Sleeping Easy Tonight

What about the boys?

At last week's appointment with Dr. S. (my psychiatrist), I brought up something non-trivial. I told her that my task, to some degree is to keep a certain level of normalcy in the lives of my kids. It's not solely my job. Sure, Grandma, Hubby, and Uncle Shark are around.

I told her that, although I honestly wasn't feeling riddled with guilt, I had some concerns about them. Especially emotionally/psychologically.

When Daddy is chronically ill, the kids know. It bothers them that Dad hasn't been able to go hiking, take them to lessons or school. Dad, until recently didn't have the energy to stay up long past 7PM. Dad wasn't doing normal Dad things, like going to work and playing his instruments.

W00t, yeah, now Mark is feeling much better than say, three months ago. (Gina, he's a far cry from when you came to see us in August.)

I have some insight into how they might feel. It's not the same situation, but it mirrors certain aspects. My dad, henceforth will be called Al, was handicapped for much of my lifetime. Al couldn't take us fishing or camping. He didn't run along side our bikes teaching us to ride. Hell, we took off our own training wheels because Al couldn't.

Consequently, I felt like I was missing out to some degree. Most of the time I didn't give his handicap much thought, but there were times that it was obviously annoying to a dumb kid like yours truly. Occasionally I was bummed out for Al, but not normally. Ya see, kids tend to be the most self-centered creatures on the planet. It's a fact! Kids aren't too sympathetic. They aren't designed to be.

However, when I was, say, in high school, Al's health went significantly downhill. And then I was faced with the very real possibility of him dying. And that scared me shitless. I spent a lot of time having anxiety attacks, emotionally outbursts and vague but gnawing anger. Towards the end of high school, all the anxiety turned into plain honest-to-God depression. All of that time was spent without the aid and assistance of a shrink or even a school guidance counselor.

So, given my experience, you can see I'd have some concern for my kids while Mark is having health problems and awaiting surgery, etc.

Dr. S. told me to take a step back and not put my emotional baggage into the equation in relation to the boys. She asked if they were exhibiting anything out of the ordinary vis-a-vis Daddy's heath. I told her that Paul had exactly one emotional breakdown at school where I was called. Paul also mentioned to the school secretary that he dreads weekends "because dad mostly sleeps and we can't do anything fun." Sean is going through puberty, hence all bets are off. And Luke is blithely unaware and chronically happy no matter what.

She asked about their grades. Mostly As. As in, only one B. As in, super grade reports.

The greatest indicator of how well children are dealing with adversity (yes, she said adversity) are their grades.

Good.

She also said that the problems her, and most of her colleagues, see in children stem from kids who never had any adversity. In fact, if kids never face real stressors, they will never learn to cope. In fact, children who have survived and thrived in the face of adversity are better able to deal with problems throughout life. These kids will have better priorities, will understand their own coping mechanisms, and aren't intimidated by the tougher challenges.

Conversely, kids who have everything handed to them, have all their ouchies salved over, have everything they want, when they want it... these kids will (her words, not mine) "contribute to the further infantilization of young adults". Peter Pan Syndrome, anybody?


Nice to know I'm not totally going to screw these kids up permanently. Ya know?

The shit was coming up to my chin. It wouldn't be long before I'd drown in it, I thought.

Self evaluation isn't all it's cracked up to be. Being your own shrink has as much success as being your own lawyer. You're a fool if you think you have the right perspective to judge your bearings. You just aren't capable. Like Schrödinger's kitteh!

My shrink is concerned about me. How do I know? She called back the next day, asking me how I was doing. Part of me believes that she was hoping Mark answered, hoping to get the straight dope on what's doing.

I walked into her office last week not knowing what to talk about. My affect has been rather low. I have just the exact amount of energy necessary to get through the day, and no more. On the other hand, I didn't (and still don't) feel truly depressed. And the doc surprised the hell out of me. She insisted that I wasn't depressed. She's convinced me it is something a bit more pernicious.

How's this for an explanation:
When a person is depressed, ALL of their synapses are short on neurotransmitters. ALL systems are down. SHIELDS UP! Doctors prescribe your typical neurotransmitter re-uptake inhibitors to boost up every every synaptic bridge.

But what do you do when only some of them are hosed? What do you do when your overall mood appears to be low, but your cognitive abilities are razor sharp? What do you do when you actually have minimal drive, and accompanying energy, to make it through the day? What do you do when you are sleeping well at night?

Nothing medical is what you do.

No change in my Effexor or Trazodone levels.


Why?

Because a soldier in the field isn't depressed. Because a reasonably well treated prisoner of war isn't necessarily depressed. Because this is their reality for the time being.

Because an overworked mom of three with sincere and real concerns for the health of her husband is enough to make her question her own mental state, but not enough to make her stay in bed all day. Because being depressed and functional are mutually exclusive.

The human mind has ways of dealing under duress. According to my doc, I'm under duress. The mind puts on blinders so as to keep focus on survival. I can attest to this. The brain/mind lowers response to the abusive/intrusive/punishing input so that the rest of you keeps moving forward and living.

Am I at war? Am I getting Stockholm syndrome? Am I being physically or mentally attacked by anyone? No. I am not.

Have I got a shitload of life to deal with right now? Yes. Do I need to have a high affect and a jovial profile or a sharp sense of humor right now? No, I do not need it. Do I need to make sure my kids are clean, fed and well dressed? You betcha. Do I worry about every little aspect of Mark's health and recovery? No, I cannot. I'd drive myself mad and in that madness I'd no longer function.

So the shit is up to my chin.

But given my current situation, maybe I ought to remember that I'm on my knees in the cesspool, and I just gotta get up on my feet. I'm not going to drown in it unless I forget my life right now is a non-typical situation.

And this is why you need a professional to tell you what the hell is going on. Additionally, this is why you can't ever evaluate your own situation, because your perspective is skewed. Call it denial, call it protecting my sanity, call it blinders, but it's keeping me moving forward to the day when Mark's health is no longer the first topic of discussion, the fore of our thoughts, or the purpose of every day.