I recently was reminded by a family tree someone did that both of my grandmother's parents died when she was a child. She has never driven a car. She worked outside the home as a teenager, but after getting married and having seven kids, she never worked outside the home again. She was always very dependent on my grandfather. They have a really close-knit relationship.
But there is something about my grandmother. Something that has always drawn me to think of her as depressed. She does, actually take antidepressants. My dad told me once years ago that she had been in a psych ward. And in 1999, when I was psychotic, she said to me, "Jenny, go see a psychiatrist." Which I wish I had done.
I lived with my grandparents for a year and half, and that was the period when my psychosis took hold. Nobody knew that. Probably nobody I'm related to in Maryland even knows that now, all these years later. None of them really talk to me anymore. But that year, the year I was going to the community college, and in the honors program there, and had applied and got admitted to Smith College's Ada Comstock Scholars Program, that year, living with my grandparents, taking trains into see a specialist in Washington D.C. on Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome, and desperately injecting myself with alternative medications to try to get better from that, better from something, better..... That year, that was the end of my rational life, for a long time.
And now that I think about my grandmother, I wonder what she saw in me that year that made her know I needed a psychiatrist. I wonder if it was something she could relate to. My bedroom was always a mess at her house. She would tell me to keep the door closed and to clean it up. I had a really hard time organizing myself as I've always had, all my life. I don't like living like a slob, but I have a really hard time trying to not live that way.
That is part of the reason I'm thinking of my grandmother right now. She who is lying in a bed in an ALF in Maryland, with her husband nearby in another room. He told my dad recently that he was worried she wouldn't live much longer. See, on Saturdays, I act like my grandmother. I lie in bed. I have plenty of reasons I could give you for this. And, hey, I don't lie in bed 365 days a year, like I did a few years ago. So I can say that. I can tell you I still have chronic physical conditions, like Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome, Fibromyalgia, and Sjogren's Syndrome. And the truth is, I don't really know how much those conditions are affecting me right now. My rheumatologist recently had me take antibiotics for two months and a high dosage of prescription strength Vitamin D because all my joints were hurting and my bloodwork showed an ineffective immune system.
But when it comes right down to it, I don't know why I spend the weekend in bed. I get up to go to the library. Usually, I do that on Sundays. I go to one at my former community college which is open then, and I go then because I didn't, usually, go on Saturday. I have been spending Saturdays in bed for many months. I go all through the week days, to work, to school, and I function. I am getting an A+ in both of my classes, the same grades I got last semester in both of my classes. I am doing well with school, so that's not a problem. But it takes everything. It takes all my willpower, and all my concentration, and all my energy to just get by.
I don't know what the problem is. My doctor increased my Prozac because of my OCD symptoms, not because of depression, because I didn't say I had any depression problem. But maybe I do, and I just don't recognize it. It's somehow related, this lack of ability to organize myself, and this lack of motivation to clean my apartment, and this getting overwhelmed so easily by my own mess. It's related to my mental health. How, exactly, that it is related is hard to explain. But it is related. So I get overwhelmed, and I give up, and I lie in bed.
Today was the day I had planned to clean my apartment. For a week, I planned it. Today would be the day. I didn't do it last weekend, so I had to do it today. It's in very, very, very bad shape right now. I must do it very soon. I worry that the landlord will evict me if they hear from the pest control guy who comes to spray for bugs that my apartment is a disaster. And it is a disaster. I was driving behind a truck that said "1-800-JUNK We will haul your junk!" yesterday, and I thought about calling them to see if they would just come and pick up garbage and take it out of my apartment. I was joking to myself about this. Like, yeah, that's what would happen if I had a house, I'd have to call a truck. My mom has called trucks to her house to haul junk. I learned how to be a slob from my mom. She was like this. But I am now worse than she is. I am now a sloth, lying in bed all Saturday, because Monday through Friday takes every bit of energy I have to go to class, go to libraries, study, get good grades on projects, go to work, do my job, not get too stressed out, go to therapy with my new therapist, go to the psychiatrist, and do all of those things. And then it is Saturday, and it is time to tackle the mess, and I just stop.
I get too tired, and too overwhelmed, and I just lie there. My new therapist said if you're tired from physical illnesses, it's okay to lie down all day. But the thing is, I don't want to be lying down all day. I want to be accomplishing bare necesseties of life that I need to do to get by here. I am talking about a colossal mess. I am talking about flies throughout my house being drawn by food lying around and beverages lying around and getting spilled and I'm not cleaning any of it up. I am talking about not being able to walk through all the clothing on the floor of my bedroom. My bedroom which I carefully decorated myself so it would be nice, and pretty. My bedroom, like the rest of my apartment is a disaster. My dishes haven't been washed in I-don't-know-how-many weeks! It is not normal to live like this. That is the thought that comes to mind. This is NOT normal. This is NOT okay. This is going to get me EVICTED from my home. I have to FIX this and fix it now.
And then, I don't. I just give up. Like my grandmother who gave up on life years ago, retreating to her bedroom every day, and lying down. I lie down. I don't want to do this. I don't want to live this way. I want to take a class this summer, and I don't know how I'm going to be able to do it, because it would involve getting up early in the morning two more days a week, and I'm not sure I can even hack that. Because of having withdrawn from a lot of classes due to my illness when I was younger, I cannot withdraw from any class anymore, or else I am ineligible for any financial aid for school, which means I will never graduate if I drop a class. But I don't want to be in my 40's when I do graduate, so I want to take a six-week summer class, to get some more credits done and keep my momentum up. This won't be possible with the state my apartment is in right now. I have to clean it up! I have to function!
If it was just laziness, that would not be so hard to fix, but it isn't that. It's related to my mental health in ways that are hard to explain, but it isn't that I'm lazy. I'm getting really good grades in school, and I go to my job. I am doing well with those things. I show up, I do my work, I work hard, I give it my all. But then when it comes to my home, I collapse at home. I am tired, and I am overwhelmed, and I cannot handle the mess by myself. I need some kind of assistance, but there isn't any. I don't really want assistance, but I don't know what to do. If there was assistance, I would say no thank you for it, because the mess is too humiliating to let anybody see it.
I have to find a way to get this place cleaned, and to not end up like my grandmother. I have to have hope that I really can get through college, that I really can work, that I really can someday work full-time, that I can live. I have nothing without hope. I must have hope.
Tomorrow, I must clean. It's Easter (today, actually, it's 3 AM), but I must clean because it must be done. I have no choice.
My friend doesn't understand why I can't go to the movies. Nobody in my life really understands me. I can handle so much, and then my limit is reached. I must find a way to incorporate cleaning my home into the limit of what I can handle. I must find the wherewithall within me to do it. I must go on.
This summer, I am also planning on trying to get off Risperdal Consta, so that I can try to lose weight and not be so obese anymore. I am very overweight, and it is the meds that made me this way. I have been talking to my doctor about this for a long time, and he said over the summer, when I'm not in classes (even if I take a class it will be brief), he would be willing to see how I do without the Risperdal. I am nervous about this, and I think that I probably should be nervous about it. My doctor says he's not as keen on me going off the drug as I am. But he's willing to let me try to do it. So that is also in the works.
But first, I must clean. Tomorrow, I will not spend the day in bed.