Before I say anything else, things are still going well for us. Things fluctuate, of course - last week, there were some things Dave felt excited about, which was worth worlds to us, and this week Dave says that he feels uncertain that happiness is really possible, but he's still willing to try things out. And that is wonderful, for both of us. This feels so good, to Dave and to me.
But I wanted to talk about how quick things can change. How quick my feelings can change.
It took 3 months of things going well before I completely stopped worrying about Dave when he was late. Before I didn't have a little thought in the back of my mind that maybe Dave had passed out in a closet somewhere.
And it took only one expression that he wasn't doing well before it all came back.
I wish I could stop that reaction. And mostly I can - after that first reaction comes up, I can remember that Dave is doing well, and that even when he's not, he always protects himself, mostly for my sake. But it seems important to write down how fast that reaction comes back.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Grateful things worked out this way
I've been thinking for a couple weeks about whether or not I wanted to write this post. I still am not sure I want to commit to making this statement, but I'll at least tentatively put it out there:
I am glad, for my own sake, that Dave and I have been through what we've been through.
Two disclaimers. First, I am not at all glad for Dave's sake that his depression has been so bad. I know that it makes him and his life miserable, that he feels no joy and no hope. I would not wish that on him for anything in the world. Second, that feeling of gratitude goes away the second that Dave's depression threatens to worsen. I was thinking about writing this post last week, but Dave's depression got a little worse for a few days, and the feelings of gratitude disappeared, replaced by immediate worry, concern, and a little dread.
I am glad, for my own sake, that Dave and I have been through what we've been through.
Two disclaimers. First, I am not at all glad for Dave's sake that his depression has been so bad. I know that it makes him and his life miserable, that he feels no joy and no hope. I would not wish that on him for anything in the world. Second, that feeling of gratitude goes away the second that Dave's depression threatens to worsen. I was thinking about writing this post last week, but Dave's depression got a little worse for a few days, and the feelings of gratitude disappeared, replaced by immediate worry, concern, and a little dread.
It felt like reaching into a hat expecting a rabbit
and getting a crocodile
But when things are going well, as they have been, I've been grateful for what Dave and I have been through, and how close we are now. I feel exactly the same feelings for him that I felt two years ago when we were engaged, but it feels more powerful now. It feels more impactful or concrete, somehow, knowing that we've been through some pretty bad stuff and come out of it with those feelings intact.
When I was a kid, I used to wish (foolishly!) that I could have some kind of serious health impairment as a kid that would go away later. Everyone kept telling me that you don't understand your health till it's gone, but I didn't want to only appreciate it after I had lost it.
Somehow that feels very relevant to me now. I feel like I can appreciate when things are going well a hundred times more than I could two years ago. Even though the feelings are the same, my gratitude and appreciation is so very different. So for myself, at least for today, I am grateful for what we've been through.
Ask me again when we're hitting some pits, and I'll re-evaluate.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Things keep getting better
They do.
I thought a month ago that we were back to normal, and that things were going fine. But in the past few weeks, David has mentioned that he's been thinking about what more he could do for our family, and taking initiative to think of what he can do and then to do it. He's been cleaning and grocery shopping - he even brought me a packaged dinner when I wasn't going to have time to eat in between activities one evening, something we did a lot when we were engaged, but we hadn't done it in a long, long time.
It's like I had forgotten how good things could be, and how happy I could be. And now life is that way again.
It's not as if things are unchanged by the threat of Dave's depression - he still feels afraid of what could happen, and feels burdened at school by his past poor performance even though he's doing great now. But things are overall going better than I ever remembered they could.
On July 6th I wrote a post about how hurt, burdened, and alone I felt. I wondered when things would get better for me, even though they were already starting to get better for David. And today I feel like all of those issues have been resolved. Things became better for me - they even became wonderful.
I thought a month ago that we were back to normal, and that things were going fine. But in the past few weeks, David has mentioned that he's been thinking about what more he could do for our family, and taking initiative to think of what he can do and then to do it. He's been cleaning and grocery shopping - he even brought me a packaged dinner when I wasn't going to have time to eat in between activities one evening, something we did a lot when we were engaged, but we hadn't done it in a long, long time.
It's like I had forgotten how good things could be, and how happy I could be. And now life is that way again.
Here comes the sun (do-do-do-do)
It's not as if things are unchanged by the threat of Dave's depression - he still feels afraid of what could happen, and feels burdened at school by his past poor performance even though he's doing great now. But things are overall going better than I ever remembered they could.
On July 6th I wrote a post about how hurt, burdened, and alone I felt. I wondered when things would get better for me, even though they were already starting to get better for David. And today I feel like all of those issues have been resolved. Things became better for me - they even became wonderful.
Diagnoses
When I first went to the psychiatrist with Dave, I saw that the psychiatrist had all of Dave's information on the computer screen behind him, and I read it all. My eyes seemed to fixate on the line "GAF - 50." I couldn't stop staring at it throughout the session.
GAF is a global assessment of functioning, and a 50 means he has serious symptoms or serious impairment in functioning. It is also the kind of score inpatients had to have at a local psychiatric hospital before they could be discharged. I remember thinking, "Really? Really, is that what we're living with? A level of functioning that would barely get you discharged from an inpatient facility?" I thought about it all the rest of the day. I tried to think of reasons it wasn't true. Somehow I was double bound, wanting it to be higher, to have some kind of confirmation that things weren't so bad and would get better - I also wanted it to be low, to have confirmation that my feelings were valid, but I felt like I would much rather have been told my emotions were off-base and things were going to be fine.
Now that I've learned more about the GAF, I realize that Dave really should've had a score closer to 30-40. And I feel angry it wasn't assigned to him.
Later in the year, when things had gotten a little better, we had another appointment with the psychiatrist. We mentioned that Dave had failed nearly all of his classes that semester, and the psychiatrist said 3 or 4 times, "Really? Really, that was your GPA? Wow." It was like he was shocked at how poorly David had been functioning. And even though the double-really was very similar to my original reaction, I felt angry. I felt angry that he would keep asking, when Dave already felt bad about it, and I felt even more angry that he hadn't asked about it sooner, when it would have actually benefited us. I bet he left that session thinking, "Wow, I had him pegged for a little higher functioning than he was. I'm glad he's doing better now," and went on to meet his next student for their 15-minute session. But I left the session agonizing over what resources we might have been able to have if he had realized the extent of Dave's situation sooner.
Now that I know Dave probably should've had a lower GAF (it's subjective and there's quite a large range of scores you can choose, but I'm still very confident in that assessment), I wish I could go back in time to that first session and wave it in the psychiatrist's face, saying, "LOOK! This is what we are dealing with. Now please, help us find the resources we need."
In terms of actual diagnoses, rather than GAF scores, Dave thinks he probably had dysthymia throughout high school and certainly on his mission (dysthymia means that for at least 2 years, you feel depressed more days than you don't), and the episode from this past year was an episode of Major Depressive Disorder - Severe. Early onset dysthymia means that you're likely to have a major depressive episode later, and if you have one episode after dysthymia, you're likely to have more episodes later. We were counting on that anyway, but somehow... it actually makes me feel better to be told it's much more likely than not that we'll have another episode. It's like, rather than spending my life worrying about whether or not another one will come our way, we can spend our time preparing. It feels much less haunting and uncertain that way.
Diagnoses have historically been harmful in my family, and left people feeling both labeled and hopeless. But somehow it's comforting for me to know exactly what box someone would put Dave's symptoms in. It's comforting to me to know what we should expect.
GAF is a global assessment of functioning, and a 50 means he has serious symptoms or serious impairment in functioning. It is also the kind of score inpatients had to have at a local psychiatric hospital before they could be discharged. I remember thinking, "Really? Really, is that what we're living with? A level of functioning that would barely get you discharged from an inpatient facility?" I thought about it all the rest of the day. I tried to think of reasons it wasn't true. Somehow I was double bound, wanting it to be higher, to have some kind of confirmation that things weren't so bad and would get better - I also wanted it to be low, to have confirmation that my feelings were valid, but I felt like I would much rather have been told my emotions were off-base and things were going to be fine.
Now that I've learned more about the GAF, I realize that Dave really should've had a score closer to 30-40. And I feel angry it wasn't assigned to him.
Later in the year, when things had gotten a little better, we had another appointment with the psychiatrist. We mentioned that Dave had failed nearly all of his classes that semester, and the psychiatrist said 3 or 4 times, "Really? Really, that was your GPA? Wow." It was like he was shocked at how poorly David had been functioning. And even though the double-really was very similar to my original reaction, I felt angry. I felt angry that he would keep asking, when Dave already felt bad about it, and I felt even more angry that he hadn't asked about it sooner, when it would have actually benefited us. I bet he left that session thinking, "Wow, I had him pegged for a little higher functioning than he was. I'm glad he's doing better now," and went on to meet his next student for their 15-minute session. But I left the session agonizing over what resources we might have been able to have if he had realized the extent of Dave's situation sooner.
Now that I know Dave probably should've had a lower GAF (it's subjective and there's quite a large range of scores you can choose, but I'm still very confident in that assessment), I wish I could go back in time to that first session and wave it in the psychiatrist's face, saying, "LOOK! This is what we are dealing with. Now please, help us find the resources we need."
In terms of actual diagnoses, rather than GAF scores, Dave thinks he probably had dysthymia throughout high school and certainly on his mission (dysthymia means that for at least 2 years, you feel depressed more days than you don't), and the episode from this past year was an episode of Major Depressive Disorder - Severe. Early onset dysthymia means that you're likely to have a major depressive episode later, and if you have one episode after dysthymia, you're likely to have more episodes later. We were counting on that anyway, but somehow... it actually makes me feel better to be told it's much more likely than not that we'll have another episode. It's like, rather than spending my life worrying about whether or not another one will come our way, we can spend our time preparing. It feels much less haunting and uncertain that way.
Diagnoses have historically been harmful in my family, and left people feeling both labeled and hopeless. But somehow it's comforting for me to know exactly what box someone would put Dave's symptoms in. It's comforting to me to know what we should expect.
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