ABC Wednesday......

L is for LATE.....

and LYMINGTON

...and LOW.....

I was away last Wednesday.
My partner & I went off to the New Forest for a few days.
Hence the late posting for "L".

So here we go.....
...some cobblestones from Lymington, one of the places we visited...
....first looking uphill...
then pointing the camera straight down:

and some LOBSTER POTS from LYMINGTON HARBOUR

The harbour was cold but busy and refreshing....

But despite LONG walks through beautiful scenery,I began to sink LOWER
and LOWER.......till on Friday I was Lower than I have been in a very long time.

Regular observers of this blog will know a little about how Bi-polar disorder affects my life.
Friday was a Low day.

In Medieval times there was an instrument of torture called The Rack.
Your ankles were fixed at one end, your wrists at the other.
Wheels were turned and your wrists and ankles were pulled in opposite directions.
You were stretched, tendons torn, sinews breaking, limb from limb.

Imagine a rack in your head.
The inner workings of your head are fixed to it.
And stretched.
All at once your mental strings are plucked, punished and pulled.

In the end I was hitting my head with my hands.
Crying.
I wanted to bang my head against the wall.
My partner stopped me.

A few Little blue pills.
A Long sleep.

It's Sunday.

I'm surfacing.......

....back to Life....but for how Long?

*****

For more info ABC Wednesday posts, go to Mrs Nesbitt's blog

*****

Uncle Shadows

If Depression were a person I would hate him.

Oh true, he does bring gifts. But it's like having a horrible relative who turns up just when you were having a decent day with everyone else. In he walks, uninvited, but his foot is in the door before you can refuse. You force a smile for the sake of everyone else in the room. I hate him for that forced smile.

Then he proffers a little plastic carrier bag in which a few gifts are bulging. "Oh," thinks everyone else, "he can't be that bad. What was she moaning about?"

You take the bag graciously and sneak a peek: a few unusual gifts inside- unwrapped, and a little rough round the edges. You'll investigate them later. For now, you are on autopilot. Must keep the other guests comfortable. Must carry on. Must appear normal.

After a while, the time for the others to leave comes round. They see you are coping with him. In fact, he seems to fit in well.

In the following days and weeks he saps your strength with his demanding presence. Then, after a time, he starts to nip out. A 10 minute walk here, a half hour stroll there. One day he doesn't come back. You can't believe it, keep looking out the window, up and down the road. Eventually it sinks in: he's gone.

You set to work tidying your home, flushing out the last of him. And you come across that bag.... what's in it? A listening ear..... a few creative brain cells.... a packet of sense of humour.... he's a personal relative, remember, so for you the bag might be different.

I loathe him.

He is a robber of time. His domineering presence takes up half of my alloted space, leaving me living a half-life. Add up every visit and he owes me years. YEARS. And all that those years were meant to contain.

Tonight I realised that he had been lodging here for a while again. Ah! That explains the messy house! And why I haven't been able to sleep lately. And why the impetus to do anything has been drained. Ah yes! He is here again. Must have sneaked in when I wasn't on guard.

I am on autopilot again, half alive, living a half life. Sometimes only the anger keeps me going. Anger at the cheek of him, and determination that he doesn't take the other half as well.

Falling

Sometimes you scribble down a poem, and it feels just right.
Then you lose it. Forget about it. You don't find it for years, and then, when you do, you think, "What on earth was that about?" Laugh, with embarrassment. Then throw it away.

Other times, when you come back to it, you think how it still applies, and therefore, perhaps, how little things, or the world, or you have changed.

I scribbled this one down in 1994.
I'm quite frightened to have noticed lately, that the overall sentiment is once again true.
Also angry, as I had been well for a few months, dammit........
I'm still fighting.

********

Falling

The things that brought me joy last week
today are just a chore.
I've mislaid their fascination
and am too tired to seek.
And I know that I am falling.

The love I felt not long ago
has been left out too long;
like butter in a room too warm,
there's not much left to show.
And I know that I am falling.

The things I used to dream about
are nowhere in my memory,
I cannot call for help for them;
no energy to shout.
And I know that I am falling.

I know too well what lies ahead,
I know this sepid pool;
the heaviness of my emptiness
will pin me to my bed-
Oh God, I am falling......

It was nice to feel good for a week!

Move along, there's nothing to see.... move along there....

If you want a happy post, that is!

........bad asthma attack, first one in many years....

.....Fluffy the cat has an operation today: two lumps found (her sister had some, and died of cancer)....

and.... why do people have to let you down?

Back!

Old archway squashed between modern buildings, Limerick, taken Tuesday afternoon, 23/10/07.

Well we got back from Ireland yesterday, and it was all fine.

Better than fine, actually, it was lovely.

Once there, I didn't suffer from nerves or butterflies or dread. On previous visits it has been so bad that I have counted the hours till we could set off back to the airport for home. I'm amazed by the difference this time.

It wasn't plain sailing all the way. I felt so panicked at the airport. I was in tears more than once. Had to take one of my blue pills.... I didn't want to go through check-in. I tried to find ways, in my mind, of getting home again from the airport, and telling my partner to go on without me. Maybe I could call my friend, the one in Enfield, and ask if she can meet me if I can get to her by Tube. Or maybe I could take the Tube to Liverpool Street station and a train home from there. It would take 3, maybe 4 hours, no- on a Sunday, after all, it would be more. But I'd be home. I'd be safe. I could get back into my bed and curl up, coccooned.

But I kept thinking of how awful I would feel about myself afterwards, in the days to follow.

Surely I should push against this, make myself do it..... I hadn't had the strength to do so before. I've never been able to join in. I loathe get-togethers, groups....

Seagulls by Limerick Castle.

I don't know why there was such a difference this time, once I was there. I felt completely comfortable, not scared or fazed by the people or situations at all. Didn't have to think twice about anything. Just went with the flow. Is that what it's like to be "normal"?

So maybe the only answer is that I am a little better, mental-health-wise, than in previous years.

Whether this is true or not, there is still some good news in this. I did it. Horray!

Back to the Old Country

Cherished79 mentions suicide in her latest post. I've a few suicide attempts on my file.

I'm not sure I would try it again. Although, as I have said to someone close to me, I can't even make that a promise to myself, let alone someone else.

Yes, that probably does sound selfish. But the thing is, even when you've been through it, you can't remember the pain. You can remember being in pain, but you can't remember the pain itself, not really, just descriptions of it.

***

I thought I was doing ok, miles better, this last year. Then, last month, out of nowhere, BAM! And I was at the bottom again.

I had forgotten what that DEADNESS felt like. Like being in a street alone, swamped in a thick smog, sinking in quicksand, all at the same time.

WOW. I had truly forgotten that, even though I'd written about it. Know what I mean?
Luckily it lasted only about 10 days. A few weeks more of being fragile, and now I am almost back to where I was.

What if that were to return one day, and didn't go after just a week or two? What if it were still there after five months?

Hmm. That's funny. I was about to write "six months", but decided mid-type that no, I wouldn't be able to stand that. Wouldn't even let myself imagine it going on for that long.

It did before though. And longer. When I was 13, again when I was 21. Those were the times I tried to end it.

At 28 and 34, again. But no attempts those times. Well, I did, but got myself to a doctor. It was more extreme self-harm than serious attempt. The feelings were there, but not the determination. I was still in touch with people around me. That was the difference. Previously I had felt like I was living under a glass dome. There was no way in or out for other people. It's like being sucked down a vortex. In the end you have no energy to reach up. In the end, you think they'll all be better off without you anyway, so please, let me sleep, let me go. If it is love you have for me, don't make me stay with this pain any longer.

***

Saw the psychiatrist last week. I see one every 3 months, for 30 minutes. It is never the same doc, a new person each time. I think it's a training thing. Or maybe, just not a permanent post. Or maybe, a post served by several different hospitals. Who knows. I've never been told the reason. Just a new doc every time.

They never read the file. They each want to start again. So last week, instead of being able to check on my progress, or go over the huge dip I was just coming out of, we were going over how many brothers do I have? And sisters? And is there depression in the family? And how old are you again?

One of these times, I swear, I shall call their bluff. Yes, I shall say. My parents are still alive AND together, currently touring Belgium as part of a circus with my 19 siblings- that's 7 boys, 10 girls and 2 hermaphrodites. Hear voices? Oh yes, all the time. My cats, mainly. They speak 4 languages, you know.

This time, the doc suggested mood stabilizers. I'm not so sure. Just as I said August 2006 when they were suggested.

Is there something I could just take when I was very low? Just for then? Just when I needed a wee bit of extra help?

Off she went to consult with someone else. Comes back all gleeful. So proud and pleased that she is going to help me, looking forward to later, no doubt, when she is sipping wine in front of the TV and reflecting on how rewarding her job is.

"We're going to put you on a mood stabilizer!" she announces.

Oh, really?

I took the prescription from her but haven't had it filled out. Knew I wouldn't, at the time. For all the same reasons I said no to mood stabilizers a year ago. I bet those reasons are there, too, in that file. I'm too tired to go over them again with her. This, in itself, is a sign that I'm still not out of the woods.

***

Bit difficult, this...but does it matter?

Another writing assignment due in this Friday, and I am utterly stumped.

Truth is, I've been very low for a week, now.

I resisted for a long time, but in the end I've had to start taking my "supplementary pills". These are little blue ones I take on top of the antidepressants for "times of especial anxiety or disturbance". Not sure what they mean by "disturbance". Perhaps for when my neighbours put their noisy "music" on (God, I'm showing my age).

The reason I resisted is that they dumb your head down a bit. Push your thoughts into a lower gear. So that they stop spiralling, spinning, merging, bubbling. They don't exactly help you write.

Hey ho.

Found this in my email this morning. It's from a newsletter that tells me I can "unsubscribe" at any time. That's decent of them, since I've never heard of them. Think I get what it says though. Wonder if it will be helpful.........

BY THE BY: FORGET EASE

When something feels "difficult" or "hard," that is not a signal you should not proceed ... Instead of deciding a lack of ease is an indication of what you shouldn't do, next time you notice something feeling hard, stop. Tell yourself you don't know what this means. It may not mean anything more then you need to eat lunch or take a short break. Instead of interpretating, notice what "difficult" feels like as information at it's most basic level: perhaps you notice a sensation of heaviness or of sleepiness or even a vast rush of energy or an inability to sit still.

What if you simply noticed sensation without labeling anything--no feelings, no shoulds or shouldn'ts.

What if you stayed there, bringing your mind back to what you are experiencing without any filter.

What if?

Therapy

I'm sure this is what really happens.

Remembering

Remembering

I remember we need onions.
I remember my keys.
I remember the library closes early.
I remember to cross at the traffic lights.
I remember the bus is due.
I remember her face.

I feel the rain on its way.
I feel the cold seat in the bus shelter.
I feel the list in my pocket.
I feel the fare in my hand.
I feel the stuffiness of the bus.
I feel the shock of being hit.

I see children coming home.
I see birds flying south.
I see a man folding an umbrella.
I see a dog sniffing chips.
I see the lights changing colour.
I see a red handprint on my thigh.

"Keep busy. Carry on. Smile.
Turn off the bad thoughts."

I remember we need onions.

A Portrait, An Explanation.....

Oh dear!

I'd been waiting for the cloud to lift, to be able to post lots of newly-drawn pictures, or at least to write something better than this. But the truth is, I've been too low lately to contribute to this blog!

After 26 years of going through it in cycles, depression's side effects still come out of the blue to me (pardon the pun). Specifically, the way it sucks up my creativity like a big, black, merciless, dehydrayted slug.

However, if the light isn't dawning too well in my head yet, it at least shone on my new pencils for a few hours last week.

During a visit from my partner's sister, she gave us some lovely photo's of her daughter. I forget how old she is, four, I think. Anyway, I forgot to ask permission to put her photo here, so you won't be able to compare this one, I'm afraid. But here goes....

I don't think I quite caught her. But she still looks happy!