Are the voices in my head too loud for you?

Another Corner!

It's Jp.

Something has moved, we're not quite sure what, but it is good.

The corner which Jane has come round doesn't have a definite form but it may be something to do with the fact that Rainbow, her Guide Dog, may be approaching retirement.  (He was the youngest dog to qualify, using a much more gentle approach to training, at 14 months.)  He's now eight and, although he has had a fairly gentle life, it seems that he is losing his 'edge',  possibly because he has had a gentle life, for a Guide Dog, but it means that Jane no longer has the complete confidence in him that is essential for her safety.

Jane has now had a discussion with the G.D. trainer and he is aware of Jane's various requirements of a dog, primarily that it needs to be physically large so that it can cut across her and stop her in her tracks; Rainbow is a bit on the small side for this task.  However, before one can take on a new dog you have to re-train, either at a training centre or at home.  In any event it is a goal which seems to be providing a fresh focus, which is excellent.

Overall, it has been a good day, especially since a very old family friend has found this blog and sent emails of encouragement to Jane.  She was delighted, excited and very moved.  I have been regaled with various hilarious reminiscences as a result.  Thank you!

Another Day

Jp:

It has been 'another' day, with Jane painting and then sleeping, watching some television, and going to bed.

Again, Jane is worrying about her therapy session tomorrow; again, she cannot identify her concern.  She likes her therapist and is afraid that she (J) is disappointing her (frustrating and letting her down) by not getting better.  She is still not able to think more of herself (in both senses), and what she needs - for herself.  Jane is also aware that these feelings are to some extent symptomatic of her illness.

I wish there was more that was positive to report but at present it seems to be very much a case of 'more of the same'.  Jane's review is on the 26th, at which it is hoped that we will learn more about the future process.

The various animals continue in good form and assist Jane by their presence, appearing by her side as if by magic when she is in need of close company and I am not around.  Sixth sense . . . . don't knock it.

Wretched Day

Jp:

The title is Jane's phrase for today which describes how she is feeling.

Yesterday Jane announced that she wasn't going back to the Therapy Unit.  (She had an appointment for this morning.)  Why?  Because nothing was happening (no apparent improvement) and she was taking resources that could be used for someone else.  What's the point?  She has spent the day in bed.

Jane didn't go to the hosptal this morning but did speak to her therapist: she has made a further appointment.

There is a lot about doing things for other people, living up to their expectations, working hard to please her therapist and seeming to be better; but underneath she is beginning to say that this doesn't feel as if it were true.  Although she wants to be better, not only for her own sake but also for other people's sake, she doesn't think any improvement has actually taken place.  She has presented as improving to please other people but doesn't feel it is genuine in herself.

Kind people have telephoned today but she is unable to speak to them, I think because she finds their concern emotionally difficult to respond to.  She is uncertain at present who 'Jane' is.

Tomorrow is another day.

A Rotten Day

Jp:

Not at all a good day; very down and sad and busy beating herself up metaphorically; day spent in bed or sitting on the edge of the bed; not able to raise interest at all.

This evening a large, full, plastic bottle of Heinz Tomato Ketchup fell from the fridge door when I opened it, and burst upon hitting the tiled floor. . . . it said it all.  Blood and gore.

We are anticpating a better day tomorrow.

Good thing: Jane held Nutmeg (doe rabbit); apparently N enjoyed watching Strictly Come Dancing.

Not so good: the rest of the day!

Not a Good Day

It's Jp.

Jane had a poor start this morning, although with good intentions.  She eventually got up and continued painting the picture she is presently working on: this is a somewhat different picture to those she has produced so far in that it contains elements of her past, and in creating the painting some of the memories and experiences have re-emerged.  This has left her in a sometimes anxious, sometimes sad state and she retired to bed.

Which is why it's me - she felt unable to write this evening.

Reading her past blogs and talking to her about them I sometimes feel that she writes in a more upbeat way than she really feels inside: she acknowledges that this is sometimes the case.  In her present state it can be very difficult to tell it exactly as it is, which is what she has been trying to do.  Sometimes my sense of events is that she is actually lower in spirits than she presents in her writing.  She is often completely drained once it has been posted.

She has spoken today of perhaps going over to Braeside tomorrow (Sunday) if she is not feeling rather better in the morning.

We shall see.

Happy Diwali

Down day today.  Bounced my morning routine about getting up etc... anxious and feeling mentally slow.  Watched News 24 and watched all the footage of Pakistan as it happened.  I was gripped, but politically deeply concerned about what I was watching, just who is pulling whose strings?  It is in the USA's interests to have someone in power who will work with their images of terrorism.  I suspect Brown can't take Bush seriously - and there is a distancing - but that doesn't mean that many countries in the EU do not share serious economic and other opportunities.  The picture of women being slapped and man-handled by the police was horrific.  I wanted to do something to support and show solidarity - but there are some big hints in the footage that things are exceptionally well staged to favour an overthrow,  I wonder what the opposite story is?  Who has inconveniently stopped co-operating anymore with whom?

Got up and painted but the hand shaking was depressing and the wet weather has returned pain and swelling to the wrist and metacarpal I fractured earlier in the year.  The pain and lack of grip was unbelievable.  I paint with both hands and when one gets shaky I use the other.  I stopped painting when my partner and I had our break together and watched an episode of West Wing.  I don't know whether it was the accident  flashback which immediately tensed me, or the frustration of feeling I am slipping backwards again, but I was feeling like a gibbering wreck and agreed with my partner that it would be OK if I went back to bed.  I was all over the place, mean voice did the verbal equivalent of a Highland Jig in my brain and I asked if I could have a Diaz.  We agreed to wait half an hour and see if I could settle myself with a warm bed and some company.  Diaz - and sleep.  It calmed me and I slept deep and long - about three hours.  Night sleep is still not that settled - so this was bliss.  The warm embrace of relaxed muscles and no physical agitation.  It didn't take much, but I haven't taken them for a while.

The pain in my hand is providing a physical reminder and feeding this inner sense that the illness gives me of anxiety and inadequacy; that I can't trust myself to go out alone or do things by myself - let alone for myself.   The painting is the nearest I have come to releasing my anger on the world.

I'd like to think it was a no score draw today but truth to tell I lost the plot and even now as I write don't really feel anything much matters.  If the feeling gets any worse I or my partner will phone the hospital or the charity Breathing Space.  Sometimes just talking it through and being reminded it is a part of the illness is all I need.  Sometimes I need 'permission' rather more formally to alter medication for a day or two.  It's the shakes that contribute to the sense of helplessness but also I am aware just how vigilant I am.  LIstening out for my mum coughing away.  Wondering where my partner is.  Checking the dogs.  Looking for the cat or cats.

Now the weather is consistently cool and ughie at night, Nutmeg comes in doors to her night hutch.  She usually has a cuddle and a TV watch on the sofa with me before she settles for the night.  I remembered last night as we communed that she and two other rabbits were bought as I moved into a depressive episode six years ago.  Lavender and Clover have since died - but Nutmeg seems to be still going strong.  I had forgotten how much I love just sitting with her.  She is fun in a basically large rabbit sort of a way.  she knows exactly what she wants and she gets it.

Feel I am very fragile and negative so I'm off...

Happy Diwali.

Jane 1 Mean Voice 0

Something of a battle today as my anxiety has been high.  Although I have no regrets about ceasing to use the Diazapam as they were no longer in any real sense effective - my solar plexus has felt as though a large cement mixer has been imported and is rolling round and round; swirling and grumbling. 

I managed to stay to my schedule though and got up at a reasonable time.  My partner and I have talked a lot about meeting with the person we saw yesterday and are reflecting on what has been said to us.  Both our moods are reflective and my partner is very tired.  He has had a migraine today which is a sure sign he is over-doing it.  You can imagine my huge emotional self-beating up about still not doing much and not wanting to do much which takes me away from painting and a very still, uninterrupted, predictable day.  I went to pieces for a bit - but we sat together and had a joint duvet moment and I suspect both dozed momentarily as we watched The Dog Whisperer.  Not only were we snoozing; we looked across and Bertie (Cuthbert) our cat was asleep on the Bishop's Chair;  three dogs curled up and asleep on the other sofa - and Jo (collie) asleep in his basket.

While I paint I can to some degree control the anxiety - but as I grew tired this afternoon, I realised I had probably painted for about five hours today in all - mean voice leapt into action and reduced me to a snuffling wimp by suggesting the picture was rubbish and I should just paint over it.  My abstracts are better apparently - up until that moment I hadn't known her views.  Worst of all was the power of her strike, it took a huge effort not to self sabbotage badly at this point.  Duvet time with my partner and The Dog Whisperer was the least destructive of many thoughts going through my head.

The strategies for lowering agitation do help as does distraction, but once I am tired I seem to have little or no defences.

Terribly concerned about the floods in East Anglia.  I remember folk when I was a Curate and Vicar in Suffolk recalling the devastation of the flood of 1953 and the loss of life - not to mention property.  The gales have been powerful here too today.  Nutmeg (rabbit) was brought in as the wind really began to build around lunchtime and watched TV with me on the sofa while I had my usual bagel lunch.  All the dogs came over to say hello - Bertie didn't even bother to wake up.  I suppose Nutmeg didn't smell like a real, wild rabbit.  She has spent most of the afternoon lying flat out in her single storey indoor hutch in the utility room.

Irony of ironies, our boiler died this morning -  the coldest and windiest day of the year so far - and we had to dust off the convectors and keep warm that way.  Bless our boiler man, he had to head over to the West and promised to come tomorrow and then called to say he had finished his job early and would come and 'do' us on the way home.  Life-saver - sitting still and painting, my fingers were freezing.  My mum, who lives with us, wasn't affected too badly as she has her electric heater on with the central heating all the time.  Again not moving about much, she needs to stay warm.

I feel as though I have little choice but to continue to listen to my brain and body and work at the pace they are comfortable with, but I'd be lying if I didn't say it feels frustratingly and at times humiliating that the progress makes a tortoise look athletic, I would be lying, I hate the speed of the progress but I know there is real improvement. 

I am practising being more body aware and relaxing parts when they become tense or agitated.  My partner has traded some points and bought me an outrageous selection of The Sanctuary shower products - the big multi-national one - not the one here!   I started with one this morning and now have a choice of three for my showers.  It has helped make a difficult part of the day - playful in a way.  It was a clever move.  We are getting into a routine.  It's not 7am to 11pm - but I am now 'expected to be awake by 9am' and I try to be up and about by 10.30am at the latest.

No very dark thoughts since Monday which is wonderful; no counting of chickens etc...  But I am pleased.  I started self-harming some weeks ago to relieve the head torment.  The constant pain and inner dialogue of dispiriting self-destruction.  I cut my arms and I would never have believed the level of relief it is possible to achieve when I was in that 'zone' and at the level of debilitation where I felt out of body, in the sense that my body felt dislocated and unimportant.  It provided an extraordinary sense of power when I felt so utterly hopeless.

I've never had much empathy with cutters before - I've always satisfied my own edginess with picking the skin off my fingers until it constantly flakes.  The cuts are healing - as long as I resist picking.  Again I am proud that I have two big bandages and I wear them from wrist to elbow to reduce the risk in the night, especially when I waken from a nightmare or suddenly feel the negative need to reinforce how imperfect I am.

I feel relaxed about the process.  It's not attention-seeking but rather tension-relieving.  I think it is also a very powerful visual signal to me not to go further and to remind me that I do still under the surface know this illness will take a while to work through.  The best of news is that unlike Schizophrenia, I am suffering a mental illness but I am not mentally ill.  This is something I will get over; and learn about - just like a diabetic spots when they need to get advice about re-balancing their insulin - I will know when to get some help because the symptoms are reappearing.  Just like a diabetic going under - it maybe that those who know me well may notice I need help a lot quicker than I do.  When I am discharged I will name people who will have that power in a sense to tell me to stop punishing myself and get off my butt and see my Community Psychiatric Nurse.  It is sensible and he's lovely.

Funnily enough I am remarkably compliant when people tell me I need to get support.  I just have to overcome, each and everytime, the sense of shame.

Good things today:

Cuthbert sleeping in while the dogs snoozed and I painted.

Duvet time with my partner on the sofa.

Nutmeg time.

The strategies.

Bad things:

Dwelling on the past.

Stumped a bit over my hospital homework.

All in all - Jane 1,  Mean Voice 0.

Another Step Forward For Janekind

After all my catastrophising last night and this morning (in bed) - the get together this afternoon with the person I haven't seen since I have become ill - actually went very well and was extremely helpful.  I felt so respected and valued; affirmed and appreciated.  It gave me confidence that maybe I don't need to protect people from seeing me at my worst.  Bring it on.  They can not only reassure me, but support me. 

I confess I was tired after about three quarters of an hour and disappeared off to the car - but I did it and I trust absolutely this person's insight and wisdom - so it was a big help really.  He is easy company and doesn't attempt to make things better or find a quick fix.  Well worth the effort of taking the risk and going - even though ten minutes before we left the house I was still sure I wasn't going to make it!

So much to celebrate.  The small victories over anxiety I feel I deserve an Olympic Gold Medal for but I guess that is a little OT.  I thought about cream cakes on the way home - but that is another form of self sabotage I need to avoid - comfort eating for being a good girl.  I even remembered to practice some of my relaxation and stopping the physical agitation strategies during the get together.  Result.  I also came up with a corker strategy of my own.  In the minutes leading to the last moments before we had to leave I used that old management technique of getting on with a task that I would hate/be more anxious about than meeting up - so I phoned up another person I need to meet with but don't know (scary) and, as I knew I would have to say a bit about myself, it felt like a huge task to undertake.  I thought if I did this before leaving- going out would seem like a doddle.  I faffed it a bit on the phone when I was asked what I had done in the past etc... but we set up the meet.

By the time I had done this I felt going out to see someone who has known us as a family for a good long while and has been a wise and informed counsellor was Snowdonia after Everest if you see what I mean - but I got to the meet and I acheived all I needed to and the person we were meeting wanted us to do.  He made it very much easier once we arrived and were settled.  I could have hugged him just for his gentleness and awareness of what we are going through and facing.  I am still in awe of others' kindness and consideration.  A wonderful antidote to bouts of inadequacy and paranoia.

Bit restless this evening and not really wanting to settle to painting although I am torn; I am thoroughly enjoying this particular composition and want to get on.  Trouble is hand-shake just now and the canvas I am working on at this time is detailed so chances are anything I do I'll only have to over-paint tomorrow.  I think I probably need to treadmill.

I suspect whatever - it will be an early night - I've used a lot of emotional energy today.  Nothing formally in the diary for tomorrow so I will paint I expect. 

My partner met with someone from a local charity offering respite for carers and we are hopeful that he will get some and so have some personal space. One Wallman woman ill can have a smidgeon of purgatory about it, but two Wallman women ill - must be hell.

I know I am still very ill in many ways - but I am beginning to be able to hear and better implement treatment.  A fair way to go though and that does feel like scary biscuits, but I know we will all be healthier as a family and I will be more fulfilled and fully myself once this next period of metamorphosis is completed.  The butterfly is a long way off - I feel I am still shoring up the protection for the chrysalis so that real transformation can begin - but as and when.  The serious process of changing behaviour patterns requires time to take.

Slowly does it...

Time To Slow The Action Down

Good day so far.  Went to pieces after finishing last night's blog.  Had a strange sensation of having revealed some deep wounds in yesterday's blog and moved into semi panic mode.  My partner could now get a job as a terrorist negotiator.  He did a great job of talking me down - slowly but firmly - to earth, walk away from the door with your hands up in emotional terms.  I am in awe sometimes of his patience and diligent concern. 

Of course I feel foolish and vulnerable even talking about these 'attacks' but I am learning strategies for managing and re-zoning so that I don't get stuck - even if I have initially been caught.  Today, more work on relaxation - wonderful - and a strategy for controlling my physical signs of agitation. Practice.  Practice.  I was thinking of taking up the drums, but this approach is a lot easier.

There's more good news.  I have heard that there is a fortnightly writing group starting up I can join and it should be local for most of the course based in Inverness.  I can't believe it.  That should put a bullet up the bottom of the self-saboteur who stops when she's successful.  I am awed.  It's given me a great buzz and the first sense of excitement in months.  This is wonderful - the return - even if it turns out to be temporary - of a wider range of emotions. I can hear some old familiar voices inside today - although it's rather like tuning a radio manually - they come in snatches and don't stay long.  Good to know they are still in there somewhere though.

I have attempted to complete one set of hospital homework - phoned and have arranged to meet. I have another homework to complete - I may share that when it's done - but I would need my therapist's permission - not to mention mine!  It may be it is for our eyes only.

Exhausted again now - but I have not retreated to bed but got up by 10am - dressed, washed and all appropriate ablutions completed.  Without the Diaz I think a little bit more clearly but I still struggle with concentration, anxiety and finding the right words.  I think I sound like my batteries need changing.

I reckon the other medication will be reviewed at the end of the month - and I am hoping I may have a chance to hit something that whacks the anxiety rather than the depression by then.  I am still very ill - not well enough to explore therapeutically the past yet.  That was awfully hard to hear.  Every cell in me is willing me better; longing to escape from the humiliating reality that I still can't see friends, or go to places, or open the mail.  I want to just be able to whistle a happy tune and get back to my version of life.  It was a timely reminder that much of this treatment involves small steps forward and a lot of giant steps back.  It will start to feel better when the steps back are within a more predictable emotional and physical range.

Sadly, it's not a steady linear progression.

Continued painting today.  As the composition has emerged my partner suggested the title:  Wicked.

I thought it was inspired.

It is a complex piece and I am taking my time, slowing my process and technique down.  This in itself is an interesting way of attempting to control the physical symptoms just now.  I concentrate hard on the composition; the techniques I want to use.  My mind is mostly otherwise blank when I paint.  Maybe focused would be kinder.

I have two canvases ready for framing -  the Christa and an abstract.  I am busting to pick up the four that are with the framer.

Truthfully not a lot seems to be running through my head.  Don't read.  Like sitting and I tend to do my 'homework' quickly - not quite to get it out of the way but to reduce potential angst.  Today's work, I have to give time and gentle consideration and reflection to - so no rushed quick fixes.

Big day tomorrow, it will be my first meeting with someone who has known me well; fiercely well, a protective mother, trail-blazing and railing against the authorities as well as despairing and upset on behalf of others.  My partner and I are going together - I am not sure I will make it out of the car - but past experience tells me he will probably come and get in the car if I don't! 

I am feeling the size of a fly with the confidence of a field mouse.  I know how skilled and perceptive he is and he knows us all well.  Worst of all we have and do trust him absolutely.  What he says will probably be right.  He has listened, supported and offered inspired counsel when we have been at the end of our tether - so I am relievedly petrified to be seeing him.

   

Human Cannonball

I am more up beat today which has emphasized for me how valuable the sessions are and the 'space' going to the hospital gives me.  I went back this afternoon and had some time in the computer room.  It is a space to think without any respnsibility or concerns. 

I found a wonderful website which fed my soul; full of Scottish artists.  I fell in love with about six paintings and one sculpture.  It was great for me because I could get close to the images, something that tends to set off alarms in galleries and cause concern in a commercial gallery - especially if a guide dog is about and there are installations or floor based sculpture!!!  Rainbow eats tea-lights at worship services if they are on the floor - you see the difficulty.  Taize is accompanied by munching.

I've been given a lot to think about and consider.  This feels just about the right time in the programme of treatment for me to shed a few more self-limiting assumptions and explore who I am now and what action I can and should decide to take.  Time to be challenged.

The experiences of my life, and perhaps most particularly the accompanying trauma that some violent and abusive events have had on my psyche have given me at best some uniqueness of understanding, empathy and the odd bit of intuition, but at worst, an extraordinary sense of feeling different.  Differentiated in some sense; dislocated and disinterested in many of the preoccupations which seem to make most people's lives go smoothly and relatively uneventfully round. 

Hence I have sometimes wondered if I suffer from Asperger's.  Recent insights have felt like I have an opportunity to remove another few items of this particular Emperess's new clothes and continue in a different manner my exploration of what human authenticity - living my life truly vocationally - means after this illness.

Today I have realised that there are other folk around who know the sort of differences I am talking about even if their actual life experience has been different.

Tonight I am knackered but I feel I am slowly owning the depths of myself whilst relying on others, for the most part, to remind me of the heights. 

Today I think I made some important connections regarding why I self-sabotage.  Ironically, compared with many people, my SS moments happen when I encounter success or the sniff of serious success in the air - not when I am feeling I am failing.  Weird. 

Maybe coming from a family of theatre folk and growing up seeing the impact fame has on people, has left its mark.  I can remember a couple of very well known,  in their time, comedians - and not just in the pathos sense of the true clown but because their shyness and lack of an independent emotional self - which resulted in their sense of isolation.  Hancock was before my time, but a classic example, I'd guess.  Kenneth Williams' diaries reveal similar traits.

When I experience genuine success - publication; a painting I am proud of; a poem or meditation that has written itself but has been created by me and just feels as though it has leapt onto the page - I withdraw.  Partially in disbelief; dislocation - "It can't be as good as I think it is".  "You are just a fantasist".  That sort of rubbish.  (Mean voice still seems pretty non-plussed by recent insights.  Good.)

Emptiness at least provides plenty of space.  I am not thinking too hard, but day-dreaming different realities for now.  Vocationally so much is already in place and evolving with the setting up of a religious and lay foundation - and the vision and realisation of The Sanctuary - but I am going to be of most use when I am most fulfilled and that's why I have worked hard and discovered.  I hate the sense of torment and the darkness - but I do believe the journey is about making me more fully who I truly am.  It often feels like two rounds and a knock out, but I will get more experienced in the strategies that overcome the sticking points and blocks - the rest is believing that the treatment works and does help.

I self-sabotage by:

i)  Living vicariously and not giving enough creative and emotional energy to my own creative channels.  I live 'professionally' and am accountable with checks and balances in my professional work - when I am working - but they are about spiritual in-fill and being held accountable through oversight and supervision.  I haven't given enough time to my own creative needs and certainly not taken into consideration seriously my aspirations or talents.  They come after everyone else is comfy or working on their own stuff or I've finished being a partner, mother and daughter, or a cook and worship facilitator - or earned a crust.

ii)  I am frightened of success.  I become really distressed about anyone knowing what I have in print, or have broadcast and always use other names.  It sounds affected as I read this back; rather precious.  I have always argued it is a craving for independence and privacy in my creative work.   I worry as opportunities increase with my creative writing that I just won't have the stomach for all that goes with it.  Maybe it all sounds a bit over the top - "You should be so lucky".  Well, the reality is I seem, after a lot of hard work to begin to be getting some serious interest in my work and as I do that - so I self-sabotage. 

The card by my desk which says:"What would you do if you knew you couldn't fail?"  should be reading in my current life scenario - "You're setting yourself up for a severe fall - don't bother - you're so not that good.  Give it a miss.  You're no Lucy Hawking, Maya Angelou or Jane Austen - put another duvet on the sofa and log on the fire old girl and curl up - you're much better at that".

iii)  Acute fear of criticism from people I do not respect and trust.  Funnily enough the ones I respect and trust I learn from their criticism because I know at the deepest level we are neither competitive nor are we seeking anything other than a mutual understanding or evaluation.  So I can hear praise and criticism from a spiritual or academic mentor.  Likewise from a colleague who I know holds a similar integrity and commitment to authenticity.  The sense that with success often comes less control over your life - not more - is a worry, combined with a fear that I may actually be a one novel wonder.

iv)  Fear of the additional expectations and responsibilities that the respect of others and being taken seriously brings.

The question over the months ahead will be: have I the balls to free fall and take the reality which was once a dream even further, or will I play it safe?  I've never thought of myself as a human cannonball (no comments thank you) but essentially that's what I am asking of myself.  This time I must learn the lesson FINALLY that I thought I had grasped years ago - no wearing my knickers outside my tights - super heros are not my thing.  Save the world - important - but watch out that I don't sacrfice myself in the advocacy. 

Fly.  Free fall.  Go and be what I have now discovered I might like to become.  Suggestions on a postcard please.

Long journey - but I need to see whether this is all just words and pretty turns of phrases or whether it really does sink into my psyche and marrow.

Whether it takes is the main thing.  Much more to work out concerning strategies for the future and lots of advice and support needed.  But on hospital days I almost always feel a lift; listened to; encouraged and sometimes pushed to make a bit more effort and trust I can.  Mean voice has decided this is an appropriate moment to remind me that I am essentially a lazy slob.  Yes, a bit of me is.  But most of me although still feeling pretty ill - recognises I am making a kind of progress - no quick fixes - but solid re-laying foundations stuff.