Music had always been a huge part of my life. While growing up I sang in choir in church, chorus in school, attended Christian youth group music camps, sang in the community choir and was selected for a 12-member group of singers during my senior year of high school. When I wasn’t performing, I always had a song in my head that I would sing out loud or hum throughout the day. Friends would call it my ‘song of the day.’ Surprisingly, old habits die-hard and even today the first song that pops in my head when I wake up is usually my ‘song of the day.’
During court I wrote about the song God’s Will…especially the lyric “I’ve been wounded, jaded, loved and hated.” That was how I was feeling and how Dr. Liar and the defense treated me. I honestly believe that we give people permission to treat us one way or the other. However, in a courtroom, you don’t have much choice. I struggled since I normally wouldn’t have allowed people to make up lies and tell so many mistruths about my family and me. It took everything I could muster to sit and listen to such nonsense. I honestly wanted to punch someone. I took karate when I was in high school. If I could still lift my leg I would have done a round house kick and laid Dr. Liar and the whining defense attorney out on the floor.
Once we were done with court and made the difficult decision not to appeal, I lost my song. No matter what I did, my ‘song of the day’ didn’t occur when I woke up. No music; no song. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. I had been on vacation for two weeks during the trial, and was back at work; however, nothing that I did for my company was good enough. I was also having problems with my tremor in my voice getting worse and dictating to the computer was getting difficult. Not for me…but for the computer. The doctor asked me to work for two hours a day for a few weeks. I knew my company would not be happy. And, they weren’t. It was a big issue — lots of meetings and telephone calls that took up many two-hour days.
I worked two hours a day and spent most of that time participating in telephone meetings and working on my weekly progress report and performance review for the previous year. One afternoon, after working for two hours and going to physical therapy, my daughter came home from school. It was her senior year and there was so much excitement with all the activities. However, I was having a difficult time getting excited about anything. I knew that I had to do something to get myself pumped up — this was an exciting year in her life and it only comes once. I didn’t want to miss any part of this year, but I needed help. I didn’t want my daughter to know about my depression since she was in the middle of making some really big decisions. So when she was home I was the June Cleaver of mothers…faking it of course.
How could I put the past behind me? I had actively participated in every moment of the creation of my part-time job..so why didn’t I see myself in it? I knew they didn’t want me? They were forced to take me and that is why my boss was mad and refused to talk to me. Did I really want to do a job that was beneath me? Was any job better than no job? Could I really be on long-term disability?
I thought during the trial that getting back into a normal routine that the brokenness inside me might start to heal. I thought that I might find myself once again. However, I didn’t. I was truly lost. I just went to a deeper and darker place. I lost my positive attitude. I was seeing my therapist once a week, which I really needed; however, during one of our appointments she accused me of withholding her payment from the trial. I tried to explain that the attorney had paid some of the bills and we had paid others, but that the two of us had not talked. I had assumed that she was paid by our attorney or the insurance company since her time in court was billable hours. I asked if she was asking if I had kept her money. She didn’t respond. I wrote her a check and walked out.
It was that very moment that I decided that it was going to stop. I was no longer allowing people to treat me unfairly and unkindly. Somehow I had allowed the court case mentality to creep into my personal life and I was one again going to take control. If I had known that she wasn’t paid…I would have written her a check immediately. When I needed her the most, she treated me like all the others who she was helping me get over. I walked out and haven’t spoken or seen her since. She left a voice mail message asking if we could work things out. I deleted the message and hoped that I never had to hear her voice again.
Leaving her office was a difficult drive home. I remember asking God what had I done to deserve such unkindness from people. Why was I being beaten up by Dr. Liar, the justice system, my company who I had worked so hard for and now my therapist? Yes, I was having a pity party right there in my car. I called my husband and left him a voice message, as he says “a non coherent voice message”. I don’t know how I drove home. I was hurt, angry, sad, disappointed, lost, confused, in pain and felt that I had nowhere to turn.
Before I knew it, I was in a deeper depression than ever. I worked two hours each day, went to physical therapy and the rest of the time I was with my Tempur-Pedic bed. We became the best of friends. I couldn’t sleep, but I was there, in my bed, with all the bells and whistles, feeling sorry for myself. Our dogs loved it and I didn’t have to do anything but catch up on Sex and the City episodes that I missed since I was too cheap to pay for HBO. I rented other television series as well to try to help me get out of my funk (mostly comedies).
I hid it from most people, but I spent about four months feeling sorry for myself. When others talk about deep depression and suicide, I can relate. I was there. I know what it’s like to hurt so deeply that no matter what you do, you can’t see your way out of it. I gained weight; I lost weight, I slept too much; I slept too little. I took my medicine; I didn’t take my medicine. I cared; I didn’t care. And, I learned that I was a good actress. I could fake it when I needed to…for the sake of others. I didn’t do anything for myself…I didn’t feel worthy enough. I couldn’t and wouldn’t go back to the therapist after she had treated me the way she did. So why bother? I was mad at Dr. Liar, the court system, myself, and I was mad at God. How could he let the sinners win and the non-sinners suffer? Why did it matter what I did from now on — it was obvious that he didn’t care. So, why should I?
©My Unplanned Life and www.shakinguplife.wordpress.com. 2011.