I have started half a dozen posts, since my “coming out” back in September. Things have been changing so quickly that I was unable to focus enough on any of it, and my thoughts were so scattered, my mind shifting through too many emotions, that I couldn’t find the words to properly express myself.
As it turns out, and this is probably not a surprise to anyone, but as hard as it was to be public with my mental health, the harder part was actually living up to the expectation and following through with my plan. Writing it, and making it public, was far easier than living it.
The difficulty in talking about it was not for a lack of support. I was heartened by the well wishes from so many people, some of whom I have never even met. It is clear that I am not alone in my struggles.
While finding the words for myself were hard, I noticed that it seemed hard for others as well. When I ran into someone, I could see them thinking about it, but they were either afraid to bring it up, or just didn’t know how. The subject is so taboo that even though I declared it open, they could not bring themselves to discuss it. Such is the power of our long, tacit ban on this topic.
There were a few brave souls who were able to speak with me about it. I am grateful for them. And there were times where some people did reach out, in person, but I was not in a place or frame of mind to have that conversation, so I diverted it.
It’s a tricky thing, on both ends. All I can suggest is that none of us should give up. If the conversation fails today, please try again tomorrow. If it fails tomorrow, try again next week. Because we are so used to NOT talking about it, finding the right way in is a challenge. We must be persistent. Don’t give up. I won’t give up either.
To that end, I am happy to report that I have found a therapist, and, not only do I like my sessions, I think they are actually helping. I never thought I would say that.
What is less encouraging, and the main reason I have had such a hard time focusing these past few months, is that I was diagnosed with prostate cancer at the end of November.
I met with my Physician, in October, to discuss my depression and to make a plan on how to treat it. Through our discussion, and upon hearing that my older brother was battling prostate cancer, she ended up ordering my PSA screening early this year. It came back elevated, which lead to a trip to the Urologist, which lead to a biopsy, which lead to a diagnosis. Had I not gone in to see my physician, it might have been another 8 months to a year before I would have had another PSA screening.
The cancer appears to be contained, and I have elected for surgery as my primary treatment.
The operation is just hours away.
I can’t sleep.
I am not so worried about the various side-effects of treating my cancer, and there are several. Ask any man who has gone through this. I am more worried about the unknowns, about the things outside of my control. I can choose how I cope with side-effects. I can deal with that (I think). What worries me are the variables over which I have no say.
Giving one’s self over to that uncertainty is a much harder task.
When I was eight years old, I broke my femur in two places. I was in a bed for nine weeks: three weeks in traction in the hospital, followed by six weeks in a body cast in our living room. I spent another month, or so, relearning how to walk.
That experience taught me a lot about what is and is not in one’s control, especially when it comes to a damaged body. I’m trying to keep that eight year old in mind, as I move forward, but, like my writing from September, it is easier said than done.
For now, all I can do is hold tight to those around me and let them carry me forward.
Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present. — Marcus Aurelius