Survivor Anger

I’m so angry.

I just saw a piece on tv about a guy who survived cancer and his role model, a young girl, did not survive hers.  He talked about how he didn’t have the typical “survivor’s guilt”-the idea of feeling guilty after surviving when so many don’t.  The idea of not being worthy.  The notion that you don’t deserve to be the one to live.  I had a bit of that in the year after my chemo ended and I continued to have “all clear” on my follow ups.

This guy, who is a fighter pilot and basically a (now) healthy young guy with a family, talked about how he didn’t have that.  Instead, he has something he calls survivor’s responsibility.  He believes that he, and others, have a responsibility to “live their best life” and “live with intention”.  Well good for him.  I have a big dose of can’t.

Most people would never guess I battle with depression.  I’ve been upbeat and productive most of my life.  It hasn’t come easily. There were suicide attempts, long stretches of not being able to function, and the kind of muddled thinking that comes with a mental illness.  In my opinion, the depression is/was MUCH more difficult than cancer.  Maybe that is because the cancer went away.

I will have to be treated for depression the rest of my life.  Chemotherapy, then a car wreck with some brain damage, then life threatening pneumonia all in the span of just under two years has really triggered this round of intense depression.  I know it’s chemical.  I know never to quit taking my drugs.  I’ve had years of therapy and continue to see someone since the wreck.  I don’t feel like I’m “living my best life” by any stretch.

I do think I live “with intention” in that I do it on purpose.  I could have-maybe should have-died on so many times.  Most of the time I’ve done it out of being just plain stubborn.  Choosing to do chemotherapy when you are someone with chronic depression was tough.  I wanted nothing more than to be done with this life, but I have children, and a husband, and at the time had two elderly parents.  I had responsibilities and I wasn’t going to let those people down.

I went to 6 rounds of chemo.  Getting the treatment isn’t bad-it’s how you feel afterward.  The exhaustion is incredibly strong.  The hair loss, the being careful of germs, the inability to function independently-those are the real challenges.  And it took about a year after diagnosis to even begin to feel better.  Then I went back to work, very part time, at a job I dearly loved.  Three months later I was sidelined again by a car wreck.  This time it was more than physical.  I lost my ability to make decisions, to decide value, and to plan anything.  That, on top of constant pain, have made life pretty awful from day to day.  It certainly doesn’t help make me want to live.  It definitely isn’t “living my best life”.

All this is only my latest challenge.  I’ve already survived being bedfast for six months in a body cast at about age 9.  I’ve conquered the upheaval of my parents’ divorce, relocation in the middle of high school, and failing out of college my first year.  I lived through an abusive first marriage and the death of my first child.  I lived through being a single mom while going back to school and fighting for child support and custody and being stalked by my ex.  I stared down the barrel of his .357 and did not have a shred of fear. I reinvented myself over and over and over again, always shining through.  I’ve managed to survive moving out of my country, standing up to prejudices, an horrendous couple of Presidents, 9/11 and a surprise pregnancy at 38 years old.  Then the cancer and all that came with and after that since 2016.

Far too many of my friends have died in the past three years as well.  It’s an abnormally large amount, even in numbers rather than percentage.  Then my dad died, and I’m still “getting over” that.  Talk about abandonment issues! 

Good things have happened as well, so don’t think it’s been all bad.  I have a couple of granddaughters who I absolutely adore.  I’m closer emotionally to my three kids than ever before.  I have the unconditional love of a pair of schnauzers every minute of every day.  I’ve had the opportunity to teach, challenge, and protest with and for not only future generations, but past ones.  I have a fascinating career-even if it rarely pays a dime-and a great deal of public recognition.  I get to travel to speak at conferences, write books and watch people actually buy them, and entertain friends by cooking, which I truly love.  I have gone on two fabulous Caribbean vacations at Sandals and have booked two more in the future.  I have a husband who loves me beyond reason and a very comfortable lifestyle.  My mom is still in pretty good health as she starts to see her years approach 80 and I adore her wonderful partner.

With such blessings and joy for my life, how could I be depressed?  I am depressed because it is a chemical, physical condition.  It’s not the blues, it’s not sadness, it is the inability to feel content and happy because my brain isn’t getting the glutamate, dopamine, serotonin and norepinephrine it needs.  As I have aged, the need for those chemicals has changed.  On top of that, chemotherapy for lymphoma completely disrupted my system.  My body and its circumstance has made me depressed.  We’re still trying different combinations of medications and diet to address the imbalances, but it’s highly individualized and fairly complex.  It also leaves me very vulnerable.  Thankfully, because I have also had talk therapy, I understand all this and am safe in spite of myself.

That doesn’t give me any extra motivation though.  It doesn’t let me see the benefit of quitting smoking.  It doesn’t entice me to exercise.  It doesn’t get me out of bed and into the shower.  It doesn’t let me know the reward of a job well done.  It doesn’t let me hope I will get through the current challenges.  It also doesn’t tell my brain I can’t do all of those things, so I end up frustrated and not finishing projects-even the projects I truly enjoy when the chemicals are more balanced.

I’m vividly aware that I am not living my best life.  I also don’t have survivor guilt.  What I have is survivor anger.