everything is funky dory

 I have been in a funk lately, and I just can't shake it.
Between a series of job losses for my husband, major and minor medical situations that have required decisions, parenting teenagers, some job stresses of my own, and our financial troubles--in addition to a multitude of other things that I don't know if I'll ever be able to write about--I've gotten just a bit stressed out.

I've always had times of stress, but the stress usually leaves after a while.  For instance, the end of every semester is stressful.  I grade and grade and do all that I have to do, and then I have time off and recuperate.  The stress is short-term, and there's time to recover.

The kind of stress I've been experiencing, though, isn't this kind.  It isn't short-term.  There is daily stress.  There's lots to worry about, from paying a bill to concern about an offspring's choices to wondering which creditor is calling (thank goodness that's over) to having too many professional tasks to handle in one day to seeing an unmown lawn in my back yard.
Worse, there has been no healing time.  I am one who needs time alone to reconnect with myself and resume breathing.  Since my husband lost his job 16 months ago, he has been here.  Other than infrequent interviews and his trips to the gym, he is always here.  Always in the same chair.  Always on the computer.  Always with the TV on.  Not doing anything around the house other than cooking (which to be fair I appreciate a great deal).  I get that he is experiencing his own brand of depression and trying to figure out what this all means for his life.

But I've been suffocating.  I have no place, no time, that is mine.

The stress has beaten me down.  It's the kind of stress that never goes away, not even for an hour, until the light that's inside you is burnt out.  I feel completely worn down.  I have nothing left inside me.

Now, I don't feel like that, empty, most of the time.  There are times when I feel almost content, when I'm able to function.  But there is some time on most days when I am feeling more fragile than I could have ever imagined.

Two weeks ago I went to the doctor, hoping I could get some tweaks to my HRT and my anti-depressant to help me feel like I can cope better.  Instead, the doctor told me I need to see a psychiatrist.  My medication needs to be balanced by someone who is an expert in those meds.  I get that, and I don't disagree with her.  Ironically, hearing that I needed to see a psychiatrist made me feel, well, depressed.  She said I was showing symptoms of chronic stress.  That's so obvious.  So why did it make me angry and hurt?

I came home and began to research chronic stress.  After a few days, I began to feel liberated, like I had permission to feel what I'd been feeling all along.

I found a website that, while not medical or scholarly, stunned me: The Four Stages of Burnout.  It's like this guy knew me.  In my professional life, I had gone through every single one of the stages.  I had said or thought every single thing he said there.  It was amazing.  I was thrilled to know that what I was going through made sense.  It was, in a sense, a tribute to my strength that I had gotten as far as I had.

Fast forward to this week.  I've been having some neurological troubles (mainly numbness in my lower limbs).  I had an MRI last week to rule out Big Scary Stuff like a tumor or pinched something-or-other.  This week, I got a call that I have arthritis.  ARTHRITIS??!!  I thought that was for old people.

Now I feel old and like I'm falling apart.  So in response to my diagnosis (I'll see the doctor next week), I got angry and decided to show the arthritis who was boss.  I proceeded to single-handedly rearrange my entire office at work--a full desk, two overflowing filing cabinets, and two seven-foot tall bookcases stacked with books and several years worth of scholarly journals.  Yeah, I showed arthritis who was in charge, all right.  And then yesterday, I had a full day of meetings an hour and a half away.  I sat for hours on end.  Aching.  Sore.

Yeah, I know who's in charge, all right, and it isn't me.

So I'm on a journey to trying to do something to please me every day, to write, to find a way to spend time with myself, to mend and build on relationships that I need to support me.  (More about that last one in another post, I think.)
I'm in a funk, but for the first time in a while I think I can understand why and I understand that it's normal and okay.  I'm not broken, but I have much healing to do.  My light has gone out, so I will try to relight it.  I wonder what, phoenix-like, will emerge when I'm through?