A Bad Case of the Blues

In the spirit of being truthful and authentic, it’s been a terrible week. I just can’t seem to shake this overwhelming feeling of the blues. I’ve been fighting it for a couple of weeks if not months to be honest, but this week it just seemed to come to a raging head. I think it really kicked in when I formally had to cancel the annual “Faber Family Christmas” weekend that I always host. I understand and am certainly on board for the restrictions for large gatherings to help keep everyone safe, but still, it was a devastating gut punch.

Getting ready for that weekend always helps me get through the anniversary of my Mom’s death on December 6, and I make a point to celebrate her by keeping family traditions with baking, cooking, and decorating. It’s just become a new tradition that I keep all the old traditions alive. Like everything else this year, things will be different. And I know it’s not forever or that I’m the only one in this boat, but it still doesn’t negate the sadness or loneliness I feel when I think about it.

Then a few days later, a memory from three years ago popped up on my Facebook. It was a picture of my Dad lying on the couch. He had looked a little cold and lonely, so I’d tucked a gigantic comforter around him, as well as my old doll “Jason” and a stuffed tiny Charlie Brown, so he’d have some company. And the smile on his face made me miss him, but more than that, it made me miss the fun we used to have. Everyday we would laugh. Every single day, there was some sort of shenanigans going on. God, I miss that.

Then it hit me. I’ve stopped laughing. I used to be someone who laughed all the time, and most often, I was the one doing the entertaining to make others laugh. These past few months, that’s just disappeared, and I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve truly laughed since all this began. Sure, I’ve had some chuckles but for someone who spent the majority of her day laughing and smiling, this is a huge change, and a huge blow to my mental wellbeing.

I didn’t really make that connection until that picture of my Dad showed up on my timeline. I feel like most of the time, I’m just faking it or forcing it when I do laugh or smile, and I don’t like it. I never used to be that perpetually sad or cranky and cantankerous person. People could always count on me for a smile and a laugh. Not so much anymore, I’m afraid.

I feel bad because I know that people expect that from me. I know they look to me to cheer them up or to say something motivating or inspiring but right now, I’ve got nothing. I’ve been faking this too. All day, everyday at work. A huge part of my job is to motivate my clients, mainly kids and young adults, to take steps toward their goals, and in their lives, and a big part of me feels like I’m letting them down. Not purposely of course, I’m giving them all I have, but admittedly it’s not like it used to be for them. I just don’t have it in me to give. And it bothers me because I don’t like to disappoint people, so I will give, give, give, until one day I wake up and realize the well has run dry and I’m lying beside it begging for water.

Let’s just say my normal bucket of sunshine has sprung a gigantic hole and at this point, nothing I try or do seems to plug the leak. And I have been trying. I’m usually pretty good at being able to pull myself out of a bluesy period but so far, I’ve been striking out left right and center. I love to take long walks and find that is the single most thing that gets me going again. Unfortunately, my physical wellbeing has sort of mirrored my mental wellbeing. It’s been a bit of a shitshow to be honest.

My joints, especially my ankles, ache on a good day (Aging and old injuries suck). Lately, they’ve all been on fire. I had surgery on my left ankle three years ago and it’s never been the same. There’s just a constant dull pain that runs from my knee right down to my toes. Most days I can deal with it, and it’s a minor hinderance, but every once and while it’ll flare up and make itself known. I think it just does it for attention. Well it has been seeking attention in a big way, so much so, that I can’t even make it around my block without limping. So long walks are out, which just makes me sadder and a little distraught.

God bless my sister. She knows I’m in a rut and is doing everything she can to be there and help me through, despite her own exhaustion. We text all the time and lately our Skype sessions have gone from a few times a week to almost nightly. She knows how much I love her little dog Mazie, so she’ll hold the wee thing up to the camera to give me virtual kisses, which usually puts a genuine smile on my face, but this week, even the dog has been sick and wants nothing to do with anything but snuggling and napping. Maybe the dog has it right. She’s not feeling herself at all, so she’s resting. A lot. She doesn’t seem to care what anyone thinks of her just lying on the couch napping. She’s tired, so she rests. Simple concept isn’t it? Yet, so, so hard to implement.

I decided to treat myself to a “date night” on Friday. I made some barbequed ribs and a fresh salad, then poured myself a glass of white wine and actually sat at the kitchen table to eat it. You know I lit a candle or two. Usually, one glass of wine leads to another, and then some spontaneous dancing, and I was so hoping that I was going to find some spunk. I love to dance. It always makes me feel better, both mentally and physically.

I sipped at my wine through dinner but wasn’t getting the urge to refill my glass. It ended up giving me indigestion (thanks menopause), so I finally gave up and poured the rest down the sink. Date night was off to a splendid start. I’m not one who needs booze to dance anyways, so I wasn’t too concerned. I cleaned up the kitchen, then went into my living room and turned on some dance tunes – not blues. Nothing. Nada. I couldn’t even get my butt off the couch, let alone shake it. The music was not moving me. And when I can’t dance, I know I’m in some trouble.

I seriously wanted to cry. I thought for sure that a good old dance party would brighten my spirits. But I just couldn’t do it. Mentally and physically I just had nothing left. So, I changed my tactics. I’m a stubborn soul and I don’t give up easily. Instead of a raging dance party, I’d go take a steaming hot, lavender Epsom salts bath, and listen to 80s love ballads. I would surround my tub with candles and just sit and soak away my troubles. Now I love to sing almost as much I love to dance, and singing in the tub creates just the best acoustics, so I let it rip.

Between you and me, I think Lionel Richie missed out not asking me to sing backup on “Truly”, because seriously, I rocked it. Although, it would have been hard to take a full bathtub as a prop on tour, and I probably would have been a bit uncomfortable onstage buck naked. I’m a rather shy girl don’t you know. But back to my ballads. I don’t know all the Latin words in “The Prayer” so I just made them up as I went along, which worked out quite nicely if I do say so myself. Not sure my neighbours would agree.

“Stairway to Heaven” immediately brought me back to Grade 7 and 8, when our class would have house parties. Very innocent affairs, well except for the “make-out room”, which I can say I never saw the inside of until the final party in the summer of Grade 8. It wasn’t all it was “made-out” to be…

Thinking about those times did make me smile, and I got out of the tub in a much better mood than when I went in. Music really is good for the soul. Even though it was still early, I decided I’d rather keep my 80s lovefest going and just snuggle in bed listening to music. I was feeling chill and relaxed, a vibe I hadn’t felt in awhile, so I was going to ride it as long as I could.

I lit a candle, (yes, I have a thousand in every room of the house) and nestled under my comforter in a clean pair of snuggly jammies. Next thing I know, it’s two in the morning, my candle is almost out, and the songs have progressed into the mid-nineties. I haven’t fallen asleep to music since 1980, when I tried to stay up on New Year’s Eve to record the Top 100 songs of the last decade. I was surprised to say the least, and quite happy that after my quick trip to the bathroom, I turned the music off, blew out the candle and fell right back to sleep.

I needed that sleep. When I woke up the next morning, I was feeling a little better, nothing to write home about, but a tiny bit better. I know getting out of this rut isn’t going to be an easy task. Monday will come and I’ll be right back in caregiver mode and I’m hoping that this week I’ll be better able to cope with it, but I won’t know for sure until I get there. When you’re a caregiver, it’s hard to accept that you too, need care. It’s a trap we all fall into, and in these strange times, it’s even more pronounced and profound. I do my best to reach out to others to check in and see how they’re doing, and sometimes I get a response, and sometimes I don’t, but that’s okay, because it does me good to make the effort to communicate. And I’m sure I haven’t been perceived as the best friend to everyone I need to be a friend to, and there are some people that want more, but right now, I’m doing the best that I can. I think we all are.

I’m not telling you all of this to garner sympathy. Far from it. I’m telling this story because I think it’s important for people to know that they are not alone in their struggles. I once had a friend call me the “happiest person he’d ever met” and I wear that moniker with pride, I really do. But the truth is, sometimes even the happiest people struggle. Sometimes, life overwhelms us too. Sometimes we get the blues, and when we get them, we get a damn good case of them.

I know I will get past this. I have no doubts that I will. I will patch that hole in my bucket so tight that the only place for the overflow of sunshine to go will be to shine on other people. I don’t pretend to have all the answers. I don’t pretend to know how to make everything right in the world and more specifically in my life. There will always be challenges, both internal and external, and we just have to navigate as best as we can. Asking anymore of ourselves is just too much pressure, and when you’ve got the blues or you’re feeling down, the last thing you need is more pressure.

Don’t fight it. Let it happen. Let the emotions exist. Reflect upon it. Soak in a steaming hot bathtub and belt out 80s love songs. Do whatever you need to do to help fill your bucket. And if you don’t think you can patch that leak and fill it on your own, then reach out for help. Don’t expect people to read your mind or know how you’re feeling deep inside. That isn’t fair, especially in these times when our face to face social interactions are limited. Be honest. Tell them you’re struggling. Don’t make assumptions that others will respond the way you think they should respond.

Most of all, take care of yourself. I spent the day on the couch just resting. No television, hardly any screen time or social media. I closed my computer and decided the work I had to do could wait. I was more important. Resting was more important. I just sort of sat there with my eyes closed. I realize not all of you have the luxury to be able to do that, so just do whatever you can. I reached out to a friend for a chat, and it felt good to touch base again and catch up. I need to do it more often.

Sometimes I feel like I’m imposing and that people really don’t want to hear from me, especially on a weekend when everyone is doing their thing with their families etc., but I’ve decided that I’m just going to take the chance. If they respond, they respond. If they don’t, they don’t. I’m not going to read anything into it one way or the other. We all are just doing our best.

As I finish up this post, I can honestly say, I’m feeling quite a bit better. Sometimes, you just need to let it all out in whatever way works for you. I’m a writer, so I write. I realize as a writer, I haven’t been all that inspirational or motivational lately and I apologize, but I promised myself when I started this blog that I would be as authentic as I could. I like to “play” pretend, but I don’t like to pretend to be someone that I’m not, so here I am, warts and all. Judge as you may.

Now that I’m feeling a little spunkier, I think I’m going to go practice a duet with Lionel. I’m still holding out hope for that telephone call. Honestly, I even have my own dance routines. It would be an amazing show. What does he have to lose? I’m waiting Mr. Richie. Call me Babe. We’d be famous…