Wednesday, December 8, 2010
have a history of depression and anxiety.
Caregiving is very stressful. I knew that it would be, but I didn't know that it would be. What I mean is I knew logically that it would be difficult, but I didn't realize the depths the difficulty would take me.
I yell at my husband. I yell at my mother. I push off my son and only half-listen when he talks to me. I don't talk to friends. I complain all the time. I'm so easily frustrated by everything that there is little joy left in life.
And I cry. A lot.
One Sunday, I cried because I missed my turn, which resulted in a fight with my husband--he wasn't upset I missed the turn; I was upset because he said that he thought I'd missed it, but didn't say anything. I couldn't get it together. Every time I thought I might stop, I couldn't. I finally asked my husband if I could go sit in the hallway, where I woudn't be a distraction to the pastor or the congregation. Not to mention embarrassed.
So, it's been several weeks since I realized I should get some help. Last week, I finally called. It's a hard call to make, on many levels, not the least of which are pride and because we don't have insurance and everything costs so much. Fortunately, my dad's doctor was willing to start me on the medications I took a few years ago, without an appointment, and I'll go in to see him in a couple of weeks to make sure it's going well.
The medicine seems to be helping. I hope other caregivers will take help when they need it. Pride can be a very bad thing sometimes.