Are the voices in my head too loud for you?

Magical Mystery Tour

I can't quite work out what has got into me - but I have had another day of acute anxiety.  It all seems to relate back to Friday's art therapy.  I am still beating myself up for somehow failing to be what I was expecting myself to be in the session.  It doesn't get more ridiculous than that?

Unable to contemplate getting up today (again) I did atleast manage to throw on a dressing gown and go through to spend time with my occupational therapist this afternoon.  I felt I had achieved something - at least we met and I didn't simply notch up into panic mode and hide under the pillow. 

I found, much to my surprise, that it felt OK to be with her even though I wasn't at my best - and looked much the worst for wear.  I've always been proud and very reserved about people seeing me when I am feeling very under par. I feel vulnerable and fear I will scrutinised and found wanting in some way.  All rather ironic when I also feel very comfortable accepting others as they are.  Ultimately it isall about control and how I choose to exercise it. 

Today was a first - to be seen unwashed and ill at ease in my skin - and I found as the seesion went on I relaxed, unwound, shared what was on my heart and we found things that I could look forward to.  I felt affirmed just being as I am - I feel a fool not realising that I am acceptable as I am.  But I don't intend to beat myself up about it - which is a distinct improvement.

Better since I had my OT session - I feel some perspective returning. No longer stewing in my own juice - rather draining off the excess moisture and returning to some sort of equilibrium.

At the moment I still seem to swing from highs to lows.  The down-times often triggered by the unresolved anger I feel.  I am going to work on ways to establish some firmer middle ground where I don't swing so dramtically from one extreme to another and have, within that, some safe ways of expressing my anger.  Tai Chi is one thought.  Painting with some tempestuous music playing is another; having a good bash on our son's drum kit; or playing my guitar through the amp' at full belt.  They all appeal hugely but the other strange thing that happens when I get angry is that I implode it so quickly and thoroughly that I lose motivation rapidly.  I need to read the warning signs quicker and put some sort of anger management strategy in place after each major transition - whether I think I need to or not - otherwise I will simply melt into a slushy heap of smouldering angst.

Lessons learnt today - not least that however ill I feel - it's worth taking baby steps to fight the feelings of anxiety.  Just putting a dressing gown on and sitting with my OT meant I had a chance to soak up a top up in perspective and affirmation.  If I had stayed in bed and refused to see her I would have missed the kick start I needed to turn things around.  She is very skilled and I was moderately brave to face my dragons when I just wanted to sink into oblivion.

Kim McMillen:

When I loved myself enough I learned to ask 'who in me is feeling this way?' when I feel anxious, angry, restless or sad.

If I listen patiently I discover who needs my love.

...The child whose magical, mysterious giftedness was challeneged and not acknowledged in her childhood years, heard today that she paints beautifully and she is doing well; fighting bravely and making real progress.

Anxiety: Work in Progress

Late last night I could be heard singing at the top of my voice from my bed "One more mountain to climb, one more river to cross, I've come such a long, long way and still, I've got a long way to go..."  As a distraction technique it helped.  I was mid anxiety attack and shooting myself down in flames as beng stupid and 'allowing' some comments on the phone our son had made to me earlier in the evening, invade my sense of well-being; really get under my skin. 

I suspect it didn't occur to him we were moving into difficult areas for us both.  I was chatting about Crufts, something he and I have always enjoyed hugely, and the conversation moved to our Newfoundland which we had put down at home last summer.  At the time he judged me "a murderous bitch" - and I was shattered to the marrow.  I was already pretty ill, but I know my partner and I spent some time explaining why this had to happen.

Before I could stop myself last nighgt, I was back into expaining, yet again, why it all happened and I could feel us both tensing.  Although his words said he was very sorry that he had called me such names - he also assured me that he still felt I had murdered her.  I so loved Jessie and she was such a close companion - a day does not go by when I don't wish we could have found another solution. 

Jessie attacked my step-granddaughter and although it was a provoked attack, the damage to my step-granddaughter's face was huge - and Jessie had already shown she was aggressive in the months before.  We spent a long time talking to Jessie's behaviour trainer and our vet - who is a very good friend - and we all had to very, very reluctantly agree that there was little else that could be done in the circumstances.  She could not be trusted. 

Our son tapped into the stream of guilt and disbelief still alive in me that I am responsible for all that has happened to Jess and with such devastating consequences. 

I am so glad we are taking this time to grieve for Jess as a family.  I know how much it must have hurt our son to say good-bye to such a loved pet - but it is hard for us all - very hard.  She has left a big hole in our lives - her huge lumbering frame charging down the hall to greet you on your return home was something to see.

My partner and I have talked a lot recently about getting another Newfie.  It has been tempting as good pups come up from time to time.  Our discussions reached a head a few days ago funnily enough, when we decided not to get another one just yet.  Maybe in the summer.  I hope to get a new guide dog before too long - and although guide dogs don't count in this household as they are beautifully behaved and are not 'pets' in the strictest sense - the arrival of a new dog will mean the pack of four will take time to re-group around the young pretender. 

Rainbow, my present guide dog, will also need time to grieve for his own role in my life as he sees another dog going out with me.  I have learnt never to underestimate animals reactions - I am sure they grieve and need time to adjust to significant changes in their lives just as we do.  So we will think again about a Newfie - after all once you have two dogs - you hardly notice the further additions!  But not yet!

I'm amazed how inadvertently destructive my son's discussions were on the phone last night.  He also scored an emotional 'goal' by telling me one of his school therapists had told him that "he was well-used to treating people with BPD and Zach shouldn't worry, it's probably just as well mum is given some time to centre herself..."  I wanted to scream.  He doesn't even know me!  Help!  I realised I haven't got a rhino hide back in place just yet - mine is gossamer thin.  Bottoms.

The very excellent news is that I can now see the amusing side of the my son's apparent 'knock-out' blows to my psyche. I should have been much more laid back and simply said he is to think what he thinks - but not attempt to justify myself.  I must have sounded as I think I probably subconsciously felt, as though I needed his approval on some level.  This was neither appropriate or necessary.  I learnt a great deal from this uncomfortable incident.  (My new role model will be Mrs Inbetweeny.)

Firstly, that at the moment conversations with family and friends where the relationships are intricate are taxing.  They should and need to happen - but - just as most of today has been taken up working through my self-imposed angst after the call last night, so, in the future I need to make sure I give time to 'recover' following an encounter which may bring up difficult issues for me.

Now I can look back on the conversation last night and see that I was a dimwit letting my son move us into areas which we both know will cause a significant tense reaction in the other.  I won't let that happen again except when we both have decided what the terms of engagement are.  I was left feeling very hurt by his comments.  I know that I can only be hurt if I choose to be. 

As a consequence much of today has been about re-framing the acute anxiety into a learning exercise.  I have learnt that anxiety has to be lived through but then put firmly in it's place at the first opportunity - which in my imagination is into an enormous gherkin jar with a screw top lid - and left there. 

Hurt is often my torchlight to see something that needs to be worked on - and in this episode I saw illuminated my grief at no longer being able to be a mum to our son on a day to day basis; I miss being involved and seeing the day to day transformations.  I hadn't realised how much I miss not having the space and time to listen to him and share with him.  I could also see in my hurt that he was challenging a decision we took which I have re-run in my heart endlessly wondering if we did the right thing in euthanasing Jess.

I did not have the guts of clarity of perception, in the moment, last night, to say this to our son this clearly. He needs to hear that may be it was the wrong decision - and that sometimes I wonder that just as much as he does.  Justifying a decision doesn't make it any easier to live with.  Insight can be, literally, a real pain!!!

Devoured Private Eye and The Herald today - so I feel I have also centred in the world rather than in my own thick soup of paranoid insecurity.

The joy of watching Crufts especially the frantic chaos of the flyball is enough to remind me that life is now - not then - or even tomorrow.  The exhuberance and enjoyment of the moment the dogs exhibit is something to behold. 

Falling

I've returned for the second blog of the day simply to say what a relief it is to begin the process of celebrating the darker side of the uniqueness of being human.  It is playful, delightful and joyous to journey into the light and the consolation of owning our giftedness and uniqueness is - well - there's no greater sense of consolation and happiness.  Much harder, but no less rewarding to fumble around in the dark and risk going deeper into the desolation.  It is uncomfortable and painful - but some small part of me still hopes it will have depth and meaning and I know it will.  And when I don't I know I must trust it will.

Taking A Tumble

Falling into the darkness

demands I do not control the jump or the destination

The unbalancing has captured my fear and bruised

my self-expectation.

This is a comfortless plunge

into a tunnel which only I can negotiate.

The more I struggle

the more anguished the descent becomes.

Acutely raw and shedding skins rapidly

I can barely catch my breath.

The masks of presumption

that imply the physician can

heal herself

fly

away

and I free fall

to discover

my new reality.

God

be my guide and my salvation.

JEWG

Deal With It

I've mentioned depression in some of my recent postings and it's one of those comments it's tempting to slip into a blog and not really explain.  Well, the elephant is well and truly still in the room - and I am going to try and use this time while I am in an episode to see if I can, without pressuring myself, understand more about the practical, social and spiritual implications of this for me - and others.  Cancer and death used to be the big social taboos.  These days I suspect the one thing few people talk about are their own mental health issues - and yet very few of us - with a higher proportion per head of population in faith communities - will travel through our entire life without experiencing some form of mental health issue.

What are we so scared of?

I guess we have all witnessed conversations where we have heard someone written off professionally or personally because of mental health issues.  Maybe we have undermined someone's credibility because they 'suffer from' or 'can't handle...'  The reality is that 'normal' is in the eye of the beholder, rather like beauty.  Depression is a b***** of an illness, but so is Asthma - and at least it is an illness and not a personality trait.  Unlike gross insensitivity, selfishness or egocentricity it can actually be remedied to some degree with time, rest, talking therapies and medication.  I'd rather be depressed than unable to perceive and reach out to meet another's needs, or live in a mind set where I thought I always knew best.

My own experience has been that there are a few people who consider themselves 'well' mentally who are also frightened or dismissive of the majority of mental health problems.  The 'snap out of it'; 'pull yourself together' or 'poor lamb can't help it...' brigade are at best prejudiced or ignorant - or at worst in denial regarding their own needs and wants.  Like many illnesses the most focused and generous support often comes from those who have 'been there, and got the t-shirt' and from folk who are essentially comfortable in their 'own skins' which most depressives are, after all the 'work' they put in to be-friending their psyche.

What I am writing I hope will help.

The Royal College of Psychiatry produce some super booklets on a variety of mental health conditions and their one on Depression is no exception.  It can be printed, and I think downloaded from their website:

www.rcpsych.ac.uk

The leaflet identifies someone who is seriously depressed as:

...their feelings of depression don't go away and they are so bad they interfere with every day life...

The symptoms include:

Feeling unhappy most of the time ...  lose interest in life and can't enjoy anything, find it harder to make decisions, can't cope with things that you used to, feel utterly tired, feel restless and agitated ... lose self confidence ... avoid people ... think of suicide.

This time the slip into depression has been slow and then, just over the last weeks, I have felt as though I am sliding down a flume into nothing - but very languidly and not without significant accompanying agitation.  As I write I cannot keep still physically or mentally.  Prayer just now is singing worship songs.

I've had one very serious bout of depression before - but this time is a bit different.  I think the early intervention with antidepressants has altered the dynamic of the depression, if that doesn't sound too quaint or fanciful.  I recognise a previous pattern has emerged once again probably prompting this episode where the triggers are exhaustion and some kind of major life event. 

Most recently I had a serious fall which messed up my mobility and confidence as a visually-impaired person and has permanently damaged my left hand which, as a guitar player and a person who draws and paints right and left-handed, this is a serious creative blow.  I am devastated but had no time to mourn - life events were coming at me thick and fast - some thrilling and exciting; others upsetting and deeply disturbing.  I have gone into a gentle mental melt down.  If I was a computer I would say I had set myself to defragment.

Usually I begin an episode with a sense that I have no room to manoevre and feel emotionally and sometimes physically trapped.  This can often be alleviated by simply taking time out and being much more self-caring.  Then my mood will lift and all manner of things will be well.  If this doesn't happen and the trappedness grows, I generally start to become anxious and have difficulty sleeping and motivating myself.  Simple tasks become hugely draining and I begin to avoid spending time with people except one to one.

The battle then commences between the 'reality check' voices in my head which constantly remind me of all I am committed to and all I need to do - and the often muted cry of the dark, exhausted and diminished part of my psyche which begs me to slow down.  At this point I used to move into workaholic overdrive as my chosen self-sabotaging technique.  I have wised up about that and now try and slow down to a stop.  This is the first time I've tried this approach and it may be - alongside the medication - why this episode feels different.

I have a friend, who as far as I know is not a depressive, who talks about depression as the Dark Monster.  My experience has been much more akin to Churchill who described his own depressive episodes as the Black Dog returning unbidden into his life.  I love black dogs and this is the time to befriend this particular one.  She is going to be a part of my life for some weeks to come.

One of the aspects of my own experience of Depression is that I become dis-located from myself and therefore award little or no value to myself.  At the moment of have no sense of the real me.  To be honest the woman I can play back in my memory whose comedy timing is impeccable; is a gifted communicator; a committed writer and academic theologian and a committed artist feels like a distant relative - some favourite Aunt I admire.  I can see her but not own her.

The hardest thing to get used to this time around is that I can still think.  During my last Depression I have no memory of large chunks of the experience - my brain felt numb.  I don't know quite how to interpret this.  Maybe it's a good sign.  I am aware I am darker in my thoughts and more negative than before.

The rest of the family are about.  Depression make me egocentric - and I lose a lot of my empathetic skills.  My partner is burning the candle at both ends as we have family staying too.  The rest of our immediate family are worried although our son is doing very well, sinking himself into computer games, sending inappropriate e-mails to the whole of the Scottish Episcopal Church inviting them into Oedipal relationships with their mothers and kicking off at his uniformed organisation.  My sense is he has the healthiest response to his anger and frustration of the lot of us.

P.s. I've not lost my sense of humour - yet.