Are the voices in my head too loud for you?

I Told You I Was Morose...

Morose day.  It's almost like a jinx.  As soon as I say I'm feeling remotely on top of things (no over excitement please - these periods last approximately twenty minutes and to an observer I look as though I have the DTs!)  My typing speed could be matched by a seven year old I reckon!!!

Empty.  Mean voice is as non-plussed it seems for once as the rest of me.  A lot happened when I was not blogging and I went deep and became quite scared actually.  I also felt threatened and vulnerable.  Out of that period has come some more work to done (sadly not basket weaving or pottery) and I am feeling numb and speechless.  I am about to move into some new work areas and for professional confidentiality (the practitioner) and my own, I feel it is wholly inappropriate at this point to speculate either about what I feel is happening just now or talk too much about the psychiatric interventions being mooted.  I only have the rest of this month formally as a patient and then will be reviewed - so I may well be able to say a lot more then.  For now I am truthfully not adding drama, attempting manipulation or avoiding an authentic interaction with you - I am exercising choice and placing a boundary in place until what is going to happen and why is fuller, firmer and formed.

Mental illness is so stigmatised.

Cards and parcels - e-cards that make me feel for a moment like a person again have been wonderful.  The feedback comments help me tremendously.  Their immediacy help me feel I am being heard as well as trying to hold to my promise of keeping some sort of record to read back and reflect upon when I am well.

Mean voice hasn't really been replaced with anything and that has resulted in an intense listlessness and moroseness - nothing to fight?  Grief?  Don't know for sure yet.  I know I am still very angry with myself and everything is my fault - but mean voice only starts up when there's a window of opportunity and I start to get into something for one of these short, concentrated efforts.  Today I was supposed to have done twenty minutes on the treadmill - may yet - to help me sleep because I'm in this weird place; start the laundry ( I peeked at it in the basket and went back to bed); paint - couldn't be faffed.  Haven't even wanted to watch West Wing.  I nearly know the scripts by heart. 

When I wasn't asleep or wanting my partner there with me (not too happy alone today) not because of suicidal thoughts or anxiety per se - just for comfort and familiarity in the emptiness.  For once he was higher up the pack order than Mungo!!!  He feels pretty pooped too.  He is making his own journey alongside all this as well as caring for two Wallman women - notoriously stubborn and tenacious - who make his own male line look relatively humph free.  This is of course the drugs talking - and I did say relatively.

Too much time asleep.  No great thoughts.  Lots of staring into the air and fidgeting.  Very much as though I am waiting for something to happen.  Felt for much of the weekend that the medication I am on isn't working at all.  Growing feeling all week.  I seem to have one good afternoon or following day after therapy/consultation and then slip back down and into this tiny world.  I do wonder at the part my visual impairment plays in all this.

I do want to finish the painting I have just started.  It is the last composition I have set myself as a therapeutic exercise since the hospital stopped using it as a device to explore 'where I am'.  It will be a satirical piece and that makes it hard in a sense becaue my Be Perfect voice pops up and reduces my work to the daubs of a child at nursery.  I also have the shakes so badly for so much of the time that detail work is sometimes impossible.  There is a tiny, damaged voice that feels discriminated against and dismissed by the Church which is encouraging me on and has told me just how she wants the composition to be.  If I can listen to her, I may continue to make progress.

We are all so well intentioned in the Church; be nice to one another seems to be our overriding motto - and a bit about Jesus - that I do wonder if we have even the first idea how unaccountable and discriminatory we are.  The pain we cause when we patronise, exclude or dismiss.  The sheer frustration of those who are marginalised at the apparently impenetrable barriers that deny and undermine giftedness - unless - of course you play the game and keep in with the club.  The painting will be an important one.  An anger management vehicle.

I told you I was morose.  That would be almost as good on a gravestone as Spike Milligan's "I told you I was ill".  No hidden messages - my head is empty - not planning the perfect painless suicide - and I wish I could get rid of the shakes and tension/anxiety.  I think the meds are past their sell by in terms of effective intervention. 

I told you I was...

Session tomorrow.  Scared, but looking forward to meeting a person who I have seen has lovely shoes and is taking me on.  Nearly as nice as my psychiatrist's shoes.  Eye contact out of the question when we first met.  Other agenda was uppermost and I was embarrassed and ashamed to bring up some topics - and so became caught up in my own stuff and fear of how the staff would react.

I told you...

Back Blogging - Jane Is Back

Loads to tell you but I am now back writing my own blogs again.  A huge debt of gratitude to my partner for continuing the string and exploring the experience from his own insights and experiences.  It's moments like this I remember exactly why I married him - his gentle acceptance, and inner willingness to go on exploring, reflecting and growing alongside and alone; listening to others and by gently processing a rich inner life of his own.

I am hopeful that I may have turned abother corner - and unlike a dead end in a maze - this one will have valuable consequences.  Discerning the extent to which I am capable of self-sabotaging behaviours when I am moving into another depressive episode may seem obvious to others - but I hadn't recognised and owned for myself the extent to which accepting second best for myself whilst elevating others and supporting their dreams and aspirations was, really, just a subtle form of persistent self-destruction.

I still have violent and semi-lucid dreams which mean that I wake up and think I am still in the dream.  Kittens have appeared in so many of these dreams that I think I may yet wear my partner down and get some real ones in due course.  They've appeared so often that I suspect they represent for me a freedom to roam - our cats wander and although they are discouraged from bringing too many presents into the house - they often group with the rest of the dogs in our bedroom for most of the night - so there is a part of me that has perhaps picked up on their spontaneity and capacity to just set off whenever they choose, do what they like - and return to the comfort of a warm bed when the days patrols and hunts are done.

How do I feel?

Not much feeling back yet in the deepest sense, but I am into the last four weeks of intense treatment and I think that on a good day I can see real progress.  As though I have new roots and shoots sprouting - a little out of season - but what's new?  I always seem to be a little out of kilter with the mainstream!  (Scottish understatement).

I am not taunted today - although I have felt jittery and slept a lot.  I am no longer given paintings to do as homework from the hospital - but I think this is because at some level it is another subtle way of self-sabotaging.  While we are looking at the paintings or discussing things in the present and past, I am not facing the practicalities of of making the emotional leap of believing I can have choices over how I handle my negative emotions.  I have little time to learn and practice the strategies for seeking and maintaining good mental health in the future.

My homework after one session this week will make anyone who knows me well realise the depth of the illness.  I have been unable to use the phone or speak on the phone because of my anxiety levels - through the roof - or my silent periods when I have simply cocooned and gone inwards. I made a call.  I made an appointment to see someone.  I wrote a formal letter and I should have picked up one domestic activity - I have chosen washing and ironing because I can't find a thing when my partner puts my clothes away - and with a visual impairment it saves quite a lot of frustration if I do this process.  I haven't started this yet.  A bit like Pooh and Christopher Robin, I sense it will be a while with quite a lot of working up to this and distractive teas, coffees, hot choc', honey sandwiches and sleep in between.

I found it hard to believe and still do that even these small things do help me rebuild my life.  I am troubled by very dark patches during most days - the intensity seems constant but the duration less.  Exercise on my treadmill has helped - don't get too excited - I am so hyper unfit after the accident earlier in the year that we are talking feet and inches rather than miles and marathons - but not having to worry where I am going helps.  I can just exercise. 

One of the next targets is to build my confidence about being out and about both with my partner, with others or alone.  I am meeting with the Guide Dog Trainer to talk through options in a week or so.  As I broke my left wrist and metacarpal and messed my left shoulder and knee - my guide dog has had nothing like the reinforcement in his work that he needs and my routes are very limited.  So, maybe I will experience a little of the freedom my dream kittens and actual cats enjoy. (And actual kittens if I can keep the pressure up.  Manipulation often goes with depression.)

So, the next few weeks I prepare for review and then the whole staff decide whether I am ready for discharge.  The support won't end of course, but probably I will return to my medical practice CPN and out patients I suppose.  Then I have to think about what I am going to do with the next chapter in my life.  I am, even now, not the person I was a week ago, let alone six months ago.  The stripping of masks and outer skins has been rather more radical and intense than most people would naturally experience - or need to experience - but in some areas of living, I don't think we will be the same.  I think that is good - but I would have preferred a gentle massage and exfoliate psychologically instead.

A Steady Day

After a shaky start to the day, beginning a new 'therapeutic' painting seemed to settle Jane.  The steadiness continued through the day.

Various other good things: Jane has (a) written a letter and (b) responded to a phone call (concerning Guide Dogs); both were tasks or homework set by her therapist.  One other thing she is planning to do, perhaps tomorrow, if not then on Sunday, is the laundry.

Originally she thought she would do it today, and such was her anxiety that she woke at 5am, worrying about whether she would be able to manage to do it.  She had the greatest difficulty in refraining from waking me 'til 7.45 when she asked me about doing it.  The relief she felt when I said that I didn't think there was any was almost overwhelming.

The steps are there; they may appear small but to those around her they are huge and so good to see.

A Little Frivolity

This evening, after Jane had done her walk on the treadmill, we tried each of the four dogs on it, with varying degrees of success; each dog in turn was observed by the three others.

In the end I sat under the display (driving) end and encouraged the dog at its North end whilst Jane encouraged it from the South end and attempted to guide its rear quarters to remain on track.  The dogs didn't seem to fazed by the experience and we had a lot of laughs!  Mungo got the idea quite quickly, improving on it by putting his front paws on me and only walking with his back legs.

There is a point to this.  We don't give them the exercise they deserve, for a variety of reasons, and if they will walk on the treadmil (and early indications are that at least two will fairly quickly), it will mean that they get at least some exercise - we now have to devise an incentive.  Suggestions, anyone?

Up and downy day

Jp again.

A day that started earlier than has become the norm.  Jane was anxious to continue with her painting, entitled Christa Crucifixion, which she has now completed.

She then had a chat which drained her to such an extent that she needed to go back to bed where she has stayed for most of the day, surfacing only to sit on the side of the bed and watch the Dog Whisperer.

She is anxious about going to Braeside tomorrow but I am pretty certain that she is determined to go, and so will.  As she said - she has only missed one appointment because she felt unable to make it.

A brief blog tonight.