FAouQ:
With thanks to WheelChair Mommy for giving me a FAQ to build upon:
Frequently Asked -- or unasked -- Questions
Are you okay?
The short answer is no, no I'm not. But life is suffering, right? This happens to be a new plate of fresh hell to a caliber I've not yet experienced. But I'm experiencing the bajeezus out of it now.
The longer-ish answer is that I must maintain that I will be okay eventually, and people constantly asking if I'm okay has always rubbed me the wrong way anyway. When people ask, "How's it going?" or "You doing alright?" it always felt insincere to me, and too broad of an inquiry. Be specific. Ask me if I've eaten anything delicious recently. (this applies in real life, when I'm not traumatized or in a spiral of depression, too. You can ask me that when I'm happy. Truly) Ask if I've been on the rollercoasters at the indoor parks nearby. Ask me something direct that I can answer yes or no, and odds are in your favor there will be a story attached.
The Unasked Question is: When will you *be* okay so we can go back to the way things used to be, and nobody has to walk on eggshells around you anymore?
The short answer is God Only Knows, and you have to live with that as much as I do.
The longer-ish answer is you must remember that I *want* to be okay and back to normal, but pushing myself to get there is absurd and all-the-more damaging. I need people around right now, and I deserve help in this time of need, but you're doing us both a favor if you man up and take stock of your interior and emotional capabilities: can you handle me being like this? Do you have strength of emotional tact, social grace and a willingness to be sensitive and supportive, despite my mood? If the answer is "Maybe?", you should probably practice what you're going to say before you say it. If your answer is "No, not really, if I'm honest," then show some good manners and maybe just send sweet messages or care packages through the mail. I can't be in charge of reprimanding peoples' behaviors toward someone in a really fragile state if that someone is me.
What can I do?
Hoo boy...
The short answer: think of something useful and do it. It's different for everyone. Things to remember are that I'm in pain, I'm in trouble, and I'm in a fragile place. I need those that know me to help me celebrate the little victories, be with me when I'm numb and distract me when the anxiety takes over.
The longer-ish answer: Reflecting on having been a PCA, and shored up for friends going through trauma, and having consistently been the person to whom everyone turns when they're in need, I can categorically say YOU DO NOT FIX THE PROBLEM. You don't make everything better and make me undepressed, raise the dead or anything miraculous. You, as the care provider, instead fix the little things so I can go on with life without feeling like there's too much in my way of getting through a day.
The LONG answer:
Caregivers make it easier for the wounded person to live as though they're not an invalid. We don't do everything for the person, we just anticipate needs. Do not focus on the big picture, of "getting well again"; focus instead on the fact that the rug needs to be vacuumed, or I haven't showered in three days, or there's a laundry project sitting unfinished for weeks, or my dog needs to be played with. Focus on the little things. And feed me. Always feed me, and make it protein if you can help it. Find me a support group, if you think it will help, or a community clinic for psychiatric care, or invite me when you're going out because you know I've been a hermit lately. Reach out to me, because I'm not dead yet. I will be if everyone forgets me, though. Send me text pics of your kids, or bad knock-knock jokes. Just keep it as normal as possible.
There's a great quote from a story printed of a man caring for his paralyzed girlfriend that seems fitting here:
"The only way to keep from being overwhelmed was to go small. Focus on the tiniest of details, and try to make myself useful. I read books on spinal-cord injury and talked to any experts who'd return my call. I brought [her] magazines and oatmeal-raisin cookies... It wasn't just one day at a time, it was one task at a time." -A.J. Jacobs
Or this, on mental illness, by Therese Borchard:
"When I think back to the days when I was very ill, crying and shaking at the dinner table and at preschool functions with the kids, no response was as appreciated as when someone simply listened. Suggestions came off as condescending, even though I know they were meant to be helpful. Advice was annoying. Many times I just needed to be heard, to be validated."
I'm hesitating to classify what's been happening to me as grief, or depression, or anything at all just yet because it's still very much in the midst of taking shape. It has symptoms of many emotional disturbances, but that doesn't mean it can't still be triage-treated for what it is at the most base level: trauma. Absolute, crippling, completely encompassing stress. "I haven't gotten off the couch today" trauma happens to all of us, and right now, it's happening to me on a constant, every single damned day level.
Honestly, there are SO VERY MANY places to seek a simple guide to seeing a friend through a difficult stage. The NAMI outposts are everywhere; here's one of my favorites: http://www.helpguide.org/mental/helping_grieving.htm#offer
Why Aren't You Sleeping?
Insomnia is something I have struggled with since I was in the single digits. When I was tinier, though, my sister recalls aggressively wrestling me out of bed in the mornings, so the knowledge is there that I do, in fact, know how to sleep very well. For the past 20 years, though, it has proven difficult.
I understand it is hard to accept that I just do not sleep. If I do, it is in very short bursts, and while it hurts me physically and drains my patience in the daylight hours, I have learned to live with the reality of it. I do not like it. I wish it wasn't this way. If you want me to try something (supplements, techniques, etc.), mail it to my apartment or try it out first and send me your thoughts for how to implement it.
The Un-asked Question: But you really are sleeping at night, I mean, even if it's not for the whole night, right? You can't just *not sleep*. That's impossible.
No. It's not.
Ask my significant other the number of times I give up on the night and get out of bed. Keep in mind, the first time I remember clearly not sleeping through the night, I was 10 years old. I've been watching the Witching Hour turn into the dawn, and turn into a school/work day since 5th grade. I'm practiced at this.
So... if you don't mind my asking, do you always get like this when someone dies?
Short answer:
Nope, this is actually the first time, and it seems to have dredged some underlying problems directly to the surface.
Longer-ish answer:
I typically react to death as naturally as possible: it's part of life, and that's how the world works. The prospect of a person dying slowly and painfully scares me enough to tears, but I've had friends taken away by murder, by AIDS, and suicide. I'm not a stranger to death. And as far as kicking the bucket goes, this last funeral came under the best of circumstances. For whatever reason, this death has left me shattered, and I'm coming to grips with simply being a useless version of myself for an indeterminate amount of time.
Short Bursts of Information:
I allow myself to feel pitiful, and sorry for myself, but I still try to walk the dog twice a day. I try to work too hard, too fast, and that makes me pay an awful price.
Please do not come over and expect me to make you feel better about anything, do not wait for me to entertain you, or make suggestions, or a plan of any kind. That taxes me, a lot.
I can't take care of other people's feelings or situations right now. This doesn't mean I don't care about their success or happiness, it just means I *can't* take those things on.
Some people just need to know what to say, or how to say it, and honestly: it's the tiniest things that make a difference. Order take-out, or delivery to my home. Wash a few dishes while you're here, or bring the recycle out. Make me go on a Wal-Greens run with you. Hang out with me while I work my "a few hours at a time" jobs. I just need to maintain right now. And ANYTHING you do to make that more bearable counts.
Largely speaking, any problems or arguments or tensions that existed before this happened, or crop up during my recovery, sadly, do not take priority. My abalone interior to my wee shell is precariously thin and constantly under siege.
Don't mistake how I look in public for the possibility of turnaround. I have every hope I will recover from this at some point, but I have no intention of pushing myself. If I am out in the real world (probably because I'm working or trying to achieve something, like grocery shopping), it was a strain to get there in the first place. Beneath the exterior, I am suffering and doing my very best to keep an even keel when confronted with reality beyond my apartment door or my dog's fuzzy face.
I do not appreciate being threatened or challenged right now, and I think most humans understand that. I'm not laboring under the delusion that all relationships were made to endure something as tenuous as mental illness and some cannot survive when a constant dynamic, sometimes years long and never-changing, is suddenly swayed and the other is left in the wind.
Other Un-asked Questions:
"She certainly seems okay."
I'm sure I do. Trust me, I'm not.
"It isn't all about *you*, you know? My uncle/cousin/cat/plant just died, too!"
I'm sure that was very hard for you, so you must understand to some degree what I'm going through.
"Why don't you just get on Prozac and stop complaining?"
I have a sweet and sour history with mental drugs; if I find one that works, I'll go on it!
"How can you manage to stay home this much?"
Happily, my clients mostly understand the situation. My SO is also completely carrying me.
"Can't you just get drunk like the rest of us?"
Unfortunately, I can't. My physiology doesn't let me do that. Ask my pharmacist friend.
"Shouldn't you... I dunno, go be with your family or something?"
My sister understands that I deal best with frustration when people are *not* in the immediate blast zone, and Mummy is very proud of me for throwing my arms out like fishing nets and screaming, "Oh God! Help!" when I am scared and panicked. That is enough, for now.
"I can't cook or clean or sew and I don't have a car. What can I do?"
I have a large list of Gimme Gimmes on the LUSH website, and a list of books I'd love to read, along with various tasks and strange errands that need to be accomplished but feel overwhelming. If you've got an extra $5 to blow, you're helping me. Sodoku, btw, in case you're at Half-Price Books.
"Are you really okay?"
Nope, not remotely. But I intend to be, someday, and would really appreciate your help with that.
Frequently Asked -- or unasked -- Questions
Are you okay?
The short answer is no, no I'm not. But life is suffering, right? This happens to be a new plate of fresh hell to a caliber I've not yet experienced. But I'm experiencing the bajeezus out of it now.
The longer-ish answer is that I must maintain that I will be okay eventually, and people constantly asking if I'm okay has always rubbed me the wrong way anyway. When people ask, "How's it going?" or "You doing alright?" it always felt insincere to me, and too broad of an inquiry. Be specific. Ask me if I've eaten anything delicious recently. (this applies in real life, when I'm not traumatized or in a spiral of depression, too. You can ask me that when I'm happy. Truly) Ask if I've been on the rollercoasters at the indoor parks nearby. Ask me something direct that I can answer yes or no, and odds are in your favor there will be a story attached.
The Unasked Question is: When will you *be* okay so we can go back to the way things used to be, and nobody has to walk on eggshells around you anymore?
The short answer is God Only Knows, and you have to live with that as much as I do.
The longer-ish answer is you must remember that I *want* to be okay and back to normal, but pushing myself to get there is absurd and all-the-more damaging. I need people around right now, and I deserve help in this time of need, but you're doing us both a favor if you man up and take stock of your interior and emotional capabilities: can you handle me being like this? Do you have strength of emotional tact, social grace and a willingness to be sensitive and supportive, despite my mood? If the answer is "Maybe?", you should probably practice what you're going to say before you say it. If your answer is "No, not really, if I'm honest," then show some good manners and maybe just send sweet messages or care packages through the mail. I can't be in charge of reprimanding peoples' behaviors toward someone in a really fragile state if that someone is me.
What can I do?
Hoo boy...
The short answer: think of something useful and do it. It's different for everyone. Things to remember are that I'm in pain, I'm in trouble, and I'm in a fragile place. I need those that know me to help me celebrate the little victories, be with me when I'm numb and distract me when the anxiety takes over.
The longer-ish answer: Reflecting on having been a PCA, and shored up for friends going through trauma, and having consistently been the person to whom everyone turns when they're in need, I can categorically say YOU DO NOT FIX THE PROBLEM. You don't make everything better and make me undepressed, raise the dead or anything miraculous. You, as the care provider, instead fix the little things so I can go on with life without feeling like there's too much in my way of getting through a day.
The LONG answer:
Caregivers make it easier for the wounded person to live as though they're not an invalid. We don't do everything for the person, we just anticipate needs. Do not focus on the big picture, of "getting well again"; focus instead on the fact that the rug needs to be vacuumed, or I haven't showered in three days, or there's a laundry project sitting unfinished for weeks, or my dog needs to be played with. Focus on the little things. And feed me. Always feed me, and make it protein if you can help it. Find me a support group, if you think it will help, or a community clinic for psychiatric care, or invite me when you're going out because you know I've been a hermit lately. Reach out to me, because I'm not dead yet. I will be if everyone forgets me, though. Send me text pics of your kids, or bad knock-knock jokes. Just keep it as normal as possible.
There's a great quote from a story printed of a man caring for his paralyzed girlfriend that seems fitting here:
"The only way to keep from being overwhelmed was to go small. Focus on the tiniest of details, and try to make myself useful. I read books on spinal-cord injury and talked to any experts who'd return my call. I brought [her] magazines and oatmeal-raisin cookies... It wasn't just one day at a time, it was one task at a time." -A.J. Jacobs
Or this, on mental illness, by Therese Borchard:
"When I think back to the days when I was very ill, crying and shaking at the dinner table and at preschool functions with the kids, no response was as appreciated as when someone simply listened. Suggestions came off as condescending, even though I know they were meant to be helpful. Advice was annoying. Many times I just needed to be heard, to be validated."
I'm hesitating to classify what's been happening to me as grief, or depression, or anything at all just yet because it's still very much in the midst of taking shape. It has symptoms of many emotional disturbances, but that doesn't mean it can't still be triage-treated for what it is at the most base level: trauma. Absolute, crippling, completely encompassing stress. "I haven't gotten off the couch today" trauma happens to all of us, and right now, it's happening to me on a constant, every single damned day level.
Honestly, there are SO VERY MANY places to seek a simple guide to seeing a friend through a difficult stage. The NAMI outposts are everywhere; here's one of my favorites: http://www.helpguide.org/mental/helping_grieving.htm#offer
Why Aren't You Sleeping?
Insomnia is something I have struggled with since I was in the single digits. When I was tinier, though, my sister recalls aggressively wrestling me out of bed in the mornings, so the knowledge is there that I do, in fact, know how to sleep very well. For the past 20 years, though, it has proven difficult.
I understand it is hard to accept that I just do not sleep. If I do, it is in very short bursts, and while it hurts me physically and drains my patience in the daylight hours, I have learned to live with the reality of it. I do not like it. I wish it wasn't this way. If you want me to try something (supplements, techniques, etc.), mail it to my apartment or try it out first and send me your thoughts for how to implement it.
The Un-asked Question: But you really are sleeping at night, I mean, even if it's not for the whole night, right? You can't just *not sleep*. That's impossible.
No. It's not.
Ask my significant other the number of times I give up on the night and get out of bed. Keep in mind, the first time I remember clearly not sleeping through the night, I was 10 years old. I've been watching the Witching Hour turn into the dawn, and turn into a school/work day since 5th grade. I'm practiced at this.
So... if you don't mind my asking, do you always get like this when someone dies?
Short answer:
Nope, this is actually the first time, and it seems to have dredged some underlying problems directly to the surface.
Longer-ish answer:
I typically react to death as naturally as possible: it's part of life, and that's how the world works. The prospect of a person dying slowly and painfully scares me enough to tears, but I've had friends taken away by murder, by AIDS, and suicide. I'm not a stranger to death. And as far as kicking the bucket goes, this last funeral came under the best of circumstances. For whatever reason, this death has left me shattered, and I'm coming to grips with simply being a useless version of myself for an indeterminate amount of time.
Short Bursts of Information:
I allow myself to feel pitiful, and sorry for myself, but I still try to walk the dog twice a day. I try to work too hard, too fast, and that makes me pay an awful price.
Please do not come over and expect me to make you feel better about anything, do not wait for me to entertain you, or make suggestions, or a plan of any kind. That taxes me, a lot.
I can't take care of other people's feelings or situations right now. This doesn't mean I don't care about their success or happiness, it just means I *can't* take those things on.
Some people just need to know what to say, or how to say it, and honestly: it's the tiniest things that make a difference. Order take-out, or delivery to my home. Wash a few dishes while you're here, or bring the recycle out. Make me go on a Wal-Greens run with you. Hang out with me while I work my "a few hours at a time" jobs. I just need to maintain right now. And ANYTHING you do to make that more bearable counts.
Largely speaking, any problems or arguments or tensions that existed before this happened, or crop up during my recovery, sadly, do not take priority. My abalone interior to my wee shell is precariously thin and constantly under siege.
Don't mistake how I look in public for the possibility of turnaround. I have every hope I will recover from this at some point, but I have no intention of pushing myself. If I am out in the real world (probably because I'm working or trying to achieve something, like grocery shopping), it was a strain to get there in the first place. Beneath the exterior, I am suffering and doing my very best to keep an even keel when confronted with reality beyond my apartment door or my dog's fuzzy face.
I do not appreciate being threatened or challenged right now, and I think most humans understand that. I'm not laboring under the delusion that all relationships were made to endure something as tenuous as mental illness and some cannot survive when a constant dynamic, sometimes years long and never-changing, is suddenly swayed and the other is left in the wind.
Other Un-asked Questions:
"She certainly seems okay."
I'm sure I do. Trust me, I'm not.
"It isn't all about *you*, you know? My uncle/cousin/cat/plant just died, too!"
I'm sure that was very hard for you, so you must understand to some degree what I'm going through.
"Why don't you just get on Prozac and stop complaining?"
I have a sweet and sour history with mental drugs; if I find one that works, I'll go on it!
"How can you manage to stay home this much?"
Happily, my clients mostly understand the situation. My SO is also completely carrying me.
"Can't you just get drunk like the rest of us?"
Unfortunately, I can't. My physiology doesn't let me do that. Ask my pharmacist friend.
"Shouldn't you... I dunno, go be with your family or something?"
My sister understands that I deal best with frustration when people are *not* in the immediate blast zone, and Mummy is very proud of me for throwing my arms out like fishing nets and screaming, "Oh God! Help!" when I am scared and panicked. That is enough, for now.
"I can't cook or clean or sew and I don't have a car. What can I do?"
I have a large list of Gimme Gimmes on the LUSH website, and a list of books I'd love to read, along with various tasks and strange errands that need to be accomplished but feel overwhelming. If you've got an extra $5 to blow, you're helping me. Sodoku, btw, in case you're at Half-Price Books.
"Are you really okay?"
Nope, not remotely. But I intend to be, someday, and would really appreciate your help with that.