Those 70ish Girls

By the time you get to be 70ish, you have had a whole lot of life experiences.

A physical, or I guess what some would call a chemical depression, was a new one for me. I sincerely hope the only way most of you will experience this type of anguish is from what you are about to read.

All was well. Kip and I had reached our long awaited goal of selling our house and almost everything in it except for a few treasures we couldn’t part with like the things we need in our day to day lives such as clothes, toothbrushes, toothpaste, towels, our frozen dinners… you know.

We spent the 2 days before we closed on the house cleaning everything. The house, yard, garage, and cottage were spic and span. We drove to the closing with the 2 dogs in the back of the Jeep, collected our check, and drove to where the RV was parked. We then took the scenic route to Ben Wheeler, TX, to the RV park where we intended to stay until we left on our first of what we planned to be many trips across America. Our target date was April 1st.

To make a long story longer, as my mom used to say, things didn’t go as planned. It is now April 15th and we’re still here. Kip is scheduled to have back surgery on Monday. The surgery will be followed by 3 months of rehab before he’s ready to spend long days driving an RV. The good news is he will eventually be able to.

This was not part of the plan. I began to feel what I would call down in the dumps. The situation called for that, but I was not expecting what happened next. I became despondent. I did not want to get up in the morning and I couldn’t wait to take to my bed at night. I closed my eyes with a slight sense of relief that for the next 8 hours, I would not have to face anything. The next morning, I was overcome with dread before I even opened my eyes. I felt no sense of gratitude, compassion, love, hope, or excitement. I only felt fear and a sense of foreboding.

I had so much to be grateful for. I had friends who could tell I wasn’t being myself. They wanted to help, but no one, including me, knew what help would look like. My faith in God and self suffered, which only caused me to become wracked with pain and guilt. Kip tried to make sense of it all, but he could not.

I have a mental illness called bipolar disorder. I was diagnosed almost 20 years ago. I guess I have been in remission because I have been able to handle life’s challenges with some success. About like most people would, I guess. This episode was different. I called and made an appointment with my psychiatrist’s office. I had been seeing one for a while. In fact, she had recently changed my medication due to some side effects I had been experiencing. I have never felt medication made much of a difference. I only complied because I promised my husband and family I would.

When the doctor changed my medication, she intended for me to take 2 new prescriptions. I didn’t remember that, so when I got to the pharmacy, I didn’t question that I only got one. I took the one for six weeks. I have to be honest and say I was at the point of a breakdown when the doctor and I realized what had happened and called in the 2nd prescription. I began to feel better on the 2nd day of taking both prescriptions.

Why am I telling you all of this? It is to make you believe that mental illness is not a choice. No one would want to the feel the way I did…

And no one could be more grateful not to feel that way now…

So, I’m pretty much myself, again. I decided to dye my hair gray, (again…)