Lots of people ask how I am doing. I truly appreciate the fact that they know that I, too, am going through something difficult with all of this. I usually answer with an, “I’m okay,” or, “Eh, so so,” with a slight shake of my head. I’ve never been one to hide how I’m feeling from people.
More specifically, I’m holding it together most of the time. I’m not a basket case. But I am finding it hard to do much that’s productive, and I’m stress eating like a fiend. The ambush crying strikes me occasionally, but I do find it therapeutic. It’s like my cup runeth over (in a bad way), and the crying takes the level down a bit. Until it fills up again.
I am feeling fairly helpless, both because I’m here and he’s there and I can’t do anything or say anything except during our short visits, and because even when he is released, there may be little I can do, other than just be there. But I’m hoping we’ll have some plans to work on and action to take.
So, in short, I’m struggling, but I’ll be fine. Rory and I will work through this together, which makes all the difference. I have no allusions that the medication change will be a magic (series of) pill(s), but they will be the next step to finding things that work. Continued progress—or at least continued efforts, since sometimes there are steps backward—no matter how small, has a huge impact on one’s resolve and optimism.