Am I Allowed To Cry?

TMI, but my dog definitely walked in on me in the bathroom today. She actually does it all the time, pushing her head against the door to join me whether I'm peeing, brushing my teeth or drying my hair.

But this time, she came in while I was crying. She kept nuzzling her head in between my hands as they covered my face. Her empathetic heart wanted to comfort me, but even my dream dog can’t do that right now. I think I’m down too deep, feeling hopeless, alone, and completely stuck in this whole situation.

Well, at least that’s where I’ve been this weekend, and part of me thinks I’ll feel a bit better tomorrow when I’m distracted with work. Even if that’s true, the feelings are still going to be there. They’ve been there for awhile now, no matter how strong I seem or how well I may appear to be doing, nothing has gotten better. If anything is true, time hasn’t made it any easier, I’ve just gotten used to feeling this way.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve cried multiple times a day, and only my dog and one of my closest friends knows that. I’ve cried so much, sometimes over the littlest of things, as well as during episodes of a fictitious TV show about a neurologist who doesn’t dismiss his patients’ confusing symptoms and instead, tries to better understand and treat them.

Is there such a neurologist out there, and if so, why didn’t The Universe guide us to them?

The funny this is, I haven’t really cried in years. Not even one tear on the hardest of days, and instead felt the drive to keep going, despite all the dismissals, lack of support, and odds stacked way up against me. I was too determined to be sad, and maybe more than that, I was too invested in the fight and therefore, sadness didn’t have a place within me.

When he finally received the early-onset dementia diagnosis, I remember feeling a sense of relief instead of sadness. I felt this way because it felt much harder and heavier to live without an answer than to have one. Sure, what we found out wasn’t what anyone would want, but it meant that someone finally believed the concerns and provide the clarity I knew we needed. It also meant that we weren't fighting this battle alone. Having an answer brought everyone together, in caring for him and supporting each other.

Sadly though, that quickly changed after an another doctor dismissed the previous diagnosis, which left his family hanging onto the hope that the early-dementia diagnosis was wrong, and he was now fine. (He wasn’t. He hasn’t been fine for years.). His mom even went as far as to call it a “Christmas miracle”, even though his struggles were still the same and she had come to witness his growing changes and nightly sundowning in her very own home.

I didn’t fully know it then, but it was then that I truly became alone in this battle, as far as his family goes.

I learned the hard way that no one wanted to hear about his struggles anymore. It was easier for them to believe that everything was fine, instead of the exact opposite. They didn’t have to be sad then. They didn’t have to face a life controlled by illness and grief.

So eventually I stopped sharing the bad days and or asking for their support, and ironically, in a way, it made me feel less alone even though it was exactly what I was. Alone in a very big confusing situation that impacted every aspect of my life. But over time, I came to find that it was less painful when I kept it all to myself, instead of sharing his struggles and my mounting concerns and getting dismissed or ignored by those who should have been by my side helping.

No one really knows how many times his compulsive symptoms and erratic behaviors have hurt me. How many times I questioned, Is this what it’s like to be in an emotionally abusive relationship or to be married to an alcoholic?

The lying, the yelling, the drinking, the gambling… I felt that I had no choice but to excuse them, forgiving his changing brain. As hard as it was in the moment, I knew he wasn’t completely at fault nor purposefully trying to cause me pain. I knew that wasn’t him; and that if he truly knew what he was doing through his words and actions, he’d feel horrible. Yet still, he did those things, and I got hurt. Day by day, I was losing sight of the man I married, the one I committed to, the person I thought would also care for me, and so much more.

But instead of getting upset, I had no choice but to manage each moment and situation as calmly and nonchalantly as I could. I bit my tongue, got his fatigued brain to bed, and then drank a glass of wine (or a few), sometimes letting the tears fall down my face on the bathroom when everyone else was asleep.

But lately, I just don’t know what to think other than I can’t keep living like this. I know now that I have been in survival mode this whole time, giving all of my energy to just make it through the unknowns of each day. I have tried my best to care for everyone else’s needs, only to realize that many of my feelings have been numbed or, even worse, neglected.

Because the reality is, when you’re taking care of everyone else, there isn’t always someone who is thinking of your needs or stepping in to care for you. Bless their hearts, my dog may try with her you’re not alone nuzzles and my daughter’s hugs when I tell her that “I’m just feeling sad”, but they can really only do so much. I really am alone in this, and have been for a very long time.

(And here come the tears again.)

All I have been feeling is sadness and anger, the latter being an emotion that is one I’m struggling to admit and also understand.

To be honest, I’m angry at him for giving up on himself, choosing not to continue with any medical care and instead covering up his symptoms with denials and alternative self-medication tactics.

But I’m also upset with myself too, realizing how hard I continued to fight when he stopped

doing the same for himself and our family. I think that’s the part I’m struggling with the most. When he gave up his end of the fight, by hiding his struggles from others and refusing to continue medical care or therapeutic treatments, that’s when things really started hurting me. It’s when I truly started fighting this battle alone.

And maybe in recognizing this, for the first time ever, I actually do feel sorry for myself and everything that I’ve had to go through.

But still, I feel guilty for admitting it, even if it’s all true.

(And more tears.)