Nothing Even Matters

It's official. I am depressed. They finally got me. The enemy has infiltrated my psyche.

People have been accusing me of it for awhile, that I must be depressed with the dire turn my life has taken. But I wasn't depressed and I was proud not to be; not that there's anything wrong with being depressed but I was proud that it wasn't on my long laundry list of ailments. When I saw the psycho-pharmagologist and she diagnosed me with substance induced mood disorder she put me on anti-depressants. I had K call her to clarify what my actual mental state is and who I am. I wanted K to tell her that when I first started seeing her I had lost my fiancee, two babies, my apartment, one of my closest friends, had moved and started a new job all inside a month. I was traumatized, in shock, devastated and had a lot of work to do but I never needed chemical help. I wanted Dr. H, the psycho-pharmacologist to know that, so as not to prescribe anything for that reason, to make sure it was only to combat the drugs' side effects.

Now different story. I am emotionally off balance. My dad. My sister and I. Pneumonia. Still being on steroids. Knowing that I will be on chemotherapy for the rest of my life. It's finally sinking in that the pattern of my life is going to have a definite pattern. Almost a routine without it being predictable. I will be in and out of the hospital for the rest of my life. I have been since August; but until I stayed for four days, it hadn't completely sunken in. Is it a cruel joke? My new life is not that I am married. Nor is it that I had my first child. I didn't publish my first book, travel around the world or buy my first home. My new life is pills and hospital visits and doctor's visits. And working to live, literally, to pay all of these out of pocket medical expenses, instead of working to have money and take advantage of my single status and no ties. This sucks. How could my life take this turn? Why me? What beautiful lesson should I be getting out of this? I did get into my law school jeans today which was a treat. But as much of a girl as I am, I would rather have remained at the weight I was in early August, 17 pounds heavier than I am now to have my life back, to have my freedom back, to still believe my dreams will come true, to have time to spend on my dreams instead of spending it all on my health. My 'spare' time and spare money is spent making doctor's appointments, going to the doctor, doing research online, being stuck in my poor health with aches and pains, freaking out about my health, going to the ER, being in the hospital, it never ends.

I also realized that I am unable to have a real job. I know I already decided that I don't want one. But to know that I will never be well enough to have one is another story completely. I would miss too much work. I couldn't maintain a normal person's schedule. And there doesn't seem to be a viable federal or state program for people like me who aren't really disabled but can't always work. How am I going to survive? How will it be as I get older? I don't have extra money to sock away, not when I am spending so much to stay alive. This is stressing me out. This is scaring me. This is crazy.

And I am all alone in this. No one seems to get it. My family is doing their best and they are always there for me, like physically there but in terms of this stuff, they won't tune in to my fears and make me feel less alone with them. I don't know how to convey to them how important it would be to have some company here. It doesn't help me to hear that, "you sound better today," because that's short term and I need long term salvation and saving some medical breakthrough that we obviously can't bank on, this is my life. Just because I got out of the hospital doesn't mean I am out of the woods. It means I won that battle. But I have to keep fighting. And there are other things I want that I always thought I'd be fighting for. Unfortunately I don't have the time or the energy. No one gets that. No one understands.

My sister characterized me as being 'bah humbug' about my life a couple of weeks ago. I wasn't. Now I am. Last Saturday I went to yoga with my brother for the first time since the pneumonia. I was so touched when he put his mat next to mine in the front row instead of his usual spot in the second row to keep a close watch on me. We went our separate ways after class. I heard the song, "My Eyes Adored You," by the Four Seasons on the train ride home and every word made me feel more and more depressed and sad and lonely. I went home, cried my eyes out and fell asleep for four hours.

I wasn't crying for anything specific. I was crying for everything. I was crying for everything I might never have. I was crying for all of the dreams I may never fullfill. The children I might never have. The places I might never see. The fact that I had pneumonia and was in the hospital for four days. My dad was out the morning after his heart procedure. I was crying because they didn't find anything else wrong with me and my release from the hospital wasn't a relief because whatever the missing diagnosis is is still missing. The whole experience was another near death experience. A close call. Once again I made it by the skin of my teeth. I used to pride myself on making it places on time by the skin of my teeth and now it's living by the skin of my teeth. It wasn't what they thought it should be. Thank God. Next time will I be so 'lucky?' I hope so. But why can't they figure it out already? That's the real problem. Can't they just figure it out so I can stop living life in limbo waiting for the next enemy plane to be flying over head. Or will it be a land attack next time. Never can predict how the enemy can attack. So how to prepare? You can't. I am at the mercy of my body and my immune system that doesn't realize it's killing its own.

My body's so stupid. I wish I could tell it what to do.

I wish I had had those babies when I was 19. I wish I had gone abroad in college and not been such an idiot staying here for a guy. I wish I had been more confident when I worked at Legal Aid. I wish I had taken the job at the NYU radio station I auditioned for and got but didn't take because the slot they gave me conflicted with my social life. I wish I had stayed in my first college instead of transferring three times. What would I be like if I had allowed myself to get comfortable there. Would I have flourished? Would Brooklyn and I have broken up sooner? Would I never have gotten pregnant? Would I have been stronger and more confident and learned not to take shit at a younger age? I wish I had known my value earlier. I wish I had known I was smart and capable sooner. I wish I had known I was pretty and sexy sooner. If I had known all of that at 20 instead of 30, I could have had 10 years of real living instead of 10 years spent searching. Now I don't know what to do with any of it and I have no time to do anything with any of it. It doesn't even matter now that I have it if I am spending my time in a hospital gown dodging sponge baths from Nurse Bob with unwashed hair and glazed over eyes from all the drugs. Oh fuck it all.