I’m a little… down.
You know, that feeling in your core that alternates between emptiness, like nothing can fill it, and anxiety, like everything is bad.
Since finally getting all the way off of Cymbalta and switching back to Zoloft, I rarely get very depressed anymore. Like the scary angry black hole kind where you imagine ripping all your hair out and throwing yourself out a window but you manage to keep it together for your kids when you’re with them and you sleep as much as you can just to escape that horror that is somehow coming from inside you.
This is not that. Nowhere close. It’s a tired, resigned unease, a deep melancholy, a feeling of dreading something or worrying, but not sure what or why.
Sunday and Monday I began having flu symptoms. By Monday night I had a fever and coughing and chills and the next morning Mom insisted I call Dr. C. She reminded me how nice he’d been when we were just there. I finally did and they emailed Tamiflu to my pharmacy for me. Now I just have the fever and fatigue but I am feeling better, physically.
On Tuesday I thought a lot about my pelvic bleed that led to the early c-section birth of Zo. It had happened Friday the 13th, 2009. I was hospitalized immediately on strict bed rest. At first they were thinking of still waiting for the scheduled c-section on March 17, but then I bled again and they decided it wasn’t worth the risk. Valentine’s Day was spent flat on my back. I wasn’t allowed to move. When I was cut open on Presidents Day by two OB surgeons and Zo was taken from my body, as most of you know by now, she wasn’t breathing. ALL of you certainly know she lived. She soon breathed on her own in just a regular oxygen hood, without needing a neo-natal intensive care unit. I didn’t see her for several hours. I was drugged and I slept, happy that John was with her.
This series of days, the 13th-16th of February, is a traumatic anniversary. I suppose February is just going to be my month of fearing for my life. Everything that happened these last few weeks has not let go of me.
Plus, Valentine’s Day. Kind of ambivalent about it this year. John got me some fun retro toys and I got him Star Wars underwear and a pair of shoes. The girls got big inexpensive stuffed animals (in fact X’s whale has already needed surgery) and the My Little Pony movie.
Plus, my baby is NINE tomorrow. Due to the timing of paychecks, we’re not ready. I need to get a cake and balloons, another present or two. Get brownies to take to her classroom and not think about how I only have two more chances to do this, if she even will want me to in 4th and 5th grades. Birthdays, as well as the first day of school every year, make me feel like Time is laughing in our faces.
This summer I’m turning 45. I’m more than halfway done.