It’s all relative, I guess.
In March, I had three seizures in one day, two on the goddamn floor at my new job, with ambulances, the whole nine yards. Surprise! I’m epileptic! I had to quit the best antidepressant I’ve ever taken cold turkey, and was put on an anticonvulsant medication from hell, that put me in such a fog I couldn’t write, read, or hold a conversation worth shit, and also made me severely depressed. The impact of the seizures also put me in a psychological tailspin from hell, so throw some raging PTSD in there. I couldn’t drive for six months, so I was basically a recluse basket case.
Then within weeks of my seizures, my mother twisted her knife in my back for the last fucking time and I ended our relationship. I said, ‘‘rot in hell, you narcissistic, soul-sucking bitch,’’ those were the last words I ever said to my mother. I have to live with that for the rest of my life. Since I don’t have a relationship with my Dad, that’s it for me. I don’t have parents. The hardest thing is coming to terms with the fact that I never did. It’s unbelievably painful. Agony. Makes me realize what a wounded little child I still am, despite all my progress, and I have to face it.
But I remember turning to my husband, even when my brain was a mushy ball of Keppra-fied worthlessness, and saying, ‘‘Goddamn, am I glad this isn’t 2014.’’ Because in 2014 I lost my job, and a week later I lost my baby, and by the end of that year I had almost lost my marriage. My marriage, the only thing I’ve ever had faith in, almost died along with our unborn child. I really can’t conceive of anything worse.
What has 2016 been? Health problems, psych problems, and Mama drama, so nothing we haven’t done before, just ratcheted up a few notches. We’ve got each other, and hell, we’ve got a house now, jobs we love, we’re living in our home state near his family, and his Dad and stepmom sure put into sharp relief the difference between what I had for parents and what a loving parent actually is. They really think I’m their child. It’s weird, but in a good way.
And then, in September, the time of year that is typically the worst for me, shit really turned around for the better. The new seizure pills I switched to after 6 months of Keppra hell turned out to be utterly fucking fantastic at treating my depression. Lamictal is better than the depression pill that probably gave me those seizures in the first place. For once I’m glad irony is on my side for a change. And now… we’re going to adopt a child. As in, finally forked over money to an agency, processing our home study as we speak, it’s happening for real.
It’s bizarre but I think 2016 was one of the best years of my life.
And my stress this year certainly can’t hold a candle to the shit some of you are dealing with. Hat’s off. It’s almost over.