So...... I don't want to be my mother! Don't get me wrong.. I love my mother deeply. I admired my mother. I don't think I ever met a woman who suffered so long physically and mentally and yet remained loved by so many. A woman who maintained her sense of fun and humor. A woman who showed love and concern for others. In fact, if I were honest I would be honored to be my mother in all but a few ways. Unfortunately I find myself following in her footsteps in the very ways I don't want to. Is it fate? Is it inherited? Is it learned?
I guess I should clarify. My mother suffered from severe depressive disorder and anxiety in her later life. She had previous episodes when she was younger, but towards the end of her life it was constant. She felt so badly about herself and so flawed. No matter how good she was, no matter how hard she tried, she was never enough in her own eyes. On top of that she had severe anxiety and suffered from panic attacks that sent her to the hospital many times, and at the end caused her to have so many physical issues that it was hard for her doctor and her family to determine which were real and which were mental. In the end what killed her was an inability to determine that. She died of a blocked colon. She suffered from a severe case of scoliosis which caused lots of pain. She also had high blood pressure, breast cancer, a heart murmur, osteoporosis and a hiatal hernia. She was on pain killers for so many years for her pain that it caused her to have issues with her bowels. But all of those things added to her anxiety and it was hard to determine what was the most important to treat. She always worried about her kidneys which she never had problems with. Her mom and sister both died of kidney disease, as did her grandpa and many extended relatives. I inherited their disease, but it bypassed my mom. But I often wonder how many more years she would have had if she hadn't suffered with depression.
I spent a lot of time taking care of my mom. Because of her scoliosis she ended up in a wheelchair as she had a hard time walking. Her back was s shaped. The year before she passed away I would go over to help her bathe. She couldn't get in and out of the tub. She couldn't bend over to dry herself and couldn't wash her back. She couldn't do up her bra and had to have help getting her clothes on. I can truly say that I loved the time I spent with my mother and I am so glad I had that opportunity. I can also truly say I hated all the time I had to spend with my mom, and how hard it was to try and take care of my own family and house, and her with her house, and my own issues. There were times I resented being the "chosen" one. And even more I hated myself for resenting all of that.
I have 3 sisters and 2 brothers. My sister all have jobs outside the home. One brother lives across the country on the east coast and my other brother lived with my parents for the last 5 years of their lives. He suffered from a head injury when he was 18. He was very good to my mom. He was her gopher each day bringing water up to her room as well as the meals she didn't feel she could go down to. He did the dishes and took out the garbage. He helped my dad as well. But mom's need for company usually fell to me and her personal needs also fell to me.
I've never asked, maybe I should, but I believe my sisters felt obliged to visit with my mother. I know they loved her and wanted to at times, but more often than not I think they felt they had too. I know they struggled with the obligation as did I. It was an obligation of love, but it was tough.
I also know that my mother was so unhappy the last months of her life and she was so scared to die. She couldn't meet her maker as she just wasn't good enough, not smart enough, had caused to much pain and trials for others. She felt she was too needy. She felt guilty for needing so much of my time, but she also hated me being gone. She was extremely grateful and always expressed that gratitude. She was kind and generous with whatever she had. But she never felt good about herself, always felt like a burden.
I too have severe depressive disorder. Mine started much sooner than my mom's. My first real attack came at 20 when the man I was engaged to broke it off and got married to another woman. That episode lasted almost a year. A second attack came when my family experienced a separation when I was 40. Thanks to my husband mostly that episode was only about 2 months. Another about 5 years later when my mom was diagnosed with Breast cancer and my daughter required full time mental care and another after my parents died 4 years later and just this past January when I was 54. This last one didn't even have a loss of major cause. Just a build up of long time simmering depression with a lot of stress, sickness, and feelings of being underappreciated. Though in all reality my mental health has been at a low depression always present for about the last 2 years with many medicine changes with none working.
I often think back on my time with my mom and the attention and help she needed. I don't want to be unhappy like she was, yet I have been. I don't want to doubt that I have any worth, yet I do. I hate being needy, yet I am. I don't want to have panic attacks and yet this past year I have experienced 3. That is new. I see how hard it was for me, and how I felt love and regret and resentment and mostly guilt over all of it and I don't want to cause my children to feel those same things and yet I feel I am causing that.
Not only mentally do I find myself following my mother's path, but physically. I have chronic Kidney disease, constant upset stomach/indigestion, often have headaches, insomnia, and high blood pressure. I wonder at times if my headaches and upset stomach are real or mental.
I keep thinking I can change my path. I want to change my path and yet I find myself back here often. I can say I am more adventurous than my mom. I am more active than my mom. I am more aware of my mental health than my mom. I educate myself more. I guess the biggest thing is my mom felt flawed and broken and "crazy". It made her less than what she was in her own eyes. Even though I am aware of a double standard between physical and mental illness and that the stigma is unfair and stupid. I'm even aware that people are becoming more aware of the stigma and trying to overcome it, it still exists. And the biggest problem with it is my own awareness of it. Even if I logically know that mental illness isn't a personal flaw in myself, it feels like a personal flaw I should be able to fix. The fact that I can't just think myself out of it feels like a failure.
So when I say I don't want to be my mom... I really don't in those ways. I keep trying and will keep trying, but sometimes it seems like a one way street and I don't want to end up down that road. I know where it leads and I don't want that for my kids, for my husband, for my siblings, for my friends, or for myself. I don't want that for anyone!