…sort of day!

Today is kind of like the perfect, lets wear sweatpants and my favorite sweatshirt, sort of day!

Today, the temperature, the wind, the sweep of the shade over the yard, it’s all perfect; TODAY.

Today is neither too warm or too cold; an, I don’t have to wear socks, sort of day.

It’s a, going for a ride, day, moonroof open, around the loop (our loop) playlist on shuffle, kind of day, this day, today!

It is a perfect, play fetch with the dog, day for sure!

Day drinking, skinny dipping, lounge in the yard, sort of day.

I need to remember TODAY

From 1 to 10, what would you rate your anxiety?

With my 90 day heart biopsy and general check up in Utah out of the way my anxiety level has certainly decreased a bit; however, it’s still pretty high which prompted a change in my medication again. Now I’m on two anti-anxiety medications and they doubled my dose of Prozac. I know I shouldn’t feel ashamed of the fact I need medication in order to chemically balance my brain, but the shame creeps into my head and make itself at home. The pill count for my anxiety and depression has officially surpassed what I take for anti-rejection. What does that say about me and my emotional stability? The stigma associated with mental health issues runs deep with me maybe.

I don’t judge others for seeking help for mental health issues, I’ve encouraged it, then I’m hard on myself for taking my own advice? How ridiculous!

I can’t express how much I wish I could go back and re-write the parts of my life that have changed the DNA of who I am. I don’t dwell on events from the past that hurt me; I have set those things aside and forgiven. What I haven’t done is forgiven myself. We’re always our own worst critics, right? I don’t know how to love this person I am who requires medication and regular therapy to get through life. I feel broken and I don’t want to be. So, I take the drugs, I go to therapy and I try to untangle my life, try to organize it in a way that I can makes sense of and live with without shame.

From 1 to 10, where would I rate my anxiety? About 45 minutes ago the answer would have been a hard 10, now, with a little pharmaceutical assistance, it’s about a 5.

Not OK

I’ve been trying to hold it together for months now. I’ll admit that I was in a state of denial that my generalized depression had returned. I should have spoken to my doctors sooner; I was such an idiot for waiting. I started by calling my transplant team in Utah and although they have prescribed me antidepressants before the Psychiatrist just didn’t feel comfortable prescribing what he had before (a low dose of Prozac) without seeing me. I live in Wyoming and he’s in Utah so I asked for a phone consultation and he didn’t feel comfortable with that either.

I feel like I’m circling the drain and finally reached out for help and all I get in return are barriers. I finally called my local doctor, who as usual wasn’t available. His nurse could see me but she doesn’t listen to me and is generally rude and quite frankly in the state I’ve been in I didn’t want to break down in front of her. Thankfully a nurse practitioner for another doctor in the practice agreed to see me and without hesitation prescribed me what I had been taking post transplant; I even brought in the bottle. She was also kind enough to give me a refill for my Xanax, which I’ve using more lately than any other time in my life.

I internalize my anxiety so to the people I live with or know me have no idea I’m a hot mess on the inside and just a nanosecond away from collapsing into tears. I’ve been extremely tired which is probably a combination of the depression and the hemolytic anemia I’ve had since the transplant. Together I could sleep 20 out of 24 hours of the day. it will take awhile to get the depression and anxiety under control, but there is no reasonable treatment for the hemolytic anemia.

This COVID-19 pandemic has me really scared. I fall into the high risk group because of my compromised immune system. I’ve been self isolating for awhile now and it’s lonely; when I’m awake. I hate sending anyone our to buy groceries in fear they will bring the virus home with them and we can’t have groceries delivered right now because all the stores have been picked apart by hoarders. I think the next couple of weeks are going to be tough.

I had hoped that opening up would help ease some of the anxiety and depression, but it hasn’t. We talk a good game on supporting people with mental health challenges but in reality no one has time to really listen or really help. We all have our own issues and don’t have time to help others. Ironically I was trying to help a friend going through a hard time and they totally turned on me and stopped speaking to me because they couldn’t handle that I have issues I need to deal with as well and couldn’t be there for them 24/7.

I feel like I’m on my own.

Finally Found

After a few DNA tests, many weeks of waiting, and more lost nights of sleep than I care to count, my biological father has been found. It’s been about a year since I found out who I thought was my father was in fact not, so, it’s been a long emotional year of ups and downs. And you’d think I’d be ecstatic finally knowing, finally being accepted, and finally having a father, but I haven’t felt that way since finding out.

Maybe it’s all that’s going on in the world right now (COVID-19), generally being depressed the last few months, and feeling pretty lonely have clouded what would otherwise be joy at the fact that I found him. Now my thoughts are filled with the idea that it’s too late, I’m 48. Maybe his family won’t accept me; I may never even meet his family for all I know. They are far more important to me than I am to them I’m sure. I don’t say that to be negative, it’s just a truth.

I don’t know what to do from here; I’m kind of lost. I don’t want to intrude on anyones’ lives, but I would love to know my father’s side of the family.

Another DNA Test

Thankfully I got a phone call (see previous post) and it went pleasantly and surprisingly well. He will be doing a DNA test just to confirm, but based on the DNA results we have so far we’re pretty certain he’s the one; man, I hope he is! Talk about polar opposite to almost every “father” type person in my life, the exception being my grandfather, but the rest fell short in so many way. I’m not saying the one I found, who I think is actually the “baby daddy”, isn’t flawed, we all are, but he at least made an effort to speak to me. He didn’t run away, make excuses, express doubt, etc.

He asked me when I was born, the beginning of March 1972, and we did the math and I would have been conceived the summer of 1971. He seemed to think that time line was pretty accurate and it could be possible he might be the one. Now we just need to wait for the DNA results. I don’t have any predictions, I’ve learned my lesson on that one. We’ll wait and see and if he is, thank God I found him, if he’s not, then my search continues.

I’m thankful he chose to pick up the phone and call me.