Morning G, I have to go back to work today, ironically I work in mental health but my mental health is crap at the moment. Scared of living scared of dying and struggling to see a point to anything. I just feel incredibly sad and weak all the time. So I am worried about how the day will go.
It sounds like you're going through an incredibly tough time, and it takes a lot of courage to acknowledge that, especially when you work in mental health yourself. It's completely understandable to feel worried about facing the day when you're experiencing such profound sadness, fear, and a sense of weakness.
Coping with Today
Here are some things to consider that might help you get through the day:
- Be Kind to Yourself: This is the most important thing. You are struggling, and it's okay to not be okay. Don't expect yourself to be at 100%. Give yourself permission to do the bare minimum if that's all you can manage.
- Small, Manageable Goals: Break your day down into tiny, achievable steps. Focus on getting through the next hour, or even the next 15 minutes.
- Utilize Your Breaks: Step away from your work environment if possible. Even a short walk, listening to calming music, or just sitting in silence can make a difference.
- Identify a Trusted Colleague: Is there someone at work you feel comfortable confiding in, even just to say you're having a difficult day? You don't have to go into detail if you don't want to.
- Grounding Techniques: If you feel overwhelmed, try a simple grounding exercise. Focus on your five senses: What five things can you see? Four things you can touch? Three things you can hear? Two things you can smell? One thing you can taste? This can help bring you back to the present moment.
- Set Boundaries: If your role allows, try to limit your exposure to particularly triggering or emotionally draining tasks today.
- Plan for After Work: Having something to look forward to, even if it's just a quiet evening at home, can help.
Looking Beyond Today
While getting through today is the immediate priority, it's also clear that you're dealing with deeper issues.
- Seek Support: Given your feelings of being scared of living and dying and struggling to see a point to anything, it's really important to connect with a mental health professional for your own support. Just as you help others, you deserve that same care. This could be a therapist, counselor, or even your GP to discuss options.
- Talk to Someone You Trust: If you have a friend or family member you feel safe with, sharing what you're going through can lighten the load.
- Remember Your Strength: Even though you feel weak, the fact that you're going to work and reaching out shows incredible strength. You're facing immense internal pain and still putting one foot in front of the other.
Please remember that these feelings, while incredibly difficult, are not permanent. There is support available, and you don't have to navigate this alone.
How do you feel about trying some of these suggestions today?
I have never liked myself, looking back I was programmed not to. I am seeking counselling but that isn't doing much good. Spoke to a grief counsellor yesterday about the loss of my dog in January 2013, i have never and will never forgive myself for what happened to him, even though I know a vet put me in an impossible situation. Anyway yesterday didn't do much good i just cried a lot.
It sounds like you're carrying an immense weight of self-blame and grief, and it's completely understandable that you're struggling, especially when you feel like past experiences have "programmed" you to dislike yourself. The loss of your dog, all those years ago, clearly still impacts you deeply, and it's incredibly painful to relive that.
Understanding Your Feelings
It's common for grief, especially when compounded by feelings of guilt or an impossible situation, to become stuck. Crying a lot in a session, even if it feels unproductive, is often a necessary release of pent-up emotion. It doesn't mean the session "didn't do much good"; it just means you're accessing very raw and painful feelings. Sometimes, the initial stages of processing trauma or deep grief can feel worse before they start to get better.
Moving Forward with Support
You mentioned that counselling isn't doing much good overall. Here are a few thoughts on that:
- Different Types of Therapy: Not all counselling approaches are the same, and what works for one person might not work for another, especially with deep-seated issues like self-dislike or trauma. If you've been doing talk therapy, you might explore other modalities. For example, therapies like Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) or Compassion-Focused Therapy (CFT) are often very effective for processing past trauma and building self-compassion. EMDR, in particular, is designed to help reprocess distressing memories.
- Finding the Right Fit: The relationship with your therapist is crucial. If you don't feel a strong connection, or if you feel unheard or misunderstood, it can hinder progress. It's okay to look for a different counsellor if the current one isn't a good fit. Think about what you feel is missing and communicate that to your current counsellor, or keep it in mind if you seek a new one.
- Patience and Persistence: Healing from deep-rooted issues takes time and consistent effort. It's not a linear process, and there will be days that feel like setbacks, like yesterday. Try to be patient with yourself and the process.
Processing the Loss of Your Dog
The guilt you feel about your dog's passing sounds incredibly heavy. When you're ready, here are a few things to consider:
- Challenging Self-Blame: You mentioned that a vet put you in an impossible situation. Try to gently challenge the narrative that you are to blame. Could you have done anything differently, given the information and circumstances at the time? Often, in hindsight, we feel we could have, but it's important to be realistic about the options you truly had.
- Focus on the Love: While the ending was traumatic, try to shift some focus to the love and joy your dog brought into your life. You gave them a home, care, and affection. That bond is what truly matters.
- Rituals of Remembrance: Sometimes, creating a new ritual to honour your dog's memory can be helpful. This could be planting a tree, volunteering at an animal shelter, or creating a memorial space in your home.
It takes immense strength to keep seeking help and to confront such painful memories. You are not weak for feeling this way; you are human, and you are hurting. Please remember that your feelings are valid, and you deserve to find peace.
If I were my dog I would not forgive me
That's a really painful thought to carry, and it highlights just how deeply you're feeling the guilt and self-blame surrounding your dog's passing. It's a testament to the profound love you had for them that you're still carrying this burden.
Understanding Your Perspective
It's common when we're grieving, especially with a beloved pet, to internalize the situation and see it through a lens of self-recrimination. Our pets are innocent and trusting, and when something bad happens, it's easy to project our own feelings of responsibility onto them. You're essentially saying, "If I were in their position, I would feel betrayed," and that's a very harsh judgment to place on yourself.
A Different Way to See It
While your pain is valid, it's important to consider how your dog likely experienced your relationship:
- Unconditional Love: Dogs, unlike humans, typically operate from a place of unconditional love and presence. Their world revolves around the bond they have with their person.
- Presence Over Perfection: Your dog likely cherished the walks, the cuddles, the food, the safety, and the love you provided, far more than dwelling on any single event, especially one where you were put in an impossible situation.
- They Felt Your Love: In those final moments, even through pain or distress, your dog would have felt your presence, your touch, and your unwavering love. That matters immensely.
You mentioned the vet put you in an impossible situation. Animals often react to our emotions. Even if there was pain, your dog would have sensed your care, your fear, and your deep distress – not a lack of love or an act of malice. They would have known you were trying your best in an unbearable circumstance.
Moving Towards Self-Compassion
Forgiving yourself isn't about forgetting what happened or pretending it wasn't painful. It's about acknowledging that you did what you could, given the circumstances and information you had at the time. It's about extending the same compassion to yourself that you would undoubtedly extend to a friend in a similar situation.
Perhaps, instead of "If I were my dog, I would not forgive me," you could try to gently shift that thought to: "My dog loved me unconditionally, and knew I loved them, even in the hardest moments."
This deep-seated self-blame is something that compassion-focused therapy or EMDR could potentially help you to reframe and process. It's about healing that old "programming" you mentioned, so you can start to see yourself, and this painful event, with more kindness.
Can I share what I wrote about it a while back
Absolutely. Please, share what you wrote. It sounds like a significant piece of your experience, and I'm here to listen without judgment.
Sometimes, putting those feelings into words, even from a while ago, can be a way to process them. Take your time.
I am going to start my story at the end of Eddie's life as I want the story itself to be joyous, hopefully make people smile and (you have to be quite old to appreciate this) give anyone reading a ready brek glow. Sadly I need to get the hardest part out of the way first.
Here goes, this is going to be very difficult to write but it is about time i did it and like I say let's get it out the way then we can go back to the start and have some fun.
CHAPTER ONE - THE END
Eddie Beagle died on the 3rd of January 2013 the number 44 had always been important to me so 3/1/13 had a kind of fatalistic feel to it 3+1 = 4 / 1+3 = 4.
In November of 2012 me and Ed set off on our morning walk, I wasn't the best company, I was still nursing a broken heart and feeling very sorry for myself. In May of that year I had split up with a girl called Kerry the most gorgeous woman I had ever seen. The fact that I got to be with her and how absolutely amazing that brief period in my life was, still mystifies me to this day. If I am thinking about her as I die. I will die with a smile on my face. I always think I defied the gods in getting with her, i was never meant to experience anything like that in my life.
Eddie who now resides in my heart has just pointed out that this story is about him, (he was never too keen on Kerry) so back to that November. Eddie always loved his walks, every morning I had to chase him around the kitchen before getting his lead on but for a couple of weeks he hadn't seemed his usual self, he had slowed down a bit, didn't seem to have the same level of enthusiasm.
So we had gone about a mile and Ed was getting slower and slower as were just crossing Donaldson Drive (D is the 4th letter of the alphabet, just as I have always liked 44 I have a thing about DD's too ) Eddie just came to a halt in the middle of the road. After a couple of tugs on the lead it was clear Eddie was not gonna move so I picked him up carried him across the road and started heading back home. Now Eddie was a dog who liked his food as much as he liked walks and as a result he was pretty big for a beagle, some might say fat to me he was always big boned, it made him kinda unique.
Now I am not the strongest, where Eddie was big boned I have always considered myself to have the bones of a sparrow, i am very oddly put together, my bones are incredibly thin, I could never wear a wedding ring because my knuckle was so much bigger than my puny finger that if i got a ring big enough to go over the knuckle it was loose on my wedding digit. For the same reason I could never wear a watch, well not a man's watch, as i have ladies wrists. I think my Mum probably got kidnapped and impregnated by aliens around October, November time 1964 and I am the result of that intergalactic union. I am going off topic a bit here but the point is Eddie was quite a big lump to try to carry and halfway from home I was knackered. In 2011 after a run of bad luck I had moved back home to Peterborough with my parents (probably the biggest mistake of my life) so at this point I put Ed on the ground and rang my Dad to see if he could come and pick us up, which he did.
When I got home I rang the vets, at the time I was still registered with a vet in Whittlesey it is where I had spent my married life, I loved living in Whittlesey and had not got around to changing vets, so I put Ed in the car and we went off to see if they could fix him. Eddie always trusted me at the vets, he was never any trouble despite having quite a few ailments in his relatively short life. Whenever he had to go for his booster jabs I would pick him up put him on the table and he would bury his head in my coat until he had been injected the first time he did this me and the vet got the giggles. As she turned to get the vaccine out of the cupboard Eddie turned and, as I say buried his head in my coat. So when she turned, needle in hand she was presented with his back end "Does he know what is going to happen?" she smiled. "Probably" I replied but as always he was as good as gold. Once the jab was done he emerged from under my coat, wagging his tail and loving life.
So me and Ed got to the vets and I carried him in to the treatment room in order for them to take a look at him. When the vet took hold of Eddie's head and moved it from side to side. Ed let out a howl that the vet interpreted as aggression and he muzzled him before continuing the examination. Eddie's howl hadn't been aggressive he did not have an aggressive bone in his body, big bones yes but not aggressive. He had howled in pain, there was something wrong with the bones in his neck and it was causing him intense nerve pain. That was the beginning of the end for Ed and as time has gone on, I realise, it was the beginning of the end for me too.
In December of 2012 I took Ed off to a specialist animal hospital just outside Newmarket. A place called Six Mile Bottom can you believe? I was worried sick but I was accompanied on the journey by my friend Elaine, which helped keep me calm as like most men I can be the best version of myself, courageous and brave, when in the company of an attractive woman. Once we arrived at Six Mile Bottom Elaine waited in the car while me and my best friend went in to see the specialists. Through the consultation Eddie lay on the floor with his head resting on my foot, i think keeping his head elevated a little, eased the pain. The vet was a very pleasant Spanish chap who had been sent X-rays of the bones in Eddies neck and explained that he needed an operation that would cost £4000 but had a 100% success rate and he told me he had performed 85 similar operations. It broke my heart leaving Eddie behind but at least I had hope now the vets were going to fix him. So me and Elaine drove home she encouraged me that I should be positive and I was, he was going to be fine. I was gonna get my boy back.
A few days later after I received a call from the vets saying the operation had been a success i headed back up the A14 to collect my best mate, my boy, my pride and joy. The poor lad looked very pleased to see me but it was clear he had endured a major operation and he had a huge scar on his neck. They had to perform the surgery going through the front of his neck, I had though they would be going in through the back so it was a bit of a shock he looked like he had, had his throat cut. Still other than looking the worse for wear Ed was really happy to see me. On this occasion it was my Mum who had come on the journey so she could sit in the back with Ed, all the way home she kept worrying, it is where i get it from I think. She kept saying he was holding his head funny, this pissed me off as i just wanted her to be positive I wanted Eddie to be ok. After a couple of days it was clear Ed wasn't ok he wasn't eating and he looked in real pain when he moved I had to carry him outside when he wanted to go to the toilet as he struggled with the step.
Mid December my Dad drove Eddie and me back to the vets. They did some x-rays and said they could not understand what had gone wrong. I was told that they needed to operate again but this time they would only charge me £2000. So once again I had to leave Ed behind, I felt awful I had been with him all his life he had never been on his own and now he was gonna have to go through all this again, once more though I was assured they could fix him.
On the 23rd of December I got the best Christmas present ever. Eddie was doing great, the vets were happy and he was coming home. Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day Eddie was on the mend he was back to his usual loving, joyous self. I was so happy so relieved I vowed I was gonna make it up to him for being a miserable self-pitying bastard for the previous six months. The 27th of December Eddie went downhill rapidly, my heart broke, I knew what was coming.
The 30th of December I was going to take Ed to the local vets to have him put to sleep, during his illness I had transferred Ed to Peterborough as the travelling was easier. I was in bits but knew it had to be done, it was clear he was in so much pain. However I got a call from Six Mile Bottom they asked if I would take Eddie back there as they had no idea why the operation had not worked and they wanted to see if there was anything else they could do. So that is what we did, again I got my Dad to take me, i had to have him involved. My Dad is one of those people who though he has many qualities, he is always wise after the event. I had a good idea Eddie was not going to make it. I also knew that once that came to pass if my old man started going on at me about how I should have done this differently and that differently our relationship would be over I would more than likely find myself homeless and most probably on an assault charge.
Once we got to the vets we were met by the highest ranking vet, he had a look at Eddie and told me he had no idea what had gone wrong. Eddie just looked defeated. Now I know vets are good people I also realise to be really good at what you do you probably need a degree of arrogance. As I say I was under the impression that after they had seen Eddie I was going to have to say goodbye but that isn't what happened. The vet, unintentionally crucified me, he shook his head looked at Eddie and said. "Let us do the operation again... free of charge I am sure we can sort this" For me that was professional arrogance speaking the 100% success rate was under threat, I don't think for one minute it was done nastily but he wasn't really thinking about Ed or me. I knew my best friend, the most important living thing in my world had, had enough but what could I say..."No put him to sleep" an expert in his field was once again telling me he could save my dog, so I agreed to another op. As they led Eddie away he turned back to look at me I had never seen him look so sad, I will never forgive myself for putting him through that. He was on his own in hospital over the new year, no doubt with all fireworks going off awaiting yet another op which was carried out on New Year's day. They genuinely tried to save him but they shouldn't have. They should have accepted that for whatever reason on this occasion, with this dog, they'd failed.
So on the 3rd of January after a call from the vets saying there was nothing more they could do me and my Dad went back to Newmarket. I was taken through to an examination room and Dad waited in reception. Apparently while I was waiting they led Eddie through reception and he ran and jumped up and made a fuss of my Dad, causing my Dad to rush back to the car.
My last moments with Ed were spent in a grey dingy examination room in a place called Six Mile Bottom! It was a lovely sunny morning and I always regret not asking for the procedure to take place outside so Eddie could have died with the sun shining down on him, it would have been fitting, due to the fact he brought so much love and sunshine into my life but I didn't I was concentrating so hard on being strong. They gave me five minutes with him where I played with him, lay on the floor with him and told him just how much he had meant to me and I apologised for neglecting him when Kerry had come along. I loved my boy so much he was my best mate my counsellor, he had got me through so many tough times and as I look back a decade on, my life was fucking brilliant while he was in it. He was the catalyst my guardian angel.
I have never divulged this to anyone but when they left me alone with him, I had a Stanley knife in my pocket I was seriously considering slashing my wrists and dying with him. I did not want to leave him on his own and I guess selfishly I did not want to be left alone. Obviously though as I am writing this I did not go through with it, occasionally i wish I had. After 5 minutes the vet and a nurse came back in with a big needle. I held Ed told him I loved him said goodbye and he died in my arms. I took my parka off and said I wanted him to be wrapped in it when they cremated him I said goodbye accepted their sympathies and went back to the car, still managing to hold myself together.
When I got back to the car, I got quite a shock. My Dad was not holding it together he was sobbing, I had never seen him like that. The tears were streaming down his face his nose was running he was in pieces. I asked him if he wanted me to drive home. He declined and began to compose himself. Eddie running up to him in the waiting room had broken him, in his head he had imagined Eddie saying "please get me out of here." We chatted for a few minutes and I once again surprised myself by being strong and saying all the cliched stuff people say when someone you love dies. On the way home I rang my sister and asked her if she would go and collect up all Eddie's stuff I really couldn't face seeing it when I got home. On the drive back Dad started saying 'we' should have done things differently, that the vets were bastards for putting Eddie through what they did. I stayed resolute.
I didn't go straight home I got Dad to drop me in town where I met up with Elaine I spent an hour with her and then caught up with a lad called Ian who i was mates with at the time. I was putting off going home but amazingly I was staying strong and calm. I rang the vet and asked him to ring my Dad, to tell him there was nothing else that could have been done to save Ed. I knew that once I did go home I would not be able to cope with any ranting. I also wanted to give my sister and my mum chance to hide all Eddie's stuff.
When I did eventually go home I walked in the back door and was hit by a tidal wave of emotion it was instantaneous, I have no idea where it came from but with no self control at all I let out this guttural howl (the noise was unlike anything I had ever heard it didn't feel that it could come from a human) and I collapsed. I felt like my body was self destructing, tearing itself apart. I do not expect to ever feel like that again in my life. My Mum panicked and shouted my Dad, who helped me up and got me to my bedroom, where I took four co-codamol knowing they would knock me out. I didn't want to feel anything. While I slept I had a very simple dream. i was looking at a heart, I knew it was my heart. Eddie appeared and went walking over to it and tapped on it with his paw a door opened he walked inside and the door closed behind him.
Thank you for sharing such a profoundly personal and painful account of Eddie's final days. It takes immense courage to put those raw, difficult memories into words, especially when you're still carrying so much of that pain.
This isn't just a story about the end of a dog's life; it's a testament to the depth of your love for Eddie, the impossible decisions you faced, and the trauma you endured alongside him.
Understanding Your Experience
- The Weight of Guilt: Your narrative clearly articulates the heavy burden of guilt you've carried. The line, "I will never forgive myself for putting him through that," and your internal thought, "If I were my dog I would not forgive me," speak volumes about the self-blame you've internalized. It's truly heartbreaking to read. The vet's professional arrogance, as you describe it, put you in an excruciating position where saying "no" felt like denying hope, even when your gut told you Eddie had suffered enough.
- The Depth of Your Bond: Your descriptions of Eddie—his love for walks and food, burying his head in your coat at the vet, being your "best mate, my counsellor," and "guardian angel"—paint a vivid picture of an extraordinary connection. He wasn't just a pet; he was a vital part of your identity and well-being.
- Trauma and Grief: The vivid details of Eddie's suffering, your desperate attempts to save him, the repeated surgeries, and those final moments in the "grey dingy examination room" are deeply traumatic. Your physical collapse and "guttural howl" upon returning home are a visceral manifestation of that trauma and overwhelming grief. The dream of Eddie entering your heart is a powerful, poignant image of him finding his permanent place within you.
- The Impact of Loss: It's clear that Eddie's death marked a profound turning point for you, as you wrote, "it was the beginning of the end for me too." This level of grief can feel like a part of you has died with them.
- The Stanley Knife Revelation: Sharing that you considered taking your own life to stay with him is an incredibly painful and brave disclosure. It underscores the depth of your despair and the feeling of utter abandonment you faced. The fact that you're here, writing this, shows an immense will to survive, even when you felt like you didn't want to.
What Your Story Communicates
This is not a story of a mistake or a lack of care on your part. It is a raw, agonizing account of a loving owner trapped in an impossible situation, forced to make decisions that went against his deepest instincts, all while trying to relieve his beloved friend's pain. The "100% success rate" claim, the repeated surgeries, and the vet's insistence on "trying again" when your gut said Eddie had had enough, placed an unbearable weight on your shoulders. You were trying to do the best for Eddie, under duress and with conflicting information from professionals.
It takes immense courage to revisit and articulate such profound pain. Thank you for trusting me with it.
What do you feel now, having put this incredibly difficult "Chapter One" into words?
i am crying again, i don't have anyone to share the burden with or give me a boost, my parents are both approaching 90 and i live with them which is pretty pathetic, and my current dog Louie is also getting on. I just don't see anything other than loss and more pain on the horizon. The spectre of my 60th birthday on the horizon is also freaking me out, it is all just very sad.
It's completely understandable that you're crying again after revisiting such a traumatic and painful memory, especially when you feel like you have no one to truly lean on. The weight of that story, combined with your current struggles, is immense.
The Burden You're Carrying
It's clear you're navigating a very isolating and difficult period. The pain of Eddie's loss, which you've held onto for over a decade, is still raw. Now, you're also facing:
- Anticipatory Grief: The worry about Louie, your current dog, nearing the end of his life. This isn't just sadness; it's a profound fear of experiencing that same agonizing loss again.
- Caregiver Strain and Isolation: Living with aging parents, while a loving act, can be incredibly draining, isolating, and add to the feeling of being "stuck." It's far from "pathetic"—it's a challenging responsibility that often means putting your own needs aside. This situation can significantly limit your social outlets and opportunities to connect with people your own age or who understand your specific struggles.
- Existential Dread: Your 60th birthday approaching, combined with feeling like you see "nothing other than loss and more pain on the horizon," points to a deep sense of despair about the future. It's a natural human response when you feel life has dealt you too many blows and stripped away joy.
Addressing Your Feelings of Isolation
It sounds like your current living situation and the age of your parents mean they aren't equipped to be the emotional support you need right now. That's not a failing on anyone's part, but it leaves a significant void for you.
- Professional Support is Crucial (and Different): You mentioned counseling isn't doing much good. I strongly urge you to revisit this. The level of deep grief, trauma, and existential sadness you're experiencing truly warrants dedicated professional help. As we discussed, consider:
- A different therapist or type of therapy: Someone who specializes in grief and loss, trauma (like EMDR), or self-compassion. The goal isn't to "fix" you instantly, but to help you process the past, develop coping mechanisms for the present, and find ways to build resilience for the future.
- Your GP: Explain the depth of your despair, the suicidal ideation you experienced (even if it was fleeting), and your feelings of hopelessness. They can assess if medication might help alleviate some of the crushing sadness, which could give you the space to engage more effectively in therapy. They might also be able to refer you to mental health services specifically for adults dealing with complex grief or trauma.
- Exploring Local Support (Even Small Steps): While your parents can't carry this burden, are there any community resources or groups you could tentatively explore?
- Pet Bereavement Groups: Although Eddie's passing was a while ago, these groups often understand the unique bond and intense grief that comes with pet loss. Knowing others understand that specific pain can be incredibly validating.
- Support for Carers: Given you live with and care for your parents, there might be local carer support groups in Peterborough. These groups offer a space to share experiences and connect with others facing similar challenges. You might find a sense of camaraderie and understanding.
- Online Communities: If in-person groups feel too overwhelming, look for online forums or communities focused on grief, depression, or even general support for men in their late 50s/early 60s who might be navigating similar life transitions.
Facing the Future (and Your 60th)
It's natural to feel overwhelmed when looking ahead, especially when the present feels so heavy.
- Focus on Small Victories: Try to shift your focus from the grand, scary future to managing each day, or even each hour. Getting through today is a victory. Reaching out, as you're doing now, is a victory.
- Reclaiming Joy (Even Tiny Bits): Eddie brought you "so much love and sunshine." Is there anything, however small, that brings a tiny spark of joy or peace into your life now? A specific type of music, a quiet moment with Louie, a particular show, a short walk? Nurturing even small moments of peace can be a start.
- The 60th Birthday: It represents a milestone that can bring up feelings about life choices, regrets, and mortality. Instead of letting it be a source of dread, perhaps with support, you could eventually try to see it as a turning point, a time to focus on what you can control and what kind of life you want to build for your future.
You are not pathetic. You are a deeply compassionate individual carrying profound pain, and you're doing your best in very challenging circumstances. You deserve relief and support.
Given how much you're struggling with isolation, how do you feel about the idea of actively seeking out a new therapist or connecting with your GP to discuss these feelings further?
I have spoken to my GP and did speak to a pet bereavement counsellor yesterday. I am torn about going back to work, I don't feel ready but I don't think i will ever feel ready. It sounds bad but i just want it all to be over. I have tried thinking about 60 being a turning point but how much can a person really changed. we are programmed by our parents and society and then just seem to follow a series of patterns and learned behaviours. I can see how i was made. i do not seem to have the strength or motivation to change it.
It's incredibly tough when you feel this way, and your honesty about just wanting it all to be over speaks to the profound depth of your pain. It's a heavy, heavy burden, and it makes perfect sense that you're crying again.
The Challenge of Going Back to Work
You're right, there might never be a moment where you feel "ready" to face a day when you feel this profoundly sad and hopeless. Your job in mental health adds another layer of complexity – it's hard to pour from an empty cup, especially when you're dealing with your own significant struggles.
If you don't feel ready, it might be worth exploring options with your employer, if that's at all possible. Could you:
- Request a phased return?
- Discuss a temporary shift in duties to something less emotionally demanding?
- Take a few more days off, if feasible? Sometimes, just a little more breathing room can make a difference in your capacity to cope.
- Talk to HR or your manager confidentially? You don't have to disclose everything, but you can say you're going through a very difficult personal time and need some flexibility or support.
The Weight of "Programming" and Change
Your observation about being "programmed" by parents and society, following patterns, and seeing how you "were made" is a very astute one. It points to a deep understanding of how our past experiences shape us. And you're right, it can feel incredibly disempowering to acknowledge that without seeing a clear path to change.
However, recognizing that programming is actually the first step towards change. It's like finding the instruction manual for yourself. You might not have the strength or motivation right now, but that doesn't mean it's impossible.
Here's why:
- Neuroplasticity: Our brains are not fixed. They can change and adapt throughout our lives. This is the basis of therapy. New experiences, new ways of thinking, and new behaviors can literally rewire your brain, even if it feels incredibly difficult to initiate.
- Therapy as a Tool for Reprogramming: This is why I keep emphasizing finding the right therapeutic approach.
- EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing): This therapy is specifically designed to reprocess traumatic memories that are "stuck" and causing ongoing distress. Your experience with Eddie is clearly traumatic, and EMDR could help you move those memories from a place of active pain to something you can remember without being overwhelmed by guilt and despair.
- Compassion-Focused Therapy (CFT): This approach directly addresses self-criticism and shame, which sounds like a core part of your experience ("I have never liked myself"). It helps you develop self-compassion, teaching you to be as kind to yourself as you would be to someone you care about.
- Finding the Right Therapist: Even if you've tried counseling, the right counselor with the right approach for your specific issues can make all the difference. It's like finding the right key for a locked door. Don't give up on therapy entirely just because one or two experiences haven't yielded the results you hoped for.
The Horizon of Loss and Your 60th
It's heartbreaking to feel that all you see is more loss and pain. The impending 60th birthday can indeed amplify these feelings, making you reflect on what hasn't been, what might be lost, and the inevitability of aging and mortality.
- Focus on the Present (Even in Tiny Chunks): When the future feels overwhelming, try to bring your focus back to the smallest unit of time you can manage. Can you just get through the next hour at work? Can you just focus on giving Louie a good meal and a comfortable nap this evening?
- Small Acts of Kindness to Yourself: Even amidst the sadness, can you allow yourself one tiny moment of solace today? A warm drink, a few minutes of quiet, listening to a favorite song (if you can tolerate it), or a gentle stroke of Louie's fur. These aren't solutions, but they are small acts of self-care in a moment of immense pain.
You are not pathetic for living with your aging parents. You are providing care and support to them, which is a significant responsibility and often means putting your own life on hold. That takes a great deal of love and self-sacrifice, even if it feels "stuck" to you.
The fact that you're reaching out, expressing these profound feelings, and still trying to engage with ideas for help, shows an incredible inner fight. You are not weak. You are a person in immense pain, and you deserve every possible support to find your way through this.
Given that you've spoken to your GP and a pet bereavement counselor, and are feeling this level of despair, I would strongly urge you to go back to your GP as soon as possible and explicitly tell them you "just want it all to be over" and reiterate the depth of your sadness, weakness, and hopelessness. This is a critical indicator that you need a higher level of support and possibly different interventions. They can also discuss specific referrals for EMDR or CFT, which are very different from general counselling and may be what you need to address the deep-seated trauma and self-blame.
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