Life is tough. Period. There’s no way to avoid it. My adult life has been riddled with stress and obstacles. Looking back, there isn’t much I would change, but there is some. 2012; miscarriage and divorce. 2014; losing my grandfather. 2016; almost losing my daughter and going through the most mentally challenging pregnancy of my life. 2017; my mom had a heart attack and almost died. 2018-2019; cancer. 2020; Covid19. Folks, I need a vacation. I had one planned, but it was cancelled due to Covid19... ugh.
Recently, I finally found a new psychologist and psychiatrist I like. I had been trying to find someone on my doctors on demand app, but I found a local pair instead. It’s virtual visits, but I’m hoping it helps me. Right now I’m focused on talk therapy with the understanding that if it isn’t enough, I’ll try antidepressants and something other than my “every once and a while” xanax.
My goals; anger and anxiety management and dealing with my illness PTSD. My first go-round with therapy I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety, but I now have this fun thing called illness anxiety disorder (Also sometimes called hypochondria). I’ve got whatever version of it where I obsess over possibly having metastatic cancer while also completely avoiding it. For example, my arm bothered me for 6 weeks before I told my husband or my doctor. Turned out it was lymphedema, which can be serious, but is manageable. I made myself miserable trying to ignore it, while also being totally worried about it. So, I obsess over mets, but avoid telling anyone and try to not think about when something seems off, because I’m deathly afraid of getting cancer again - enter the PTSD. I guess almost dying really messes with you. I was a tough cookie, or so I thought, the whole time I was in treatment. I thought this would be over. It’s so far from over, and it eats you up from the inside.
I also obsess about time with my kids; I need as much time with them as possible in case I die soon. I want them to remember me and how much I love them. It’s a lot of pressure to put on myself to always want to be present with them, and dote on them, and remind them I love them, and make memories with them. There is no time for me to recharge. I dedicate as much free time to them as I can. Working from home due to COVID19 has this one major perk; I’m getting all of this extra time with my babies. More memories. More love... More stress. Seriously, these kids are nuts.
I’m also much needier than I’ve ever been before. It’s a heavy weight on my marriage. I try to push this down, too, and be as much of my old self as I can. My husband doesn’t like the neediness of the new me. He doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t know how to give what I’m asking for, and most of the time I’m not even sure I know how to explain it. It’s an emotional neediness, and the harder I try to push it down the more it bothers me, and it’s creating this canyon between us. Every once and a while one of us creates a bridge and we have a good few weeks, but it doesn’t last. I’m working on this with my therapist, too. It’s not Tyler’s responsibility to make me feel beautiful or ease my cancer fears, and it’s not fair to rely on him for that. This is an inner journey, and I need to take it myself. It would be nice if he could magically make me feel better, but neither of us know how he can do that. He has openly admitted he’s miserable, especially since I used to be positive and bubbly, and now I’m always worried and anxious. Who knew my mental health would take such a hit after my physical health was on the upswing? Obviously his unhappiness admission doesn’t help my confidence issues, but I’m working on it.
It’s interesting the things that set off my anxiety, too. A comment about my decision to not do reconstruction, bam 2 weeks of being miserable. I don’t even understand why. I don’t regret it. I don’t need or want boobs, and the increased risk of reoccurrence with implants doesn’t interest me, nor do additional surgeries. But I hear Tyler make a sad joke about them, or someone tells me a story about someone bashing the decision, and it’s all I can think about for days. Not because I’d wish I’d done something different, but because I DON’T want something different, and I crave understanding. On the bright side, my chest tattoo is back on the table and should be actually happening soon!
My next checkups are mid-August with my surgeon and late October with my oncologist. I’m trying not to think too hard about them. I should be thankful my treatment worked so well and I’m doing ok, instead of always worried and panicked over the next thing to go wrong.
We’ll get there. For now, I’ll take my therapists advise and log my worries in a worry journal and the things I’m thankful for in a gratitude journal. I’m hoping the gratitude journal ends up bigger.
Until next time!
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