I had a rough day yesterday. The damn post-op depression was hitting, lots of 'zaps' from healing tissues and reconnecting nerves, so I was sort of edgy.
Then, someone I loved and cared for decided I needed some some constructive criticism regarding what they perceived as my being self-centered, emotionally distant, and not interested in their life. They last saw me a week out of surgery, in pretty poor shape, in a tiny apartment full of medical and self-care supplies, with a social worker friend there helping me and talking to them.
How dare I make my surgical recovery and attempts to follow the complex care regimen all about me and not them!
They thoughtfully decided to conduct their critique via a stream of text messages. Texting, in my humble opinion, may very well be the worst possible way to discuss complex emotional issues.
They don't see my tears via text.
They don't see my hands shaking via text.
They don't see the suicidal thoughts resurfacing in the midst of this damnable post-op depression in their texts.
This stinks, to put it mildly. To have someone be so horribly abusive, even as they deny it and claim to be 'helping' in their texts is just really, really unpleasant. Triggering, even. There were dangerously unpleasant thoughts as these texts tore into me about what a terrible person I am and how I failed them, while I was standing on a balcony looking down at the concrete walk. That would suffice.
I shook my head, got off the balcony, closed the door and drew the shades. No. Not again. Never again.
I spent the evening with an excellent doctor, and a group therapy session that focused on issues with family and others close to us prior to transition.
I got some very good advice. The doctor strongly recommends that I do not make physical contact with this person, and particularly should not let them into my home. I don't see the risk she does, but I may be too close to the problem.
I finished up the evening with a couple of great folks from the group session, including a rather wise professor of feminist studies, sharing pizza and ideas.
I'm doing much better today. It's rainy and overcast, the right weather for boots, sweaters, and umbrellas. Calm and quiet, even light from the overcast sky, and I'm seeing friends in a little while.
The depression will be gone in a few weeks, I hope, as the long term side effects from surgical shock, 7 hours under propofol, and a few days on a morphine drip slowly fade. Damn, the things we do to ourselves for a little relief from dysphora!
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