out of the consulting room; ''You, free of cancer, unhappy? Don't be RIDICULOUS!'' or some such.
I needn't have worried. I am indeed diagnosed as suffering from depression which apparently is quite common. After cancer, which is so all encompassing and 'in your face' with purpose, your troubles don't get eliminated, they just get submerged in the face of impending death and doom. But, when that huge destructor of purpose leaves your life, then the same old trivialities come back and you, worn down, and destroyed by cancer and its treatment, still have to deal with it all.
I refused the 'sick note' from work believing that work is probably the best therapy for me, but I do wish these pills would hurry up and work; I am so tired of not feeling myself, of not feeling joy, happiness or laughter.
Minerva
