The Power of Death

On this day 85 years ago, my father was born. For the past 19.5 years, he has been gone.

Death has a double-sided power. It had the power to bring me to my knees with depression. It had the power to make me question why other people got their dads longer, why other kids besides mine had grandfathers, why other people with aneurysms lived, why my parents had to be separated when they finally were approaching the time in their lives where they could retire and take the trips he had planned.

Death's flipside is a touch more positive. I am more apt to savor moments. Realizing that no one's next breath is guaranteed allows me to seize the day a bit more than I used to. Granted, it's not all sunshine and roses. I forget. I get pissed over stupid things. I try to control things for reasons that would fill a book. Ultimately, the losses that both my husband and I have endured have strengthened us. We have the blessing of knowing that with God, we can endure what feels like our guts being ripped through our belly buttons. You can, indeed, live through losses. But you never get over them. I liken it to when your car gets in an accident. You get it fixed, and it looks fine, but there's always something a little off.

So, happy 85th Birthday, Daddy. You are missed today. You are missed every day. Thank God, it won't be forever. But twenty years sure feels like that.

As I wrap up 2012

I am back on Celexa, with the occasional Xanax.  I am working myself into the ground--AGAIN--so it should be no surprise that the insidious cousin of workaholism, depression, is in my life again.  Once at bay, this school year of great stress has unleashed the bastard.  This time around, I know how to do the dance.  Meds and counseling.  

An interesting thing about the meds.  The last time I took them, I gained 60 pounds.  I have a hypothesis, as I am looking at a 10 pound gain so far.  When one part of your brain is suppressed, another is unleashed.  To get through what I have to get through in a day, much mindless eating occurs.  I know what is happening, and it continues to happen.  I work out 3-4 times a week, but that will not counterbalance the food that I consume.  The part of my brain that controls that, I believe, is being suppressed by my meds.  It's high on whatever...and could care less about me gaining weight.  But another part of my brain cares a LOT...I have worked hard to get the weight off, and I am not interested in gaining back.

Still another part of me wonders about the idea of chemical weight gain.  In addition to the eating, is Celexa a drug that will just pack pounds on me.  My doc has me staying on it for at least a year, as depression recurrence is noted in research for those who go off it before being on it at least that long.  So, now I have to look toward my counselor, with whom I start on Monday, to give me some type of plan for this.  It's all good.

My stress level is not going to lessen in the next few months, but my response to stress needs to.  So, that's the old journey made new.