Archive for May, 2012

Written mid April 2012

One of the biggest things I have learnt this week is my need to pause, and live in the Now. Mindfulness is something I hear so much about, and of course the benefits of meditation. The chatter in my mind is incessant, and so I’ve always struggled with meditation and not done it much – which is of course simple and indicator that I need to practice it more!

The fermata is a symbol I have always loved. It is a musical notation, and when it is placed over a note or a rest it means pause, or stretch out. It has also been used to indicate to take a breath, or the end of a phrase. I love that it also suggests an eye, and have learned that it also a representation of the buddhist principle of the moon covering the sun.

Now I have it with me always to remind me to pause, and take joy in the now.

***

I got this tattoo after my retreat at Akasha, on the way home in fact. It is on my wrist so it may catch my eye often, and remind me to pause, take a breath, be calm and stretch the moment out. I love it – in a way it is as if it has always been there. Like I have no recollection of what that skin looked like before it was permanently stamped with this symbol, that I am coming to own as mine.

Ms Optimism’s comprehensive guide.

Don’t

1. Make eye contact.
2. Appear to be too well in case they send you home before you’re better.
3. Appear to be too sick in case they won’t ever let you go home.
4. Talk about the ghosts in your house too loudly.
5. Pack Suicidal Tendancies albums, even though they rock.

Do

1. Pack a fucking lot of books (nothing by Sylvia Plath).
2. Find out about the mobile phone policy before you check in. Want iPhone!
3. Shave your legs.
4. Ring all your relatives and ask them to visit and bring presents to cheer you up. It’s like ground hog Christmas day in here!
5. Be open-minded…

(Written Saturday 26th May)

All I wanted was a Pepsi, just one Pepsi.

So I’m here, in hospital. And I had no idea what to expect. Yesterday, my first day, was so overwhelming. Shaming. Extremely stressful. Relieving. Needed. Some of my assumptions have proven correct, others not. So I will give you, dear googlers, a warts and all account of my stay in case it is useful to anyone. I’m no Ken Kesey, but it’s useful to me to write it down.

Admission

Lovely nurse, playing with my son. Very soft and gentle.

Bag search

Humiliating. Medications (including vitamins) confiscated. Electrical items confiscated (NO LAPTOP CHARGER! Cue anxiety attack. Only half joking!). No mobile phone. Surely more difficult to quit than heroin.

Room

Cosy, warm, plain. I unpack my books in the study nook under the window. This is my favourite place to be. A single room with an ensuite bathroom means I can keep to myself. FTW.

Alone

Left to “relax”, I have the familiar I have nothing to do, I need to do things feeling. Urges to read the self help book, the business strategy book, DO SOME ART, make a plan, do the things! Maybe I get high on stress and this is me coming down. I know it will pass in a day or so, and resist the urge to do anything. I read The Slap but can’t concentrate.

Lunch

Like being the new kid at school, not knowing where to look or who to sit with. Scoff the meal and retreat to bedroom. Also, instant coffee. Am I in a third world country? Call Mr Optimism immediately and have him bring Robert Timms coffee bags.

Doctor

Suggests a stay of no longer than about 2 or 3 weeks (nice and vague timeline), as people can go on to want to avoid the outside world. Make up my mind I’ll stay 1 week, maybe 2. Will tell doctor that later

Meds

Lining up at the meds window for my tablets. An odd experience. I hate not feeling in control of my own wellbeing.

Bedtime

Sleeping tablet? Yes please! I toss and turn in my own bed, let alone here. My own pillow but not my bed. Someone crying in the hallway. A nurse with a torch every hour (Apparently. A garbage truck might have parked on me and I wouldn’t have noticed. Blissful sleep. Until 9am. OMFG sleep.).

Control

The thing I find most confronting is the loss of independence I feel. I can’t decide when to take my meds, what time to eat. Why are you doing an ECG? It’s routine. Why? Goddamn I can’t even google the new drugs I’m on! I didn’t realise I was such a fucking control freak! Ok, yes I did.

Yesterday was a tough, tough day. Mostly because I made it that way by being so stressed and uptight. It was essentially no more traumatic than flying on a plane (security search) and checking into a hotel. A particularly nosey hotel, granted, but there were no difficult questions asked. I made it harder than it needed to be. Today has been nice, to feel left alone to chill out and come off my stress high. To read, sleep, write, have tea. Things that normal people probably find time to do in a normal day. To relax. I can feel myself unwinding, uncoiling. Healing?

By stealing images from teh interwebs, because the mood has been rather sombre in here lately.

The last one is rather topical since I was mistaken for a pregnant woman again on Saturday – always a self confidence boost, isn’t it ladies?

A few months ago, I was having a rough time. I slowly spiralled down. I sat crying in my psychologists room, and she asked me how I felt about a stay in a private hospital. I cried harder. I said I would need to think about it, and talk it over with Mr Optimism. A tiny voice somewhere inside me said yes, please, I need to go. The bigger voice said I can handle this on my own, I will get better at the retreat. I won’t need hospital – I succeed at things on my own.

I did get better at the retreat. It was a beautiful, moving, fragile recovery. It was a house of cards blown down by the horror of my precious boy being preyed on by an older child.

I knew immediately, as I stood sobbing and shaking in the supermarket in Mr Optimism’s arms that the depression would be back- and soon. But I also knew that I could trick myself and the rest of the world into thinking that I was dealing with this by going into action mode. I made phonecalls, I trawled the web for information about what to do when your child is abused, I talked with health professionals. I did the things. I knew I was ok.

Over the course of three weeks I have sunk almost to my lowest point ever again. Almost, but not quite. I could see it coming and I knew I needed to ask for help.

I know I need to go to hospital, somewhere deep down. I am skilled at fooling people around me that I am ok (including health professionals, I am told), but I am even more skilled at fooling myself. I am working, having meetings, when people ask me how I am I can say I’m great and they believe me, surely I am not that sick if I can do these things? Isn’t proper depression debilitating? (I can’t even do depression properly). Surely it’s not even possible to be doing these things and be thinking about being hit by a bus at the same time? I’m not that sick, see, I’m Fine.

And this morning I feel good, and my horoscope says the dark moon is lifting and everything will be better on Monday. And I can’t speak to my psychiatrist about going to hospital until Tuesday. It’s a sign! I know I don’t need to go to hospital.

But I know that I do. I know Mr Optimism deserves a whole wife. I know Moopy deserves the mother I know I can be, not just the getting by mother. I know I deserve to feel.

See? Confusing. Turns out I feel I can’t trust myself to know something or not at the moment, and that’s pretty scary. Being aware of it is scary. It is a new awareness, and I think I preferred it when I just trusted what I felt and thought. It is tiring to second guess. Another reason to strive for the zen and mindfulness I think. Don’t live in the past or the future, just be in the now.

I know I have wonderful support around me that I never ask for help, because I think I can do it on my own.

I know I need to be honest when someone asks are you ok.

I know I have a wonderful and insightful psychologist who is helping me connect the dots better.

I know I have the best motivation I need to get better – my boys and my guilt.

I know I have a lot to learn about my illness.

I know I have spent far more of my life depressed than not.

I know I want to feel better.

I know I have written a really long blog.

At the end of the day, somehow I have a sense that I know that everything will be OK in the end. I guess that’s the most important thing to know.