Are the voices in my head too loud for you?

Three Days

It's Jp again.

Why the title?  Today has been the third consecutive day which Jane has stayed either in or sitting on the bed.  We expected Friday to be like this; as mentioned before, it was hoped to go out on Saturday and for Jane to have varnished her paintings today, ready for framing tomorrow.

Both of us are feeling somewhat discouraged - we have had a difficult and rather painful discussion this evening and had to admit that, whilst we had both understood that progress is not a rising straight line graph, we had not anticipated what has seemed to be a steady decline over the last week or so.  Jane said that she felt she had had a breakthrough when she recognised that she was a self saboteur, about 10 days ago, but she didn't know what to make of this and how to turn it around.

Things don't seem to be pulling together - the different therapeutic inputs do not appear to be integrative, the one in particular seeming to have the opposite effect, since there is not the time to piece together what has gone on in the session, with the result that Jane has felt shredded and emotionally worn out by the process.  This may be because the work being undertaken is with Jane, who almost certainly would initially have presented as being very articulate, hugely intuitive, an academic who teaches psychology, and someone who obviously knew what she was talking about and understood the process of therapy.  All true, but not at present relevant.  She is feeling shredded (and with a cross-cut as opposed to a strip shredder).  She is raw.

My own thoughts are that because of the depression her processing is only taking place at a twentieth of her normal speed, also that little account has been taken of our present home circumstances, where I am needing to look after two people.

Jane is also very anxious about what will happen at the end of her allotted time.  So am I.  Our understanding is that each patient is allotted a period of funding for appropriate therapy, during which it is anticipated that they will have recovered sufficiently to continue their everyday lives.  Jane's understanding is that her 'period' will expire before Christmas, but there is huge doubt and anxiety in her mind that she will not have recovered sufficiently by the time the funding expires.  We need reassurance on this.

I cannot remember if Jane has mentioned her inner 'mean voice', now named as Clydesdale because of her immense strength - which Jane is working to tame: apparently the current refrain from Clydesdale is "You're just attention seeking".

When I asked her this evening what her immediate dream would be she replied: "To go somewhere where there is impeccable service and she would be well looked after, no unknown noises and no unexpected people."  She wants to shut herself down.

Tomorrow she has a review.  She feels frightened about what may be said but finds it difficult to be certain where the fear is centred.

There will be something posted tomorrow or Tuesday . . .

Another Day

It's Jp writing.

Jane has spent much of the day processing: she got up this afternoon and watched some television, returning to bed after supper.

It is her sadness which is so powerful.  She is not yet sure exactly where the epicentre for her grief lies, which is creating an aura of engulfing sadness, but I anticipate that she will eventually be able to identify the seat and then the healing can begin.

The idea that we might have gone out with a camera to capture some autumn colour came to nothing, but there is always tomorrow . . .   She is hoping to varnish three of her paintings before taking them to be framed on Monday, after her review with her psychiatrist and OT (Occupational Therapist).

Jane has trouble with her knees as a result of an accident invoving a bike and an articulated lorry in Oxford, many years ago; her knees have been described as those of a 90 year old.  Walking along the track by the shore is difficult for her because of its unevenness and her partial sightedness - it is all too easy for her to stumble - so we have acquired a treadmill.  We are hoping that this will enable her take some, at this stage, gentle exercise in  safe environment (later I shall turn the speed up).  She is also hoping to encourage the dogs to use it . . .

A Quiet Day

Again, it is Jane's partner writing (maybe to become known as Jp?).

Jane has had a day of rest following yesterday's session.  There are long periods of silence and a need for company - it feels, as an observer/supporter, like a very hard, lonely journey, accompanied by a huge sadness.  The sadness has no form but I think there is a sense of loss, of what might have been.

Everyday events can prove difficult; she remembered to have a shower today, but not that she had also intended to wash her hair at the same time.

Jane is hoping that tomorrow (Saturday) will see her a little more prepared to get up and venture forth, perhaps to take some photos of the autumnal colours for a future painting.

Reflecting on the Thursday session, Jane has been questioning the degree to which she opend herself up, but, because of time constraints, she was then left unable to 'debrief' on what had taken place.  Under normal circumstances she would be well able to handle this and draw her own conclusions and move on, but in her present parlous state she finds the situation very difficult to hold together, which seems to be contributing to her overall anxiety, rather than reducing it.

Have a good weekend.

A Variation

Jane has asked me, her partner, to write a blog for her . . .

This morning Jane had the most exhausting session that she has ever experienced. She emerged looking drained and was silent until we got home.  She was then able to write down what she would like for lunch, followed by a brief description of how she had got on in the session.  I can understand why she was so exhausted.

After her lunch she slept, we watched some television and then she slept again.

It is very hard to watch someone you love going through mental anguish.  Somehow physical pain can be empathised with, since most people have experienced physical pain in some degree, but unless you yourself have experienced severe depression or some mental disturbance it is very difficult to offer intelligent and constructive support, especially when the sufferer is unable to communicate in a familiar way.

In the early days Jane was asked a number of questions intended to elicit how inclined toward suicide she was.  She wasn't, then.  A couple of days ago she asked me take responsibility for her pills for the time being as her thoughts were very dark.

It's past midnight - I will stop.

Is Mean Voice Better Than No Voice?

Still going through a tough period.  I am crying a lot and not wanting to talk much.  On the way home from the hospital today I suddenly had an idea for trying to control mean voice's capacity to torment and undermine my confidence.

I came straight in the door and went through to the sitting room and started work with the plasticine we have been using to create all sorts of designs for a cob house build.  I made a plasticine model of mean voice that looks like an obese Morph from Visiion On, a children's art show for deaf and deafened children in the 1960's and 70's.  She has one finger up in the air agressively showing me what she thinks of my creative efforts.  I squeezed her into an old pickle jar.  I'd have normally made the orchard apple jelly and chutney by now.  My partner found my little bag of Guatemalan Worry People and I dropped them all in on her back and then screwed the jar down tightly.  She can take the weight for a change.  I then made a label and didn't even bother to make it a pleasant label or amusing one and just stuck it on with sellotape. 

I felt better for doing it.  Shakey.  But I do know with some of myself at least that I have a choice about how I handle mean voice.  This urgent plasticine activity was an attempt to say I am trying hard not to let mean voice win.  Not win so much as take over.  I wish I had more emotional energy for the task and I dread these periods when I feel wretched and raw again.

Painting takes me to places I have never been within myself.  What I can't seem to do just now is make the connections I want to make between my emotional awareness at a non-verbal level which leave me sometimes astonishingly aware and most of the time feeling traumatised - and the practical day-to-day bits and pieces of  living. 

Thank you P for the parcel today.  I chose not to open it or read it - yes, the day has felt that desolate - but love oozed through the envelope.  My partner was thrilled when he opened it for me as you have included something edible which is one of his favourites - I can see I will have to hide them.

I have done my best to stay up and not retreat, literally, to bed on return from hospital.  West Wing was on but I wasn't really with the plot I have to say. Ridiculous as it sounds I was waiting for mean voice's retaliation.  I just kept saying I have a choice.  I don't really believe it yet - but it worked for maybe half an hour or so - which is better than mean voice taking over all day every day.  In the half an hour there was nothing as far as I am aware going on inside.  I had to force myself not to look at the mean voice in the jar as if I was checking on a live creature.  She (the mean voice in me) will sleep in the study tonight.

Agitated and dead inside I feel physically much as I do after a serious lung infection or Glandular Fever.  Everything needs to be checked and double-checked from have I cleaned my teeth to the gentle and very well meant enquiries about whether I am going to shower or get up etc...

Is mean voice better than no voice?  It was a close run thing.  When mean voice returned she had plenty to say about my attempts to "demean" her and "control" her.  She reminded me who was in charge.  I feel like taking anything to knock me out overnight so she can't get me at my most vulnerable in the early hours.

Good points today:

Hospital.

Seeing Joseph, our collie enjoy a quick sniff round the grass outside the hospital and do a perfect recall.

Bad points:

I have slipped back.

I accept choice but do not have the emotional energy at the moment to make safe and consistent choices regarding my own needs.

I am frightened that other people's help could have unbearable implications in the future.

Still have no idea who I am or who I want to be.

Going down feels precious/tortuous and very must.

BUT my only linkage at the moment is that the professionals must have some idea why I am getting stuck and how to give me the emotional equivalent of Epsom Salts.

Will The Real Jane Please Stand Up?

I have had a very dark couple of days. Yesterday and today have felt as though I am in an arm-lock with my mean inner voice.  Where have the really positive voices gone, just when I need them?  The work I am doing emotionally at the moment feels as though I am going really very deep - but I am so exhausted and upset with where I go when I do go this deep that I am emotionally tired and then I am back in the rabbit in the headlights mode and completely stuck.   

The deeper thoughts are helpful in as much as I am making connections and exploring ways of understanding myself in ways I have never done before.  I have touched so much within my psyche with my recent paintings and seeing more of my work now framed and up on the walls (spooky) - that I don't know what to do with the light or the dark, I have forgotten what I must have learnt as a magical child in those first years.  So I guess I choose the safest route of all which is self-sabotage.  Give up, I guess.  Or focus on how to block getting better because I don't know what I am getting better for.  Will the absolutely authentic Jane please stand up and take a bow.  I'd be delighted to see her again in full, turbo driven creative excellence. 

Back with dark thoughts; nothing new there - that none of this is really worth going on with; feeling that I have to somehow work out how to relieve the inner torment which makes me feel as though I want to blow my head off (not literally) just to stop the voice going on and on.  Days like the last couple I haven't got the energy to fight or offer any serious distractions to myself.  I think mentally I need to get up do my hygeine routine and just paint - but I have showered for the first time in three days and spent either thirty or thirty-two minutes sitting in the sitting room in the whole day yesterday at the request of the hospital, other than staying in bed.  My partner's watch reckoned it was only thirty.  We negotiated whether I should stay longer.  I think I was probably back in bed before the poor guy had a chance to finish the sentence.

Of course, mean voice has it all sussed, I am sabotaging because it's fun being ill;  I am not as ill as I think I am - just a lazy sloth.  I am chasing my own tail - yes - it is all my fault, of course it is.  I just dig deeper into the duvet - OK - I (mean voice) win - but I still can't shift this enormous sense of morbidity.

Last night I watched some late movie set in a psychiatric long stay establishemnt, although written and produced I would guess in the seventies, it had Whoopi Goldberg in who - when I am well - is a great role model and inspiration to me.  She can make me smile or cry in a second - her timing is incredible.  I love  Maya Angelou too.  They'd both be at my 'perfect' dinner party. 

It probably wasn't the most sensible movie to watch retrospectively but I am not making sensible choices right now - and although it explored the practice in asylums in The States, I guess a decade before the movie was made, it affected me deeply.  I had already felt so bad earlier in the day my partner had phoned the hospital.  Back to square one - at least that's how it feels.  I then watched this movie?  Why?  For goodness sake?!  I really am my own worst enemy.  Scenes of people wanting to kill themselves; living with bi-polar; working through addictions - Diaz - of course etc.  I even got the nail scissors out to see how difficult it is to actually just cut your skin - you know like self-harmers do to say - "Hey I can't do this anymore and everything hurts anyway so why not physically too?"  Then I understood for the first time ever, the attraction  for them - if they believe it would genuinely reduce the agony inside.  I didn't think it would work for me.  At least mean voice assured me I'm all talk and no action - a prize producer of larger amounts of do-dos; Tragedy Queen and not even gutsy enough to end my own drama.  So my mean voice has her uses.

Today I have finally got up and showered after The Paul O'Grady Show (I have a soft spot for Paul because he reminds me of Blackpool and my childhood).  I am blogging.  I slept for about 6 hours today - three hours this morning and a couple of hours this afternoon - which makes six on Diaz.  The Diaz is up again - hospital orders - and this calms the physical signs of the depression enormously - particularly the shakes - so typing is a lot easier- even picking up pills was tricky on Monday.

Friends continue to be long suffering and amazingly encouraging.  A beautiful angel arrived in the post this morning.  Thank you C and A.  I can't see hope just now - and she is an angel of hope - but I can read about it a little while back in the blogs and I did get better last time - even if I became ill again.

My own 'angels' have felt strangely absent in recent months.  I've realised that at the deepest level this is my stuff not theirs - no hiding behind insight and perceptiveness, or the magical mysteries of spirituality this time - this is the lonely descent to find out what is going on in and for me.  I am relying on my tenaciousness and utlimate resilience.  I have broken out in a sweat writing those words; it's as though I know I will be punished later by mean voice for daring to publicly suggest such a ridiculous thing.  But I'll risk it.  I can't love myself more fully, or be gentle until I have a sense of what pulls me off course so easily. I can feel my anxiety rising.

Good things today:

The angel - but I can't really see it yet.  I just know it is there.

Sleep.

Dreaming of speaking to someone I wanted to know was around and finding out after the call and I had woken up properly that I did speak to her.

Bad things:

Torment.

Anger at myself.

Anger at others.

Now limiting how much I speak because mean voice says I shouldn't say so much; I will get better if I say less.  So today I have counted my words - 182 so far.  Talking to dogs or cats does not count - but I don't talk much to them - it's more stroking and snuggling.

Teazle and Bertie sent me a card.  It's a cartoon of two cats sleeping in armchairs opposite each other:

I'd get so much more done if only I could get by on seventeen hours sleep.

Exploring Motherhood

Despite getting up late, I managed to finish the first of the mother archetype paintings.  I tried to take my time because I wanted to feel what the painting meant to me and just be with the feelings.  It was a letting go process, not a jumping through the hoop of let's get my hospital homework done and get back to sleep.  The hospital process has become very valuable and it feels painful to think it will end. 

I also did my exercise with the post this morning and it worked really well.  I felt rather bossy and in charge.  (Those who know me well, please don't groan too deeply.) 

The painting left me very high when I had completed it; a sort of adrenalin cum nervousness deal.  I had spent the day watching West Wing Series One as I painted - and as I didn't hook into the whole WW thing until about series four, this was a very enjoyable treat indeed.

As I couldn't bring myself down after painting the picture - I decided to prime - paint the background - for tomorrow's painting which should be less complex than this one.  Still shaking and not 'down' I then varnished two of last week's canvases which can now go for framing and then saw my tree painting which I had hurried a bit at the time and set to work on tidying it up and finishing it.  Again it can be varnished tomorrow and go for framing after they have all made their trip to the hospital later next week.

The tree has been.

I took half a Diaz to try and lose the shakes while I got started on my painting this afternoon and once I was absorbed I seem to have been able to keep the very mean-voice sub-personality under control.  But I have been physically pretty agitated.  Again with the Diaz I have to be strong - time to be weaned and it ain't easy.

I am amazed at how much I can feel and how deep I go without words.

I had a thought last night that I have so little time before I am discharged from the hospital (it's a fixed schedule of treatment) that I wonder if maybe I should discharge myself now so that I have time to put some emotional protection in place, not to mention physical, before the demands of the Christmas Holidays.  Christmas and New Year are tough times for our son.  It doesn't take much to knock me back at the moment - and we are still uncovering the layers  of impacted emotional gunk - we are putting things back together, but mostly practical stuff.

It would be horrible to plummet when I am still vulnerable.  I think I would potentially undo a lot of the so far, little short of, miraculous work the hospital has achieved, plus the constant encouragement of family and friends.  Gosh, you do find out who your friends are at times like this.  And I have.  I've always thought I am the sort of person who is rather tolerated or humoured;  I am beginning to have a deep sense of love from others - and from my perspective it is entirely reciprocated.

Tomorrow I am looking at what control and motherhood means.  Boundary-keeping; safeness and all that - but in extremis controlling and therefore diminishing the confidence of another and their capacity to realise their potential.  I hope the paints don't run out.

For now I just need a hot Chocolate and a back massage - and bed.

Fragile, but trying to move on with the tasks and the going deeper.  The self-sabotage and mean-voice stuff will start later when I return to why am I bothering... I'll only get depressed again... and yes, without the Diaz I am much more jittery.  But I am processing and that counts for something.

Good things today:

Cuth(bert) decided to sit and watch me paint.  Unusual for this particular cat.

Ordered treadmill (partner's order - it doesn't count as spending if he pays for it - just like food pilfered from another's plate has no calorific value.)

Sun was shining some of the time.

Partner could leave me long enough to mow.

Dido (Golden Retriever) brought me an egg cup she had found, thankfully not one of the ones decorated by C and H during Holy Week.  She was so proud.  She loves finding things that's why most of my knickers have no gusset (no comments please) and my socks have no toes.  Too much information - but she gets bored with all this painting stuff and her 'Mum' not wanting to go out much.

Thanks for reading.

Feeling

Another day, much of which has been spent mental processing (not always with accompanying snoring).  At the hospital this morning,  I am moving on to practical things which will help develop my confidence and sense  of returning to ordinary life.  My desk is piled high with unopened letters and parcels.  My first task - really thanks to C - is to try and work towards opening my mail.  To begin with I am allowed to decide what I open and leave the rest to my partner to sort out.  I am going to start slowly tomorrow by sorting through what I would like to open and what I can't face.  I love the sense of control and also freedom.  I am looking at how to lower my anxiety when I receive mail.  I suspect all those years of battles with Social Services, in particular, have left me with heightened anxiety when anything unexpected arrives, I think a swift churning of my stomach has now become a problem  and an untouchable - like a phobia - I can't do this - while my depression is in place.  I wish I had had such gifted and perceptive interventions years ago.

Slowly will do it.

I have some ideas for paintings around archetype mother figures and I will start painting tomorrow.

The greatest news today was to see my early paintings completed at the beginning of my depression now back from the framers.  It was like giving myself a hug - and I'm very grateful to my mum for paying for the framing which involved a second mortgage!  It was very generous and loving.  The frames maketh the paintings - no two ways about it.  We are now deciding where to hang them.  When my son is home it might be wise if they live in The Sanctuary as he may find them hard to have around - but - my partner and mum have, a bit to my surprise, decided they would like them hung up in the house until the Christmas holidays.  I was thinking of the loft. 

I see them as externalising my inner journey and process.  At the moment I don't really see the paintings - and therefore have no sense of their quality - they are the means to recovery alongside the skills of the professionals.

Everyone is very encouraging about them.  They are helping me get better, by helping me explore me - the real me - through the painting.

Had a little bit of a scare with my mum this morning - but all seems calmer now.  We swept home after her phone call to my partner at the hospital - but she was already on the mend.

Good things today:

The awe of seeing what a difference a frame makes - and feeling like a fraud - it makes me look as though I know a bit more about what I am doing than is actually the case.

I have not taken any Diazapam for over 24 hours - entirely my choice.  Good times and not so good as a consequence - but I am pleased I am doing as well off the Diaz as I am.  I am still very shaky - so I want to think again about anxiety when I meet for my hospital review.  My sense is I could try a higher dose of Citalopram - but I suspect lower doses and good coping mechanisms must always be the preferred long(ish) term option.  My antidepressant is supposed to be one of the best for anxiety related depression.

Have made two new friends who are moving up North and we have started a fun dialogue via e-mail.

Things to work on:

Sorting and possibly opening mail.

Staying safe.

Living with a peak under the cover at what I might love to do in the future.  Whatever, I can feel the enormous shifts in my psyche and I am painting as though it is going out of fashion.

My treat for a great week in my partner's view was - West Wing Third Series.  I am now complete  - I have all seven series.  I will start at the beginning of series one and watch them all through as I paint.  I am not up to visitors yet, if they want to talk to me.  (Don't mind sitting with them though) but I love the virtual family of West Wing.  Their vulnerability and their strength.  My role models are the President living with MS and his Press Officer - C.J.

Jo (collie) and Rainbow (guide dog) came to the hospital and behaved liked little canine gentlemen.  Jo is a gem.  Rainbow I just expect to be perfection - but Jo was a frightened, anxious, grumpy rescue dog found wandering in Caithness.  He is calm submissive - as The Dog Whisperer would say.  He is so loyal and even some of his bald patches have grown back.  He likes his own company but over the last couple of years has come for cuddles and loves games.

I walked to the car and into the centre without my partner and just with Rainbow.  That felt impressive.

I slept for about three hours this afternoon and I am continuing with the processing.  I am also making a pact with myself to keep some down time away from too much planning or beating up or trying new persona on for size.  Trash TV. Soppy movies.  Walk with dog - but with my partner.

Progress.  Definitely.  Hard to know where this will lead - but an hour at a time.  I am learning to juggle the plates of some aspects of my everyday life again and also discern as I face each new activity how much I need to do the juggling of that particular plate in the future, in other words is this a part of what has caused the depression - a trigger if you like - or will it facilitate a calmer, more transformed personality (and less ADHD amongst my negative sub-personalities). 

I have had some genuine surprises about my levels of anger around some of the plates - but I am being encouraged to acknowledge and stay with these feelings.  I can't answer certain e-mails just now.  I am scared to return to some tasks.  These are the things which in the weeks ahead I hope we will turn over and over in our heads and hearts and ask and answer the questions we need to ask of them and discern with them. 

Ironically after years of learning to detach emotionally in order to help our son remain calm and unpressured,  it is now turn and turn about.

I must return and go deeper into feelings I've had on ice for years.

L'haim.

Excavating Some More Sub-Personalities

The sadness continues to de-energise, but I was greatly encouraged by the hospital.  Hilarious really.  I spend a good portion of my life telling everyone I teach, and everyone who stays at The Sanctuary - to remember that almost always on retreat you may well feel exhausted as the days go by and find you need to sleep a lot more than usual because your spiritual, creative and healing self needs to work hard and has this 'chance' to speak to you from the heart.  Today I heard the message I have so often given.  I may not be doing very much yet, but the sleeping itself is productive. When I don't allow my mean-voice to take over describing me as some sort of self-pitying sloth; then I realise just how much the sleeping is a way of processing and when I don't wake up in a panic, sometimes I feel as though I have just been resting in a warm foam bath.

I am focusing my paintings this week on some sub-personalities.  I think I will look at the magical mother; the destructive mother and maybe the birth mother I wanted to be - a lot will depend on how much time I have with high enough energy levels.  But that's the grand plan.

I went shopping after my morning session.  This was a bold statement to celebrate a very valuable session which has thrown up some surprises about exactly what is important to me.  Don't know why yet - but we will get there.

Boots felt like entering an alternative reality.  I even went and picked up my own prescription - such is the power of Diazapam - while my partner picked up some Sandwiches and - now here's the real excitement - I chose some lavender shower gel.  Will my progress never end????

I shouldn't mock my own afflictions.  I should not minimise my progress.  I should not belittle myself.  Hard habits to change. 

Home, bed and asleep in seconds.  Lots to think about particularly around parenting - or really caring - or mother archetypes.  I can't wait to get going on the painting, but before then I need to buy another couple of canvases and some MORE paint.  I have a style which is not economical with acrylics and they are ten pounds a tube for the decent ones.

I have already found some powerful images - but I am thinking about painting all three at once rather than working a piece up to almost finished and then moving on to the next.  I want to see what happens; whether they mix , merge or even integrate at some level.

I am loving Vivienne Vyle on BBC 2 with Jennifer Saunders - probably wasted on you, unless you spend as much time as I do spaced out in front of daytime TV.

Loving too, the responses to the blogs which are so encouraging and affirming.  I always saw my depression as failure.  The love, encouragement of family and friends has helped me turn this vision of my condition around.

Being Who You Are is Better than Being a Cardboard Cut Out

I've just opened an e-card which has made me smile.  Really smile.  Feel Loved.  Appreciated.  I've needed a smile. I have had a really ify two days.  I slept in yesterday morning and woke from a nightmare where I was being strangled, in fact I thought I had died in the dream - I completely blacked out at the end of the dream but I woke up unable to catch my breath - I guess an anxiety attack.  I couldn't get my breath, I called my partner and the next thing I knew I had thrown up.  I was as scared as hell.

The dream had been so real.  The face I saw as I was being strangled was like a photofit - but I recognised some of the 'fits' - if you see what I mean.  It made me feel as though he was coming back for me.  I was jittery the rest of the day.  On the sofa; cocooned in a duvet.  I was shaking and kept remembering the strangulation.

At least I finished the rest of West Wing and slept.  I felt so sad for the rest of the day.  My partner interpreted the dream as I sign that I, deep down, have a huge energy and fight within me to claim life.  I am not so sure.

Today I have slept and slept.  I had a list of good intentions including going and buying some flowers to say thank you to a person who has helped me a lot, maybe even saved my life at one point.  I had also hoped to see my medical practice CPN to get the rest of the time I am with the hospital signed off.  I missed my appointment at the centre yesterday.  I am not back at square one but I am shaky.  There are some big questions entering our life decisions just now and I can't seem to get my head round them except by being very still and quiet and then the answers I get scare me.  Just how big are the changes I am prepared to make in my life - and how much have I the courage to change/transform?

I still feel founding a small religious community is in the plan and has never left, interestingly, although watching episodes of The Haven recorded at Findhorn some years ago is enough to put most people off community.

I am also nervous of making life-changing decisions when my mood swings can be hourly if not daily - and I am nervous that I have only another 7 weeks under the hospital.  Will I be well enough then?  I hope so.  I don't want any more co-dependency - I've enough to work through.

Good things today:

The sea and the sun.  I slept and slept and slept - and Mungo and Rainbow shared responsibility for when I needed a cuddle.  Even the cat took a shift.

Blue and white hat is on again, but I am determined to make my session at the hospital tomorrow.

I had a good dream this afternoon.  I arrived in the dream in a large hangar and I was welcomed with open arms by a staff who were busy unpacking and putting together flat-pack screens and desks etc...  In the centre of the hangar was a huge coach.  Apparently the reason everyone was so pleased to see me was that I was their new boss.  We had a short meeting - introductions - including some people I have worked with in the past - and then I said OK everyone is busy - what can I do to facilitate this opening this afternoon?  Could I start painting the coach - a forty-eight seater!  So I did.  Just before the opening, someone drove the coach into the playground place.  I went in and began supervising, supporting and moving from group to group.  The staff were interesting.  One was a guide dog user - with a collie.  My now dead Newfie was my guide dog and was playing with the children in the playground.  Another helper was a wheelchair user, and another was deafened.  Some had hidden disabilities.  The children were a rag, tag mix too - and the parents who had come for the grand opening.  One child appeared and flung his arms round me - about four I would guess - no clothes on - but had poured the chocolate fountain over himself.  I can remember being desperately alert to child protection and two of us covering him up and running a huge bubble bath for him.  The last smell before I woke up was the unusual mix of hot chocolate and Lavender bubble bath.

Tomorrow I take my paintings and collage in to the hospital and on we go.  I feel such a twit needing all this support and then stopping dead and getting stuck again - but at least I am staying with the sadness; the grief.