Now female in my family has anxiety issues. Two of us treat our issues. We seek therapy and take mild sedatives as needed. My mother never wanted to take a sedative, but I thought I had convinced her it was in her best interest not to let little things like a washing machine not working properly get her to a point that her hands were shaking and she couldn't move the laundry from the broken machine to the working machine. I had begged and pleaded with her to take one pill each morning so when something upset her it didn't result in a full blown panic attack. She told me she would do it because she loved me. Each time she would call and seem a little flustered I would ask, "did you take your pill?" She swore she did. Regularly.
So my cousin who needs the surgery was given a slightly stronger sedative because her anxiety is not being well controlled. She won't take it and her husband asked me to talk to her. So I did. I only want what is best, and I don't feel allowing your heart to race and your blood pressure to rise against the direction of the doctor is a good idea. Especially while you are preparing for surgery. So my cousin tells me, "Well, you know your mother never took her pill. She flushed them down the drain."
This has upset me on multiple levels.
One - my cousin should have told me while my mother was alive. My mother was complaining about being tired, which her doctor and I partially attributed to the sedative. If we knew she wasn't taking it... So the thought keeps running through my mind, would she still be alive?
Two - I guess she didn't really love me. She said she would take it because she loved me, but she didn't take it. And she found it easy to lie to my face every day about it. And I can't ever get closure to this cause she is gone.
Three - She told my cousin the truth. So I feel like she loved my cousin and trusted her more than me.
Four - Why would my cousin tell me this, now? You kept the secret while my mother was alive. Telling me might have kept her alive longer. But now you tell me why? So I know that she loved you more than me?
I'm sorry to have used this entry as a therapy session, But if anyone has any words that you think might help, please share. If anything, writing this down makes me realize I definitely need to go back to my therapist. And maybe get back on my anti-depressants. I guess the reason I wrote this is that I am working on The Faces of Joan Elliott SAL. I've been working on this for about a year as a gift for my cousin! Part of me wants to just throw it away.
