A month and 10 days has passed. The prospect of returning home is dangled before me. But it's not to be taken as any indication I think, the whole 2 feeds a day has been proved to be no criteria at all. She's still there. The more accurate picture is that she needs to be feeding all feeds by bottle or breast, sleeping and settling after, waking for the next feed, every day, for a long time (unspecified number of days) with weight increasing, and her age needs to reach over 37 weeks, and also they have to be happy about my support network and my mental state. That's actually the criteria. There will surely be ad hoc additions there when we reach those targets as well, true to form.
Starting to think retreat, hide and keep my head down is the way to go.
Ways to but a spanner in the breastfeeding works is all over the place. Iain doesn't help me with night feeds any more, and I haven't pumped overnight in over a week. I fall asleep after a long day, specially with Jaan dragging bedtime along. I don't hear the alarm. He was helping for the first few weeks, but he's retreated now to his own routine, and I guess he has every right to. He keeps telling me he will wake me and like a fool I believe him and don't find a way to wake up without his assistance. Sounds incredibly selfish to hold him responsible to my ability to wake up. I don't mean it that way, let's be clear, I only hold him responsible for trying to wake me when he says he will, whether I get up or not is my responsibility. I am failing in that 100%
Am being told, by lots of people that I'm doing a great job etc. Nice of them.
In a wonderful dreamworld, my life and Theia's needs are met by me and my friends and family because we are all engaged in a small way with her timings and feeds, and keeping company with each other anyway, and the sideways interest is in me and her achieving what's best for her, and me. Steel Magnolias style (cynical smile).
What do I do? The baby next to Theia is going into care on monday. 8 weeks. She has a wonderful mother, who is achieving the impossible in being such an awesome mum. Her past, her childhood, sounds abominable to me. The things she had to put up with, the things done to her - she has made it through, and her daughter is so loved, so cared for, all by her. The past and her mental state is being held up as 'maybe you'll hurt her' and so it's game over, and I don't see how anyone can do this. She didn't do the abuse, she was abused. I have always been assured by the mental health people that no one believes that makes the victim become an abuser any more, but that's the assumption here. They take a history of self harm to indicate she might use the baby as a method of self harm, but that doesn't even make sense, that's not self harm. Besides, she's mastered the self harm. It's been 4 years SH free.
The implications for my own situation are stark, pretty harsh too. Further indications to hide, but not in a visible way, not physical retreat. Fastest way might be to hide behind the feeding bottles. Get shot of the audience.
hate myself. really hate myself. because it can't be Theia's fault this is happening, it's my useless body, my crap life that has put us here. Ask anyone, it won't be anything Saint Iain has done.
Icing on the cake? My parents putting plenty of energy into lecturing me and telling me to get rid of the dog. MY dog. My dad lecturing me on what a shit parent I am because Jaan doesn't get enough sleep.
Yeah, hate myself.
Showing posts with label Depression (PND). Show all posts
Showing posts with label Depression (PND). Show all posts
Friday, June 28, 2013
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Downcycle
Groggy and devoid of hope in this downspin. Escape, the need to hide is a compulsion. Food is a disaster as meat is disgusting to me now and I know how hard it is to make veggies work with the insulin resistance.
nothing is right. extremes seem increasingly definite.
nothing is right. extremes seem increasingly definite.
Friday, February 24, 2012
when life gives you lemons
so if one's life, say is just a load of jack .... then what.
If a mate's life was in the shtu and we were brainstorming in the bar I'd say you don't like it you change it, just do what you gotto do.
This week I finished toddler taming parenting class. 5 sessions. If you keep doing what you've always done, you'll keep getting what you've always been getting ....
we re-made our pledges to actively listen to our children, give them secure environments to grow and thrive in, discipline through example and choices and even more safe happy places, the certainty of a limited range of unacceptable things to say or do. Fair and appropriate consequences for bad choices and wilful cruelty.
Actually apart from realising I could put more time into the equation for certain given activities ... I'm on the ball mainly. Lucky old Jaan.
So, hypothetically, what if, a person has spent their life picking them selves up, biting it, swallowing it, trying something someone else believes, willingly attempt to move forward. Always at least considering they are not right (Omg but it so feels like I'm right sometimes).
A large space of time passes. Same old same old.
No new madness descends, it is actually very familiar, The new is an unwillingness to make a fresh analysis to communicate back to the team (LOL team).
I wonder if I can 'needle felt' myself a camouflaged cocoon.
If a mate's life was in the shtu and we were brainstorming in the bar I'd say you don't like it you change it, just do what you gotto do.
This week I finished toddler taming parenting class. 5 sessions. If you keep doing what you've always done, you'll keep getting what you've always been getting ....
we re-made our pledges to actively listen to our children, give them secure environments to grow and thrive in, discipline through example and choices and even more safe happy places, the certainty of a limited range of unacceptable things to say or do. Fair and appropriate consequences for bad choices and wilful cruelty.
Actually apart from realising I could put more time into the equation for certain given activities ... I'm on the ball mainly. Lucky old Jaan.
So, hypothetically, what if, a person has spent their life picking them selves up, biting it, swallowing it, trying something someone else believes, willingly attempt to move forward. Always at least considering they are not right (Omg but it so feels like I'm right sometimes).
A large space of time passes. Same old same old.
No new madness descends, it is actually very familiar, The new is an unwillingness to make a fresh analysis to communicate back to the team (LOL team).
I wonder if I can 'needle felt' myself a camouflaged cocoon.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Fog lifts with discarded Quetiapine, and the night terrors come to light
Insomnia's not new to me, I've had it on and off all my life. Telling myself elaborate, repetitive, sensational stories since I was a little girl has been my main tool against it. Over the years I've learnt breathing techniques at yoga class, relaxation stuff from the doctors and psychologists, and as a mother I learnt a lot about winding down, using aromatherapy and herbal tea, touch, music, sleeping with my family etc etc. Jaan's birth was the worst thing that has ever happened to me (in a long line of abbysmal things that have happened to me) - and the terrors since that day, those weeks, plagued me incessantly once I was home with Jaan. Breastfeeding for as long as I could, taking something to help me sleep was not an option - I am sure there are options out there, but every care provider and carer about me kind of just looked at me as if I was evil to want the aid, and selfish or misguided to persist in breastfeeding - it's useless after 6 month don't you know - that's what the doctors kept saying, also 'I am prepared to help you, but after you stop breastfeeding. You can ask your GP to refer you then'. Iain did care, and pitied me in my misery, but, characteristically, that was all.
Luckily for Jaan, I am not a moron, and I knew what to do. It killed me, but I lived in that pit of despair, and nursed my son when he was hungry, nursed him more when he was sick, held him as he slept if he needed it, let him sleep by himself if that was what he wanted. Bottle fed him when I wanted, breast-fed when he wanted, tried any number of combinations of sleeping, climbing, crawling, nursing, eating, playing, singing - I pitied my predicament really self-indulgently, of course. Love is all very well, but what happens when those who love you are still made of mud, without any metaphorical spirit from the metaphorical Gods awakening them in any meaningful way? I scorn the mud-people. I am alive.
Baby is 3 now. I've had reliable pharmaceutical assistance to sleep for less than a year I guess, sporadic a-bit-too-strong help for a bit longer. Amazingly, the concept that I could live with some decency and dignity with a bit of help - medical, pharmaceutical, social or otherwise - is pretty alien to most of the health care teams who care for me. Apparantly I should be happy enough that I've kept the little squirt alive all this time. (Sigh.) Being a slightly more ambitious parent, I've been working my butt off learning whatever I can from my actually-very-good current team of mental health professionals, and my very nice to work with GP. I reckon it's time to get off the Quetiapine. I've not used the prn for months and months. I only use the night dose to sleep 5 hours uninterrupted. I manage 4 hours just about, with small interruptions, if I don't take the Quetiapine. Less drugs mean less lactose in my system. No Quetiapine means I am not groggs all day. Dignity, quality of life, see what I mean?
One of the big changes foisted upon me in my years of darkest vulnerability has, of course, been The Driving. 'Nuff said, of course, but the last possible test with the existing Theory Test Pass Certificate is coming up, and I reckon being free of the groggy-making drugs is in order for that. I'm seeing the GP to share my experimental results with him - seems I have the skills to get to sleep without, and the Quetiapine could just stay prn including sleep-making prn as far as I'm concerned.
The real shocker though, is that I now know why Baby doesn't ever want to go home, go to sleep, or be by himself to sleep. I'm not sure how conscious he is of it, but he has nightmares - like I did. He can be eased and aided fighting his demons, just as I have always been able to be. The difference of course is now I know, and I will be there for him.
Iain knows about my nightmares, he can even help me out of them, and does when he spots them.
How long have I been out of it, how long has Jaan been living with this? I remember mine at his age, they weren't every night.
Iain must have known.
In the interests of self-preservation alone he should have dealt with this, raised it - we have so much social care hanging around us!!! Why hide this? Boggles the mind. How can he sleep with all the disturbances, and if he can't sleep, how does he drive, work, carry on with housework? You know the thing about putting your gasmask on before the kid's, because you gotta save the kid? Like, duh, why risk life, limb, marriage and everything for the sake of being a mud-man untouched by the frailty and injustice of humanity?
I don't see the point of living apart from one's own humanity in any case.
I feel sick if I think about it, so I'm just spitting it out of my body right now. Night terrors. It does need to end with me, this kind of heredity brought on by thoughtless, heartless apathy. The sins of the mother in this case .... Jaan might be able to escape some of the cursed afflictions, who knows? Won't find out without a bit of action though will we? It breaks my heart to be so alone in this quest, I refuse to feel guilty about taking the Quetiapine for so long. I talked about the nightmares I did know about, I asked how the nights were going. This was a regular update kind of thing. Now no more Quetiapine, except when it's really warranted. No more giving in to Jaan being put away from me. I'm not convinced any of the BS that's been going down has helped Jaan - he's a lovely kid, fun and friendly and creative, but his insecurities aren't exactly going away, and he's jumped on my gut really hard a few times of late.
Time to insist on the co-sleeping again.
Iain must have known, but he didn't tell me, probably didn't tell himself. Not, like, on purpose or to be harsh or anything. But he just stood by all that night and day, remember? He always will. He's just turned 39, he's not changing anytime now. If he was a changing kind of guy maybe he'd still not be set, but he's not budged in 4 years - he never said a word, and I'd asked him to watch out for nightmares because I noticed some problems over the last year. I swear I just speak to the wind mostly, and look like a fool to pretty much everyone about. Wish I could be somewhere where I wasn't the freak ....
Luckily for Jaan, I am not a moron, and I knew what to do. It killed me, but I lived in that pit of despair, and nursed my son when he was hungry, nursed him more when he was sick, held him as he slept if he needed it, let him sleep by himself if that was what he wanted. Bottle fed him when I wanted, breast-fed when he wanted, tried any number of combinations of sleeping, climbing, crawling, nursing, eating, playing, singing - I pitied my predicament really self-indulgently, of course. Love is all very well, but what happens when those who love you are still made of mud, without any metaphorical spirit from the metaphorical Gods awakening them in any meaningful way? I scorn the mud-people. I am alive.
Baby is 3 now. I've had reliable pharmaceutical assistance to sleep for less than a year I guess, sporadic a-bit-too-strong help for a bit longer. Amazingly, the concept that I could live with some decency and dignity with a bit of help - medical, pharmaceutical, social or otherwise - is pretty alien to most of the health care teams who care for me. Apparantly I should be happy enough that I've kept the little squirt alive all this time. (Sigh.) Being a slightly more ambitious parent, I've been working my butt off learning whatever I can from my actually-very-good current team of mental health professionals, and my very nice to work with GP. I reckon it's time to get off the Quetiapine. I've not used the prn for months and months. I only use the night dose to sleep 5 hours uninterrupted. I manage 4 hours just about, with small interruptions, if I don't take the Quetiapine. Less drugs mean less lactose in my system. No Quetiapine means I am not groggs all day. Dignity, quality of life, see what I mean?
One of the big changes foisted upon me in my years of darkest vulnerability has, of course, been The Driving. 'Nuff said, of course, but the last possible test with the existing Theory Test Pass Certificate is coming up, and I reckon being free of the groggy-making drugs is in order for that. I'm seeing the GP to share my experimental results with him - seems I have the skills to get to sleep without, and the Quetiapine could just stay prn including sleep-making prn as far as I'm concerned.
The real shocker though, is that I now know why Baby doesn't ever want to go home, go to sleep, or be by himself to sleep. I'm not sure how conscious he is of it, but he has nightmares - like I did. He can be eased and aided fighting his demons, just as I have always been able to be. The difference of course is now I know, and I will be there for him.
Iain knows about my nightmares, he can even help me out of them, and does when he spots them.
How long have I been out of it, how long has Jaan been living with this? I remember mine at his age, they weren't every night.
Iain must have known.
In the interests of self-preservation alone he should have dealt with this, raised it - we have so much social care hanging around us!!! Why hide this? Boggles the mind. How can he sleep with all the disturbances, and if he can't sleep, how does he drive, work, carry on with housework? You know the thing about putting your gasmask on before the kid's, because you gotta save the kid? Like, duh, why risk life, limb, marriage and everything for the sake of being a mud-man untouched by the frailty and injustice of humanity?
I don't see the point of living apart from one's own humanity in any case.
I feel sick if I think about it, so I'm just spitting it out of my body right now. Night terrors. It does need to end with me, this kind of heredity brought on by thoughtless, heartless apathy. The sins of the mother in this case .... Jaan might be able to escape some of the cursed afflictions, who knows? Won't find out without a bit of action though will we? It breaks my heart to be so alone in this quest, I refuse to feel guilty about taking the Quetiapine for so long. I talked about the nightmares I did know about, I asked how the nights were going. This was a regular update kind of thing. Now no more Quetiapine, except when it's really warranted. No more giving in to Jaan being put away from me. I'm not convinced any of the BS that's been going down has helped Jaan - he's a lovely kid, fun and friendly and creative, but his insecurities aren't exactly going away, and he's jumped on my gut really hard a few times of late.
Time to insist on the co-sleeping again.
Iain must have known, but he didn't tell me, probably didn't tell himself. Not, like, on purpose or to be harsh or anything. But he just stood by all that night and day, remember? He always will. He's just turned 39, he's not changing anytime now. If he was a changing kind of guy maybe he'd still not be set, but he's not budged in 4 years - he never said a word, and I'd asked him to watch out for nightmares because I noticed some problems over the last year. I swear I just speak to the wind mostly, and look like a fool to pretty much everyone about. Wish I could be somewhere where I wasn't the freak ....
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Diary of a would-be dog owner housewife
Now I'm not saying I'll never be miserable again, but, 3 years on it looks like - hey, I've done an awesome job with Jaan. Sure, he bit that other kid at kindergarten yesterday - so I hear - and he's great with the potty, but won't always just leave it at that ... he shouts at times, and never wants to go to bed - but that kind of stuff is small potatoes, and if anything, they are evidence of the awesome achievement I've made, and the development Jaan has sustained.
He has nothing more potent to get frustrated about than bedtime and the way another kid is waving his arms in circular fashion right next to him. That's pretty good in my book.
I'm active now, not just a lump. We're cooking, cleaning and preparing for parties just now; I went out to the cinema with my mate last night and laughed and laughed (Justin Timberlake has still got it ... ); I facebook about Gary Barlow, and chat with my friends about loads of stuff. I plan, I sew, I knit, I crochet, I long for creme caramel, I practice my driving and always make a huge roundabout-inspired-mistake. I use my nutty-as-a-fruitcake folder and put it to very good use - I sound like a totally normal woman, no? Awesome or what. I always knew I am brilliantly ordinary. Now I have proof, it is in my life, my demeanour and smiles back at me wherever my reflection takes off.
I write, I read all day, I am watching eastenders and x-factor and ignoring the news, but I read enough of the Guardian online to have a tiny toe dipped in and out of what in the world is going on. I'm inspired by feminism, by my friends with their jobs and kids and funny status updates, and lovely photos. I like hanging out with my kid, even my cat is sweet - I have a soft spot for her.
Sure, the haters are still haters, I keep begging Iain to shield me, that kind of blight ... I'm sure I don't want to spend any more time learning to live with it.
The downside to all this abundance? The butterfly emerging from the chrysalis is G R E E D Y. So I'm a good mum - omg, so now I want my 4 kids. The dream. The 4. I want my dog. Sparky. I want another dog too, and a couple more cats wouldn't hurt. A happy, busy home.
The adoption enquiry start-the-ball-rolling pack is downstairs on the dining room table. The puppies I want to visit - their owners have been messaged. I'm losing weight and taking my meds and wondering when will be a good time to visit Miss Whitcroft again for bloodwork - perhaps Clomid will be all I need once again. It's still not been 6 months since the big Withdrawal-of-Ofsted-Application - re-starting that sucker will be easy if I can have an A-Okay really soon. Driving test is booked for November.
I want a dog, I deserve a dog, I've been getting ready for a dog, I'm ready for a dog, and me and Sparky, we'll see what's what and be happy if another young one joins us or even if none do, we can spend our days together whether I child-mind or not, we can hold together whatever demons think they can scare us. They cannot, I've lived in the pit of death and I am still here, able to cook up a beef stew and serve it up 4 different ways ... accessorising with food, almost.
I'm still here, and very well thank you.
I wonder what Sparky will look like, or even if I will call him Sparky, or even if he will be a he.
He has nothing more potent to get frustrated about than bedtime and the way another kid is waving his arms in circular fashion right next to him. That's pretty good in my book.
I'm active now, not just a lump. We're cooking, cleaning and preparing for parties just now; I went out to the cinema with my mate last night and laughed and laughed (Justin Timberlake has still got it ... ); I facebook about Gary Barlow, and chat with my friends about loads of stuff. I plan, I sew, I knit, I crochet, I long for creme caramel, I practice my driving and always make a huge roundabout-inspired-mistake. I use my nutty-as-a-fruitcake folder and put it to very good use - I sound like a totally normal woman, no? Awesome or what. I always knew I am brilliantly ordinary. Now I have proof, it is in my life, my demeanour and smiles back at me wherever my reflection takes off.
I write, I read all day, I am watching eastenders and x-factor and ignoring the news, but I read enough of the Guardian online to have a tiny toe dipped in and out of what in the world is going on. I'm inspired by feminism, by my friends with their jobs and kids and funny status updates, and lovely photos. I like hanging out with my kid, even my cat is sweet - I have a soft spot for her.
Sure, the haters are still haters, I keep begging Iain to shield me, that kind of blight ... I'm sure I don't want to spend any more time learning to live with it.
The downside to all this abundance? The butterfly emerging from the chrysalis is G R E E D Y. So I'm a good mum - omg, so now I want my 4 kids. The dream. The 4. I want my dog. Sparky. I want another dog too, and a couple more cats wouldn't hurt. A happy, busy home.
The adoption enquiry start-the-ball-rolling pack is downstairs on the dining room table. The puppies I want to visit - their owners have been messaged. I'm losing weight and taking my meds and wondering when will be a good time to visit Miss Whitcroft again for bloodwork - perhaps Clomid will be all I need once again. It's still not been 6 months since the big Withdrawal-of-Ofsted-Application - re-starting that sucker will be easy if I can have an A-Okay really soon. Driving test is booked for November.
I want a dog, I deserve a dog, I've been getting ready for a dog, I'm ready for a dog, and me and Sparky, we'll see what's what and be happy if another young one joins us or even if none do, we can spend our days together whether I child-mind or not, we can hold together whatever demons think they can scare us. They cannot, I've lived in the pit of death and I am still here, able to cook up a beef stew and serve it up 4 different ways ... accessorising with food, almost.
I'm still here, and very well thank you.
I wonder what Sparky will look like, or even if I will call him Sparky, or even if he will be a he.
Monday, August 8, 2011
'Return to Eden'?, 'A Farewell to Arms' ... maybe it was more 'Tender is the night' - in any case, I nearly lost my mind
As surreal experiences go, this one cerainly warrants a mention. We drove Saturday night to a party I very much wanted to attend. But we were running a bit behind schedule, of course, to drop off the little one so I was not that relaxed setting out - I looked nice though :). Added stress came from it being Ramadhan, it makes me fret about how difficult it will be for the olds' to mind the kid, strikes me as a bit mean of me to palm him off in the holy month. Reduced energy and all. Anyway, slightly jittery, off we went, and I couldn't sleep in the car, Iain was a little beastly in his own fatigued jitteryness. The pile up, you can already see, was immense in the mind of yours truly - the Borderline Personality Disordered One.
Then London.
Who knows why the Gods and GPS navigation on Iain's @*&^$% Symbian led us through a picture-postcard scenic route through the sights of London ....
the river, Westminster, the City, like, visiting the palace at Westminster with my Dad, my old life working in all those places, nights out with friends, Shana, Sashi .. .. how did I not cherish you both and keep you close to my heart?, hanging out with Anne-Marie, older memories - day trips as a tourist or with family, the birthday trip to the Eye - my sister, brother and I were so young, so worn out from the party the night before. Oh God, hurts so much, I was a Borderline Personality Disordered mess.
Poor unhappy Edmund on the bridge, Malcolm and the farcical 'night out' listening to Tebbit, endless lonely sunsets, torturous walks home alone, working for that Website start-up .. .. I hate that I have lived a whole other life, and that I want none of it to have ever happened, it is not better to have lived, to have loved and strived and then to have lost.
The memories were overwhelming and traumatic. Foolishly, foolishly walking to the station with Tom all those years ago, we saw Chris at the ticket gates, oh foolish, foolish girl. Hurt Vickie too, and No ... what we did to Ed, what was I like? Never held on to anything that meant anything, always too foolish to know what was going on. Never true to anything good, idiotic, naive, blind, foolish one. I appear to have been a rather clueless individual in that life.
The most notable thing of the intense experience was not the pain or overwhelming power of the flashbacks though, it was that I panicked and was in turmoil, but did not want to let it sink me, I remembered to breathe, calm as much as that allowed, then used my mindfulness exercise to walk through the flashbacks, letting them stay in their imaginary cubicles, and Iain surprised me by suggesting I get my phone out and read some book to hide, which I did and it worked.
This new life has much to recommend it. R.I.P please the past.
 |
| ludicrous sight after sight assailed my senses, no, really ... |
Then London.
Who knows why the Gods and GPS navigation on Iain's @*&^$% Symbian led us through a picture-postcard scenic route through the sights of London ....
 |
| Gaaaah ..... |
the river, Westminster, the City, like, visiting the palace at Westminster with my Dad, my old life working in all those places, nights out with friends, Shana, Sashi .. .. how did I not cherish you both and keep you close to my heart?, hanging out with Anne-Marie, older memories - day trips as a tourist or with family, the birthday trip to the Eye - my sister, brother and I were so young, so worn out from the party the night before. Oh God, hurts so much, I was a Borderline Personality Disordered mess.
 |
| sniff ... very sorry for myself, move over Zelda, horrors, I'm so much like Daisy after all, and I hate her ..... (as in Gatsby) |
Poor unhappy Edmund on the bridge, Malcolm and the farcical 'night out' listening to Tebbit, endless lonely sunsets, torturous walks home alone, working for that Website start-up .. .. I hate that I have lived a whole other life, and that I want none of it to have ever happened, it is not better to have lived, to have loved and strived and then to have lost.
 |
| wonder if the past would have been different .... |
 |
| .... if Rock Hudson had been in it .... |
The memories were overwhelming and traumatic. Foolishly, foolishly walking to the station with Tom all those years ago, we saw Chris at the ticket gates, oh foolish, foolish girl. Hurt Vickie too, and No ... what we did to Ed, what was I like? Never held on to anything that meant anything, always too foolish to know what was going on. Never true to anything good, idiotic, naive, blind, foolish one. I appear to have been a rather clueless individual in that life.
This new life has much to recommend it. R.I.P please the past.
 |
| so long xxoo |
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Things To DO.
Read and watch eat pray love - Jules loved it and Julie loves it so much she's re-reading it .. .. where did I put that copy???  |
| Hmmm .... am sure Jules lent me her copy ... |
 | |||
| Yup, he only has one star so far. He's gunning for a talking Percy 'just like Nicksie', but it's past 9 pm and he's opted to play ... no star tonight. Shame really. |
 | ||
| Digger I made for Arti |
 |
| And the other one, Junk Modelling at it's best methinks ..... |
 |
| Remind you of anyone??? Iain ... not-Sparky, Me, Lisa could be Iain, Jaan or me depending on the day, Pixie, Jaan, Jaan ...... |
Re-start Bootcamp. It'll lift my mood and raise my activity level, and who knows - maybe one day I'll be a really active person, stave off diabetes and clogged arteries .... and be so active that having a dog will be a no-brainer (Sparky will be mine!!!)
 |
| Looks like Sparky. |
Another Dream Bites the Dust, and yet there is undeniable progress - frustrations of a chronically depressed woman with everyday skills.
Dreams. My earliest aspirations were to be a boy - have an easier life, eradicate the 'need' for my baby brother ....
 |
| Bleagh Rafi ... you stinky boy ... we were like this circa 1986, right??? |
eventually after attempting to pee standing up a number of times with variable success, I let that one go, my brother seemed to be a cutie and a nice playmate after all. I moved on to wanting to be an astronaut.
 |
| Sigh ... am not one of these, nor am I working behind-the-scenes on a space programme. |
 |
| Sad, really ... |
So back to "What Happened To your Aspirations, Nadiya?" : I drifted in and out of university and periods of painful illness, periods of deep dark despair, times of helplessness, poverty, debt, sadness, and loss. I learned things, never went on to do the things I really wanted to do - work with children, work in journalism, join the navy .. .. Like I say, I pretty much didn't do things if my mother said no or my father made 'that face'. What a loser, I really should have made a go of some sort of career, hiding away in academia has done me no favours at all. At 34, being enormously succesful in my private life, I face the prospect of needing to find Something to Do. How else will we ever go on holiday? Get a better house? Pay for two cars (I cannot let Iain have a motorbike, I really don't think I can).
 |
| Ok, this is not really why we need two cars ... but our need is similarly urgent! |
The reasons why so much has hurt me so badly, so deeply makes more sense now that I know about Borderline Personality Disorder. No one else in my life (apart from the psych team of course) have any interest in BPD, so it has not helped everyday interactions and tense situations, but I know all about it, and can play Hercules and try and battle my demons efficiently after loved ones say and do what they inevitably say and do.
 |
| Errr ... Hercules .... kinda like me, but I have breasts and tend to dress more appropriately when battling demons. |
So what DOES help me, now I know so much and have done so much about it all?
My mates think I'll be driving and childminding asap - like, the driving test in september, and the next psychiatric review ... probably in a few months ... if asked, every one of my friends would say I'm improving so much and doing so well, there's no reason to think I won't get through, and if I don't this time I will next time.
I tend to subscribe to the idea that my friends are right, they know a thing or two, I'll find something to do. Who knows, I might even learn from my past and go for what I really, really want, and show Jaan what that even means ..... (boggled if I know ... maybe someone wrote a book on it ....)
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Am really proud of this, obviously.
I have been logging my moods on moodscope, an effort to learn about what feelings and emotions I experience (this is virtually impossible for the borderline personality disorder afflicted, I know what I think, not what I feel as a rule, and confuse myself).
The process has been tough, harsh, but therapeutic.
Just had a major victory, look how high I have raised my mood. Yess. Above the 50% mark, which was all I was hoping for anyway.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Go Go Gruffalo!
The Gruffalo and his child were sweet personalities, and the performers were very good. The songs were typical rhymes/musical-tunes, but enjoyable and catchy enough without driving us mad - we listened to the CD we bought after the show about 50 times all the way home.
In the songs, the approach to the Gruffalo or the Big Bad Mouse's kiliing habits (killing prey) is not sensationalised, but it is accounted for graphically. It's matter-of-fact and told in part of the story (the Big Bad Mouse will snap the Gruffalo's neck, squash the life out of her, suffocate her between sheets of cheese etc in the song 'Big Bad Mouse'). The music has a touch of English-Folkseyness to it - maybe some Irish Folksey-ness too.
Here's a bit more on what to expect: I'd recommend it, just don't be too much of a purist and expect exact reproduction of the book. There's time to see it in the UK still, or in Australia.
We have been watching a lot of Gruffalo leading up to the show, to help Jaan cope with his first theatre trip (an hour is a long time, he enjoyed the show for about 40 minutes, twisting about minimally. The last bit he was harder to manage, but there were no tears, just extreme fidgeting). Here are our best finds:
A piece of the excellent Gruffalo cartoon, currently being shown on Nick Jr during the bank holidays.
Here's Julia Donaldson, and she sings the Gruffalo Song which Jaan now loves, and even Iain sings.
This is the theatre company who put on the show, Tall Tales.
Finally, a LOVELY video of a mummy and her kid's puppet-show production of Gruffalo.
It was a big deal for me to brave the outdoors and to go to another county for this outing! I am glad I had Iain and Jaan with me. Our seats were very good, which helped too (Thank you Mother in Law). I have to say, at the theatre I was not the mummy who looked most like the Gruffalo's lost 'Mrs Gruffalo'. I am definitely not right for the role of Mummy Teletubby anymore either. My shape is a-changing. Bootcamp has been part of my life for 2 months now, and I'm looking forward to the next block. I have been talking to Jaan about the Gruffalo a lot in the build-up months, and he likes me to pretend I'm Gruffalo and wander about Zombie-like while he squeals and zooms about. He came up with this game, and being 'Gruffalo' just by jutting my jaw out (bottom teeth visible = terrible tusks) and making my 'paws' prominent is brilliant for our imaginations. I reckon I have bootcamp to thank for that game too, I am freer in my body, able to move more, really move more. For a long time I was in a bad place, but as a strong samurai princess, I was brave enough to sign up for bootcamp, and even if I was not quite sure I believed what my friends say about me (they think I'm awesome) - I was prepared to go along any way (I could hardly feel worse about myself for trying, right?). With nothing to lose and everything to gain, I'm so glad that 2 months down the line I have a waist again. Ok, not exactly svelte yet .. .. but I am definitely able to PRETEND to be a Gruffalo, while looking nothing like one really.
The costumes in the show are equally inspired and imaginative - the snake wears a spangly jacket, the owl and the fox are amusing stereotypical characters, with a few props in their costumes to indicate eccentric intellectual/mad scientist and Cockney wheeler dealer respectively.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Food for thought - Dorothy Rowe on Fear
Me & Dorothy Rowe, We go waaaaay back
Many moons ago, at a vastly different depressive point in my past, I read a book by Dorothy Rowe entitled Depression, and it changed my life, perhaps freeing part of me for the first time. Most of what I read escapes me, and if I re-read it now I'm sure something else would stick, or perhaps I would be critical now, as I am with her other book, which I have just skimmed through. What has stayed with me since first reading Dorothy, is the idea that a child desperately wants her parents to be right, good, able, decent etc etc all good things. To do so she will believe that even the bad things they do are good, are ok, even laudable. This dynamic is definitely a strong theme in my upbringing, and in the family dynamic now (both sides of the border, my out-laws are just as good at this, however sullenly they go about it as Iain's enthusiastic out-laws are). The other idea was a concept I still struggle with - that all the problems of said parents and indeed the problems of the world are not the responsibility of that child. To me, ineptitude makes all those problems that child's responsibility by default. Being able to see clearly surely means action is a duty, an imperative, when stumbling about with the blurry-eyed? Morons cannot be permitted to ugly up the whole world - or what will be left for the newer children, the others who come later who might be able to get away, break away from blurry-eyed prejudice, harsh abuse and imprisonment? Too late for this child but could be not-too-late for others, because just as I had no hand in being conceived and born, nor do the children who followed me, they will come and they will come, no one can stop that. What do I have to do to make the world less of a nightmare for them - every thing I can think of surely, whether I manage to do it or not. SO, I can't save the polar bear, or sponge up oil slicks with kitchen paper, that does not mean I can't make it clear to the world that polar bears matter, that I am not happy that oil slicks spill out on to seas, marine life and fish. Things like that, what is ok and what is not need to project out from every organ in my body, infuse my behaviour. I must be vigilant in using every opportunity I have to make that change. So when a young person asks me about someone's behaviour, seeking clues as to where to place it in his or her personal internal moral scale, I need to examine my own priorities, my own consciousness, and make a serious effort to communicate what I have learnt, providing routes within that so that the young person has an opportunity to go off and explore the issue further, either consciously, or the next time it comes up in her/his life. It would be fatal to the mission to preach, to give a definitive declaration, a judgement that is absolute. I only know what I know till now, I may always know that, or what I know could adapt, flex, change, who knows? That's all anyone can do, if they are paying attention and trying to engage with the world and those who are in it.
Fear can be a legacy, maybe it can even be genetic? Whatever, you know where we first get a handle on it from ... go on, take a guess ...
Dorothy's book on Fear is the one I got out of the library a couple of months ago. I am handing it back in today and so skimmed through it - skipping a lot of stuff about childhood and bad-parenting that I have dealt with in great depth over the last few years, and now need a bit of respite from. Yes my parents are very sweet, kind people who tried their very best for all 3 of us, and for every child they ever met, as a matter of fact. They aim to support, nurture, love and encourage. Of course, like most people, the end effect they achieve falls short of the ideal. Their faith system teaches them to prioritise intention over actual action & events. Principles behind action are inflexible and absolute - the 5 pillars of Islam for instance. In the same way, the 'facts' that they are supportive, nurturing, loving and encouraging are immovable, omnipresent and hugely imposing, by virtue of them being the principles by which they intend to live. That's pretty much the end of the line.
Dorothy would say that when my parents inevitably could not live up to their ideals of ALWAYS managing to have a positive impact, they and us kids, as a family should ideally have learnt to deal with the seismic-shift in the world-view that resulted. Acceptance, courage, perseverence, try try again, laugh it off, laugh together, remember you care etc should ideally be the cornerstones - not anger, violence, lies, cold silences, screaming matches, blame, abandonment etc .. and I am NOT saying that my parents and I engaged in ANY of this behaviour. According to Dorothy, the core problem is fear and the antidote to fear is courage, to look the seismic shifts that can happen in life in the eye and keep getting up every morning, no matter what and don't let the bad things win.
Fight Fear with Courage
Now I know I am courageous and brave to the extreme. Not spider-squashing brave, but pick-yourself-up and learn how to do this brave. It is painful to be brave, and humiliating when it does not make a blind bit of difference to my life when, for example, all the other human components of the situation are cement-footed cowards. Bravery, humiliation, flexibility and failure are probably the sum of my existence. Seismic shifts? I'll give you seismic shifts!!! Before Jaan, and when he came, twice - no, three times at least, my entire world view (apart from things like the earth is round, the sun rises, Iain loves me etc) turned out to be false, I had been completely deluded about almost everything, and certainly everyone. Turned out some people did not want me anywhere near special things in their lives, some people had no intention of rejoicing or commiserating with me, even in short bursts as changes happened in painful succession to me. Apparantly my horridness was so abhorrent and repulsive, that even small amounts of being with me, being there for me, being part of my life was too much. You can say what you like, but my vulnerability did not warrant gentleness and care, my bravery was irrelevant and at best justification for walking away (she doesn't need me), my flexibility was invisible, and in any case irrelevant as there were no other options presented by others (as there was a dearth of others) for me to flexibly try out and incorporate into my world view, to use as building blocks to repair the breach. Was I a failure at this time? I succeeded in making a decision about my PhD. Surely that is a success. Unfortunately that decision was made within the University context, and therefore was a failure to succeed in the programme. My supervisor's attitude to the whole thing, indeed the department's indifference indicated how worthless my contribution had been till that point, how not a part of it all I really have been. Slinking away, I could not look back, as there was no one to look at, all had become alien by then. To most people who knew I was studying, leaving is a failure too.
And then what about Jaan, clearly he was born, he is well, he is thriving and I have certainly done right by him. My efforts at home and through the mental health services have shown Iain how much my life with him and Jaan mean to me, and communicating that has been a success too. Our marriage is still strong, a definite success. Do I feel much of a success? I feel I should. I try and tick off my list of successes. I can acknowledge my successes in this sphere to myself, it is such a personal sphere, and I can ignore how my chronic depression looks to people judging me from the outside (why is she still doing this?). My courage and open-ness combined to let me pursue three really important friendships, maybe 4 really, and I continue to try and reach out to others, but I try and stick to people who think or behave like I do within the context of the part of life in which we meet. Going to 'Stitch & Bitch' at George's place is a good example - I like the women who were going to be there, they look, sound and speak nicely, I admire their mothering skills, I am interested in their children, the things they cook, the things they plan to buy, their ideas on life in general. That is a safe place to be, to spend time, to enjoy some of what is in life. All of life should be participated in with the same spirit of experience and enjoyability. Bootcamp, which I do twice a week at the break of dawn is physically challenging, even excruciating at times and has the potential to be humiliating. However it is a safe situation because we all work together to challenge ourselves, there is no need to fail because the others have won. There is no need to be bad at anything, that simply does no arise.
So if I am so successful in my personal life, with such good mates - what's with the depression tagline?
Is it the BPD?
This Borderline Personality Disorder I am rumored to have (how dare you! my personality is just peachy thank you)? Dorothy reckons BPD is newspeak for hysteria - as in oh look the lovely young lady with the expressive speech and wide eyes is neurotic and hysterical, quick Mr Psychiatrist, give her some drugs, let her talk till her tears overwhelm her, and when you have a moment, have a brief abusive affair with her too, nudge nudge wink wink, she has delusions and rubbish interpersonal skills don't you know, she's like that, you can't change how impulsive she is, or how rashly she judges how to behave, or who to sleep with. That's what DOROTHY thinks. She reckons most women who have the BPD diagnosis, indeed all personality disorder diagnoses are to do with the people who make such diagnoses, that they tell you nothing about the patient, everyone can be classed into some sort of personality disorder or other (perhaps the non-specified personality disorder if all else fails, yep, there is one to that effect).
I have to say, the thought that everyone could be classed as having a PD is not new to me. Of course I wondered. Dorothy complains that the whole PD thing, specifically BPD is all about classifying and diagnosing, meeting at least 5 of the 9 points that make up the diagnostic criteria - there is no indication within the 9 points she says, that show the P-Docs care about the person behind the label in the sense that concepts such as self-esteem are completely absent. It's not a person who gets the BPD label, rather it's a set of reactions and choices made by that person over a curse of time that gets her the label. These choices would have been made by a person under desperate emotional, mental and maybe physical strain, possibly extended strain, as the best choices available to her under possibly appalling circumstances. Dorothy argues that life is not fair, that we have ideas about the ideal outcome of every line of our lives - she's right there, for example, my parents hopes and ideals about parenthood and nurturing behaviour as described above. When shit happens and our reality turns out totally different from what the ideal was, the best thing to do is to be courageous and think 'This is'. Never dwell on the 'Why me, this is so unfair', rather, contemplate briefly 'That really hurts, that really makes me afraid, that really makes me sad and disappointed, oh well, that's life, that is what IS' ..... and then we prance off into that evening's sunset I guess, rearranging our building blocks of life, realigning what is ideal, what is hopefully coming next, any disappointments just an ephemeral part of the make-up of the daily grind.
What to do when variations of the apocalypse is the constant in life?
Ok Dorothy, point taken, and pretty much everyone from clod-hopping amateur psycho-babble-prone well wishers to the highly skilled Jenny Harker and Mark Westecott have been working hard to hammer just that through my thick skull for a long time. What to do though when the world-smashing apocalypse happens in BAM! BAM! BAM! quick succession - the total breakdown of family life, the future, childlessness, chronic devastating disease, pregnancy, the disastrous untimely end to over a decade of study, a traumatic birth, another total breakdown of family life, complete loss of self - the death of ones self, intense post-natal depression and PTSD, chronic post-natal depression, a desperate house-move, removal of all things unbearably painful, but also of everything that was good and supportive, exclusion from the lives of people who meant something once ....BAM! BAM!
At which point could the fear be faced? Every fear was actually justified. At that point, at all those points, what can courage do? Fear of abandonment, loss, death, poverty, lies, cruelty, humiliation, failure? Which one is missing ... I'll tell you, they are all there, they all happened, relentlessly, consecutively, repeatedly. The one that topped them all, so unexpected, so stark, so cruel, so sadistic, was the birth - from the first desperate 'gas & air' moment to the moment the spinal took effect and numbed my womb. Oh the pain and indignity did not end or start there of course, I won't bore you or hurt myself with the details now. It is private. My own hell, and it is not just this crowning glory of horror that has broken me, don't be silly, I am courageous, remember? One nightmare day does not destroy me, the Princess. The Samurai. Specially as I managed to make the best choices available for Jaan, and what I endured was done to leave no room at all ( AT ALL) for any possible predicable and probable harm to befall him (obviously not an exhaustive surety or guarantee, even I cannot take on God's role, or the roles of chance, fate and random ends). I knew what I was in for, what torments me is that it had to be that way at all, I would never, ever do those things that way to another living thing, or even to a dead thing. I cannot understand how or why so many instances of that kind of behaviour happened to me in such quick succession over such a long period - over two years in all.
Nor can I see how it can be such a mystery or so invisible to others, what happened to me, what keeps happening. I see it all around me every day, all day.
Oh I flex my mind, adjust what I can do with my body and try to move forward with life. Bootcamp, better diet, R&R ....... I am not stupid, I am trying to strengthen my body. I exercise my mind writing, wandering outside the perimiter of my comfort-zone, talking openly, letting people near me again, despite knowing the risks. Courage enables me to make these choices, choosing these acts over ripping my body to shreds, drowning or sinking completely under the shadows of the black dog. In one part of my life I am not a failure, I have succeeded. In work, in studying, in dealing with the world, in coping with the dynamics of family life, and in dealing with poverty I have demonstrably and completely failed. Failure is when there is no re-do, no next step. Otherwise it's not failure, it is just what happened that day (Jenny Harker taught me the distinction). There is no going back and sorting those things, there is just time now to say, this is how I can explain what happened here, and this is what is now, it's how it is, that's all. No re-do. The only thing to mull over and explore from now on is the future and the present - what am I doing for money now? Do I want to study anything at the moment? Should I look into something for when Jaan is 6? Lets listen to the Today Programme, oh it's bizarre what's happening in the Middle East, Gosh how interesting/sad/inspirational/deluded/crazed/pained/dull/stupid etc etc that person sounds, I agree/disagree/am not interested in that particular idea, or 'what an interesting thought', 'I must think on it' etc etc ... That's appropriate, and the way to deal with the wider world. So Hugh's Fish Fight is on, I read the Tweets. I don't have to lose sleep over the fish, and I don't, but I AM disgusted with the waste and have made my own personal choices with the new information. Doesn't matter what they are, what matters is that they are personal, Iain will make his and Jaan is an abstainer anyway, fish is no issue for him, aside from Nemo. I am interested in their choices when they make them because I am interested in everything about each of them and in a practical sense their choices need to be taken into account when I do the Ocado. No one else is my concern.
Now, whether the campaign succeeds or not IS of interest to me, not on a highly-personal I MUST MAKE IT SO! Aaaargghh IT'S MY RESPONSIBILITY! kind of way, but in an "I hope enough people care" kind of way, and a curiosity about what the outcome says about modern British society, about modern British media, about cooking as it is today. This is an appropriate interest, a healthy engagement with a contemporary serious issue of moralty, utility and behavioural norms.
I suppose, reluctant as I am to admit it, there is also scope for 'what sort of interaction do I want with so-and-so family member, and hmm is that realistic? What are they in to? Ok, that'll work then, we'll just do this and this and leave it at that' [SCARY painful stuff, better perhaps to just avoid family for ever and ever or at least this summer].
Many moons ago, at a vastly different depressive point in my past, I read a book by Dorothy Rowe entitled Depression, and it changed my life, perhaps freeing part of me for the first time. Most of what I read escapes me, and if I re-read it now I'm sure something else would stick, or perhaps I would be critical now, as I am with her other book, which I have just skimmed through. What has stayed with me since first reading Dorothy, is the idea that a child desperately wants her parents to be right, good, able, decent etc etc all good things. To do so she will believe that even the bad things they do are good, are ok, even laudable. This dynamic is definitely a strong theme in my upbringing, and in the family dynamic now (both sides of the border, my out-laws are just as good at this, however sullenly they go about it as Iain's enthusiastic out-laws are). The other idea was a concept I still struggle with - that all the problems of said parents and indeed the problems of the world are not the responsibility of that child. To me, ineptitude makes all those problems that child's responsibility by default. Being able to see clearly surely means action is a duty, an imperative, when stumbling about with the blurry-eyed? Morons cannot be permitted to ugly up the whole world - or what will be left for the newer children, the others who come later who might be able to get away, break away from blurry-eyed prejudice, harsh abuse and imprisonment? Too late for this child but could be not-too-late for others, because just as I had no hand in being conceived and born, nor do the children who followed me, they will come and they will come, no one can stop that. What do I have to do to make the world less of a nightmare for them - every thing I can think of surely, whether I manage to do it or not. SO, I can't save the polar bear, or sponge up oil slicks with kitchen paper, that does not mean I can't make it clear to the world that polar bears matter, that I am not happy that oil slicks spill out on to seas, marine life and fish. Things like that, what is ok and what is not need to project out from every organ in my body, infuse my behaviour. I must be vigilant in using every opportunity I have to make that change. So when a young person asks me about someone's behaviour, seeking clues as to where to place it in his or her personal internal moral scale, I need to examine my own priorities, my own consciousness, and make a serious effort to communicate what I have learnt, providing routes within that so that the young person has an opportunity to go off and explore the issue further, either consciously, or the next time it comes up in her/his life. It would be fatal to the mission to preach, to give a definitive declaration, a judgement that is absolute. I only know what I know till now, I may always know that, or what I know could adapt, flex, change, who knows? That's all anyone can do, if they are paying attention and trying to engage with the world and those who are in it.
Fear can be a legacy, maybe it can even be genetic? Whatever, you know where we first get a handle on it from ... go on, take a guess ...
Dorothy's book on Fear is the one I got out of the library a couple of months ago. I am handing it back in today and so skimmed through it - skipping a lot of stuff about childhood and bad-parenting that I have dealt with in great depth over the last few years, and now need a bit of respite from. Yes my parents are very sweet, kind people who tried their very best for all 3 of us, and for every child they ever met, as a matter of fact. They aim to support, nurture, love and encourage. Of course, like most people, the end effect they achieve falls short of the ideal. Their faith system teaches them to prioritise intention over actual action & events. Principles behind action are inflexible and absolute - the 5 pillars of Islam for instance. In the same way, the 'facts' that they are supportive, nurturing, loving and encouraging are immovable, omnipresent and hugely imposing, by virtue of them being the principles by which they intend to live. That's pretty much the end of the line.
Dorothy would say that when my parents inevitably could not live up to their ideals of ALWAYS managing to have a positive impact, they and us kids, as a family should ideally have learnt to deal with the seismic-shift in the world-view that resulted. Acceptance, courage, perseverence, try try again, laugh it off, laugh together, remember you care etc should ideally be the cornerstones - not anger, violence, lies, cold silences, screaming matches, blame, abandonment etc .. and I am NOT saying that my parents and I engaged in ANY of this behaviour. According to Dorothy, the core problem is fear and the antidote to fear is courage, to look the seismic shifts that can happen in life in the eye and keep getting up every morning, no matter what and don't let the bad things win.
Fight Fear with Courage
Now I know I am courageous and brave to the extreme. Not spider-squashing brave, but pick-yourself-up and learn how to do this brave. It is painful to be brave, and humiliating when it does not make a blind bit of difference to my life when, for example, all the other human components of the situation are cement-footed cowards. Bravery, humiliation, flexibility and failure are probably the sum of my existence. Seismic shifts? I'll give you seismic shifts!!! Before Jaan, and when he came, twice - no, three times at least, my entire world view (apart from things like the earth is round, the sun rises, Iain loves me etc) turned out to be false, I had been completely deluded about almost everything, and certainly everyone. Turned out some people did not want me anywhere near special things in their lives, some people had no intention of rejoicing or commiserating with me, even in short bursts as changes happened in painful succession to me. Apparantly my horridness was so abhorrent and repulsive, that even small amounts of being with me, being there for me, being part of my life was too much. You can say what you like, but my vulnerability did not warrant gentleness and care, my bravery was irrelevant and at best justification for walking away (she doesn't need me), my flexibility was invisible, and in any case irrelevant as there were no other options presented by others (as there was a dearth of others) for me to flexibly try out and incorporate into my world view, to use as building blocks to repair the breach. Was I a failure at this time? I succeeded in making a decision about my PhD. Surely that is a success. Unfortunately that decision was made within the University context, and therefore was a failure to succeed in the programme. My supervisor's attitude to the whole thing, indeed the department's indifference indicated how worthless my contribution had been till that point, how not a part of it all I really have been. Slinking away, I could not look back, as there was no one to look at, all had become alien by then. To most people who knew I was studying, leaving is a failure too.
And then what about Jaan, clearly he was born, he is well, he is thriving and I have certainly done right by him. My efforts at home and through the mental health services have shown Iain how much my life with him and Jaan mean to me, and communicating that has been a success too. Our marriage is still strong, a definite success. Do I feel much of a success? I feel I should. I try and tick off my list of successes. I can acknowledge my successes in this sphere to myself, it is such a personal sphere, and I can ignore how my chronic depression looks to people judging me from the outside (why is she still doing this?). My courage and open-ness combined to let me pursue three really important friendships, maybe 4 really, and I continue to try and reach out to others, but I try and stick to people who think or behave like I do within the context of the part of life in which we meet. Going to 'Stitch & Bitch' at George's place is a good example - I like the women who were going to be there, they look, sound and speak nicely, I admire their mothering skills, I am interested in their children, the things they cook, the things they plan to buy, their ideas on life in general. That is a safe place to be, to spend time, to enjoy some of what is in life. All of life should be participated in with the same spirit of experience and enjoyability. Bootcamp, which I do twice a week at the break of dawn is physically challenging, even excruciating at times and has the potential to be humiliating. However it is a safe situation because we all work together to challenge ourselves, there is no need to fail because the others have won. There is no need to be bad at anything, that simply does no arise.
Is it the BPD?
This Borderline Personality Disorder I am rumored to have (how dare you! my personality is just peachy thank you)? Dorothy reckons BPD is newspeak for hysteria - as in oh look the lovely young lady with the expressive speech and wide eyes is neurotic and hysterical, quick Mr Psychiatrist, give her some drugs, let her talk till her tears overwhelm her, and when you have a moment, have a brief abusive affair with her too, nudge nudge wink wink, she has delusions and rubbish interpersonal skills don't you know, she's like that, you can't change how impulsive she is, or how rashly she judges how to behave, or who to sleep with. That's what DOROTHY thinks. She reckons most women who have the BPD diagnosis, indeed all personality disorder diagnoses are to do with the people who make such diagnoses, that they tell you nothing about the patient, everyone can be classed into some sort of personality disorder or other (perhaps the non-specified personality disorder if all else fails, yep, there is one to that effect).
I have to say, the thought that everyone could be classed as having a PD is not new to me. Of course I wondered. Dorothy complains that the whole PD thing, specifically BPD is all about classifying and diagnosing, meeting at least 5 of the 9 points that make up the diagnostic criteria - there is no indication within the 9 points she says, that show the P-Docs care about the person behind the label in the sense that concepts such as self-esteem are completely absent. It's not a person who gets the BPD label, rather it's a set of reactions and choices made by that person over a curse of time that gets her the label. These choices would have been made by a person under desperate emotional, mental and maybe physical strain, possibly extended strain, as the best choices available to her under possibly appalling circumstances. Dorothy argues that life is not fair, that we have ideas about the ideal outcome of every line of our lives - she's right there, for example, my parents hopes and ideals about parenthood and nurturing behaviour as described above. When shit happens and our reality turns out totally different from what the ideal was, the best thing to do is to be courageous and think 'This is'. Never dwell on the 'Why me, this is so unfair', rather, contemplate briefly 'That really hurts, that really makes me afraid, that really makes me sad and disappointed, oh well, that's life, that is what IS' ..... and then we prance off into that evening's sunset I guess, rearranging our building blocks of life, realigning what is ideal, what is hopefully coming next, any disappointments just an ephemeral part of the make-up of the daily grind.
What to do when variations of the apocalypse is the constant in life?
Ok Dorothy, point taken, and pretty much everyone from clod-hopping amateur psycho-babble-prone well wishers to the highly skilled Jenny Harker and Mark Westecott have been working hard to hammer just that through my thick skull for a long time. What to do though when the world-smashing apocalypse happens in BAM! BAM! BAM! quick succession - the total breakdown of family life, the future, childlessness, chronic devastating disease, pregnancy, the disastrous untimely end to over a decade of study, a traumatic birth, another total breakdown of family life, complete loss of self - the death of ones self, intense post-natal depression and PTSD, chronic post-natal depression, a desperate house-move, removal of all things unbearably painful, but also of everything that was good and supportive, exclusion from the lives of people who meant something once ....BAM! BAM!
At which point could the fear be faced? Every fear was actually justified. At that point, at all those points, what can courage do? Fear of abandonment, loss, death, poverty, lies, cruelty, humiliation, failure? Which one is missing ... I'll tell you, they are all there, they all happened, relentlessly, consecutively, repeatedly. The one that topped them all, so unexpected, so stark, so cruel, so sadistic, was the birth - from the first desperate 'gas & air' moment to the moment the spinal took effect and numbed my womb. Oh the pain and indignity did not end or start there of course, I won't bore you or hurt myself with the details now. It is private. My own hell, and it is not just this crowning glory of horror that has broken me, don't be silly, I am courageous, remember? One nightmare day does not destroy me, the Princess. The Samurai. Specially as I managed to make the best choices available for Jaan, and what I endured was done to leave no room at all ( AT ALL) for any possible predicable and probable harm to befall him (obviously not an exhaustive surety or guarantee, even I cannot take on God's role, or the roles of chance, fate and random ends). I knew what I was in for, what torments me is that it had to be that way at all, I would never, ever do those things that way to another living thing, or even to a dead thing. I cannot understand how or why so many instances of that kind of behaviour happened to me in such quick succession over such a long period - over two years in all.
Nor can I see how it can be such a mystery or so invisible to others, what happened to me, what keeps happening. I see it all around me every day, all day.
Oh I flex my mind, adjust what I can do with my body and try to move forward with life. Bootcamp, better diet, R&R ....... I am not stupid, I am trying to strengthen my body. I exercise my mind writing, wandering outside the perimiter of my comfort-zone, talking openly, letting people near me again, despite knowing the risks. Courage enables me to make these choices, choosing these acts over ripping my body to shreds, drowning or sinking completely under the shadows of the black dog. In one part of my life I am not a failure, I have succeeded. In work, in studying, in dealing with the world, in coping with the dynamics of family life, and in dealing with poverty I have demonstrably and completely failed. Failure is when there is no re-do, no next step. Otherwise it's not failure, it is just what happened that day (Jenny Harker taught me the distinction). There is no going back and sorting those things, there is just time now to say, this is how I can explain what happened here, and this is what is now, it's how it is, that's all. No re-do. The only thing to mull over and explore from now on is the future and the present - what am I doing for money now? Do I want to study anything at the moment? Should I look into something for when Jaan is 6? Lets listen to the Today Programme, oh it's bizarre what's happening in the Middle East, Gosh how interesting/sad/inspirational/deluded/crazed/pained/dull/stupid etc etc that person sounds, I agree/disagree/am not interested in that particular idea, or 'what an interesting thought', 'I must think on it' etc etc ... That's appropriate, and the way to deal with the wider world. So Hugh's Fish Fight is on, I read the Tweets. I don't have to lose sleep over the fish, and I don't, but I AM disgusted with the waste and have made my own personal choices with the new information. Doesn't matter what they are, what matters is that they are personal, Iain will make his and Jaan is an abstainer anyway, fish is no issue for him, aside from Nemo. I am interested in their choices when they make them because I am interested in everything about each of them and in a practical sense their choices need to be taken into account when I do the Ocado. No one else is my concern.
Now, whether the campaign succeeds or not IS of interest to me, not on a highly-personal I MUST MAKE IT SO! Aaaargghh IT'S MY RESPONSIBILITY! kind of way, but in an "I hope enough people care" kind of way, and a curiosity about what the outcome says about modern British society, about modern British media, about cooking as it is today. This is an appropriate interest, a healthy engagement with a contemporary serious issue of moralty, utility and behavioural norms.
I suppose, reluctant as I am to admit it, there is also scope for 'what sort of interaction do I want with so-and-so family member, and hmm is that realistic? What are they in to? Ok, that'll work then, we'll just do this and this and leave it at that' [SCARY painful stuff, better perhaps to just avoid family for ever and ever or at least this summer].
Friday, March 11, 2011
Hysteria
in the dreams, the bad dreams, I relive that day, and the night before it. Scenes that still play out in my flashbacks fit together, sometimes with older images - sometimes the whole thing is set in one of those impossibly complex higgledy piggledy buildings that are the backdrops of so many of my dreams. The horrendous things that actually happened at the hospital happen to me again in the dreams. Again and again, Iain's there but saying nothing, not raising a hand, not stopping anyone, doing his bit to have a quiet life. I always have to think ahead, and remember everything I know about the hospital, the doctors, the NICE protocols, and I have to keep my wits about me, and let them - it's the surest way to keep Jaan safe, to get him out alive. Get him the best oxygen, the fastest route out, the least trauma. I was misunderstood, what a surprise. If those people could have heard a word I said as I meant it, would they really have done those things to me? Make me pay with pain, humiliation and anguish? Take away every part of me that was lovely and brave and strong and sacred.
this afternoon we had a meeting around the child at the Daisy. Three women sat across from us. Iain beside me, but away and a bit behind me, doing what he does. Being very quiet. Not a gesture, or a touch, or a word. And yet who can say he's not a gem of a husband, a real support, very understanding - I certainly can't say he is not all those things, of course he is.
The vigin the mother the crone? The three fates measuring and cutting my life out? Maybe, but if they were the three fates they were working as if they were doing a routine, a John Lewis haberdashery counter reflex action - done in seconds. They had my motherhood, the last vestiges of my Self cut and folded already. No matter what I said, they misunderstood and worked cod-psychology magic.
I'm always brave, I always do "really well" and try "really hard", do "a lot of work" ... and I did so today, like I did that day, the night before that day, and the nine months that preceded it. I didn't realise I still had a soul to sell to buy Jaan a bit more, a lot more in his life. Maybe my soul grew back?
this afternoon we had a meeting around the child at the Daisy. Three women sat across from us. Iain beside me, but away and a bit behind me, doing what he does. Being very quiet. Not a gesture, or a touch, or a word. And yet who can say he's not a gem of a husband, a real support, very understanding - I certainly can't say he is not all those things, of course he is.
The vigin the mother the crone? The three fates measuring and cutting my life out? Maybe, but if they were the three fates they were working as if they were doing a routine, a John Lewis haberdashery counter reflex action - done in seconds. They had my motherhood, the last vestiges of my Self cut and folded already. No matter what I said, they misunderstood and worked cod-psychology magic.
I'm always brave, I always do "really well" and try "really hard", do "a lot of work" ... and I did so today, like I did that day, the night before that day, and the nine months that preceded it. I didn't realise I still had a soul to sell to buy Jaan a bit more, a lot more in his life. Maybe my soul grew back?
Monday, February 14, 2011
Depression Progression (I'm a nursery rhyme expert and don't I know it ...)
11pm, 14 Feb
Can't sleep, despite Zopiclone and Quetiapine. Feel cross that I have to push off into action-mode, possibly hyper/manic mode - am not sure how to describe it. Wish I could biff Iain out of the way, being indecisive and innefectual after 3 years of ignoring every decision that is coming back to bite us in the nose now ... that kind of S%$@ is just making me feel worse. Of course whatever I say or do now is what BPD-Girl is saying or doing, no one's going to take me seriously now, are they? If they did, who would they look forlornly at, who would they tut-tut about?
Shheesh. Bad enough for me, but Jaan .. .. ..
Enough. It's too late for me, but not for him. I'm not going to let what happened to me happen to him, not the exact same thing. He could still end up suffering from some variation of what I struggle with, but dammit, I'm not going to give him my life, knowingly.
Iain can piss off if he thinks I'm letting Jaan just melt away into whatever ad-hoc crappy existence can be cobbled together at this late stage, instantly.
Instant custard, instant gravy .... does no one understand why that stuff's around, and when it's appropriate to wheel that stuff out and when it's not? Personally I use Bisto powder or whatever when I can't be bothered making gravy, when I don't give a s%$@, and at that point, it's wholly appropriate to wheel out the Bisto ... in a jug if its lots of us, or a mug if it's just us two .... thick as we like, makes the meal better (probably Birds Eye anyway by that point ...).
My heart hurts and hurts when I think of how long I've been braying on like some sort of nag, some sort of bore about Jaan's schooling, his options, the costs, the logistics - always being so careful, so tippy-toey careful not to nag every day, not to snipe any more than I can help ... to save it for family meetings about Jaan's schooling, to go to school stuff alone or with someone else, to choose nice ways for Iain to join in ... I'd cry if I had any tears left.
I didn't cry and scream and throw shoes at everyone did I? I still won't, will I. The pain will just throb and throb. Big lump in the throat.
But Jaan ... ... there doesn't really appear to be a plan as to where he'll go, or how we'll pay for anything ad hoc and 'for the next few weeks'. Now I for one am not waiting for the Golden Age that may or may not appear at the end of 'the next few weeks' - what, when the Mental Health Team for Peterborough and Cambridge make contact again? Yeah, ok. With their magic wand I presume, and in a 'few weeks' ... er, yeah, right. At that point perhaps the line 'we're just in limbo right now, I really expected more ((sadface)) I guess I was wrong' might well make another appearance on more than one face.
I for one am expecting nothing but more grief from the MH team, I expect the drugs to go so far and then mysteriously come to a standstill with no one prepared or able to take responsibility, and I expect people's patience with respect to the process has to be wearing thin already. Best I act on my own, I'll know where I am then, and that's what Jaan needs, consistency, caring and someone putting him first. Before fear, before pain, before self-indulgence and selfishness.
My plan's not great, but I've organised Sky - we'll have more cartoons soon. Mickey and me, and Jaan. How about that? And painting, glueing, storytelling and trips to the childrens centre. It won't kill me, not physically. It's too late for the finer points of my mind :)
No one outside the circle I choose. That's my plan. If I keep Himself and him near, and not let anyone I don't trust in, it's hardly a genius plan, but it's free (Himself can hang on to his hair and we won't have to move), Jaan will be happy and secure as I won't be losing it because of who he is with, and I won't have anything to undo .... I must force myself to take Jaan out and keep people out of my hair so I can get on with it ... and not stop, not for a day, not ever .... thereby providing consistency. Am starting to think bedtime needs to be taken care of, fannying about is not helping Jaan.
Look, if something was going to kill me I'd be dead by now. I think we know I'm stuck here. Iain is asleep, and so is Jaan. That's how it's always been, and seemingly we have to go back to what we know, what I've done so far. How can I say it's worked? But you know, I asked for help at the start, and kept asking, and actually, I just need to watch my son. There is no school place for him right now (guess why) and there is no one about to get him about for free, or a fee we are prepared to pay. I can't face being pushed about any more, I need all the skin I have to get Jaan a life.
Christ.
Night time, 8:30 or so, night 3 (feb 14)
Feel pretty rough. Flatline miserable rough.
Could hear husband getting offspring to bed. Was hard. I'm surely no competent judge ... I mean its my parenting that's under fire these days, right? Me with my crazy head and mood swings ... but offspring was crying out for structure, for winding down... it's already so late. Not sure what's been going on. Well, husband got him off to bed eventually, after counting 1 2 3 a number of times with seemingly no consequences when offspring just pissed about. To my credit, I didn't jump up (lumber out pf bed) and meddlle with whatever dynamic they have going on, didn't try and make husband feel like a shit by saying cross things about his parenting. However, I did get more and more wound up, more and more upset and filled with self loathing as the minutes ticked by.
I really don't want to spread the misery about, to make husband feel bad, he must be under a lot of strain. Whether he has got himself enough support or not is neither here nor there. Bottom line is, we're a team, right? And I'm the one who broke the deal by losing it, I won't bring him down too - not when I don't know if the things I think are being done badly are even actually being done badly. What do I really know, anyway, I'm the one with the thoughts that have labels from a textbook.
with I could turn myself off, like one of Jaan's toys. Sleep mode. standby mode. red light on, LED.
Feb 14 - Day 3 of the new drug regime
So I pretty much slept through Day 1, and Day 2 I was way more alert - Iain didn't give me any Zopiclone the night before so I slept badly BUT was alert and awake. Reminded him weaning of the Zoppycloppy s l o w l y does not mean cold turkey so he left it up to me last night and YESSS I slept properly. No nightmares. The dodgy dreams from the first 2 nights were not pleasant, but I would not call them traumatic either.
So far, result! The Quetiapine appears to have put a lid on the bad thoughts, I can't access them easily (part of my mind must be shut off I suppose) - to be honest, I don't care, all I care about is feeling better, which I do. Long may it continue.
Can't sleep, despite Zopiclone and Quetiapine. Feel cross that I have to push off into action-mode, possibly hyper/manic mode - am not sure how to describe it. Wish I could biff Iain out of the way, being indecisive and innefectual after 3 years of ignoring every decision that is coming back to bite us in the nose now ... that kind of S%$@ is just making me feel worse. Of course whatever I say or do now is what BPD-Girl is saying or doing, no one's going to take me seriously now, are they? If they did, who would they look forlornly at, who would they tut-tut about?
Shheesh. Bad enough for me, but Jaan .. .. ..
Enough. It's too late for me, but not for him. I'm not going to let what happened to me happen to him, not the exact same thing. He could still end up suffering from some variation of what I struggle with, but dammit, I'm not going to give him my life, knowingly.
Iain can piss off if he thinks I'm letting Jaan just melt away into whatever ad-hoc crappy existence can be cobbled together at this late stage, instantly.
Instant custard, instant gravy .... does no one understand why that stuff's around, and when it's appropriate to wheel that stuff out and when it's not? Personally I use Bisto powder or whatever when I can't be bothered making gravy, when I don't give a s%$@, and at that point, it's wholly appropriate to wheel out the Bisto ... in a jug if its lots of us, or a mug if it's just us two .... thick as we like, makes the meal better (probably Birds Eye anyway by that point ...).
My heart hurts and hurts when I think of how long I've been braying on like some sort of nag, some sort of bore about Jaan's schooling, his options, the costs, the logistics - always being so careful, so tippy-toey careful not to nag every day, not to snipe any more than I can help ... to save it for family meetings about Jaan's schooling, to go to school stuff alone or with someone else, to choose nice ways for Iain to join in ... I'd cry if I had any tears left.
I didn't cry and scream and throw shoes at everyone did I? I still won't, will I. The pain will just throb and throb. Big lump in the throat.
But Jaan ... ... there doesn't really appear to be a plan as to where he'll go, or how we'll pay for anything ad hoc and 'for the next few weeks'. Now I for one am not waiting for the Golden Age that may or may not appear at the end of 'the next few weeks' - what, when the Mental Health Team for Peterborough and Cambridge make contact again? Yeah, ok. With their magic wand I presume, and in a 'few weeks' ... er, yeah, right. At that point perhaps the line 'we're just in limbo right now, I really expected more ((sadface)) I guess I was wrong' might well make another appearance on more than one face.
I for one am expecting nothing but more grief from the MH team, I expect the drugs to go so far and then mysteriously come to a standstill with no one prepared or able to take responsibility, and I expect people's patience with respect to the process has to be wearing thin already. Best I act on my own, I'll know where I am then, and that's what Jaan needs, consistency, caring and someone putting him first. Before fear, before pain, before self-indulgence and selfishness.
My plan's not great, but I've organised Sky - we'll have more cartoons soon. Mickey and me, and Jaan. How about that? And painting, glueing, storytelling and trips to the childrens centre. It won't kill me, not physically. It's too late for the finer points of my mind :)
No one outside the circle I choose. That's my plan. If I keep Himself and him near, and not let anyone I don't trust in, it's hardly a genius plan, but it's free (Himself can hang on to his hair and we won't have to move), Jaan will be happy and secure as I won't be losing it because of who he is with, and I won't have anything to undo .... I must force myself to take Jaan out and keep people out of my hair so I can get on with it ... and not stop, not for a day, not ever .... thereby providing consistency. Am starting to think bedtime needs to be taken care of, fannying about is not helping Jaan.
Look, if something was going to kill me I'd be dead by now. I think we know I'm stuck here. Iain is asleep, and so is Jaan. That's how it's always been, and seemingly we have to go back to what we know, what I've done so far. How can I say it's worked? But you know, I asked for help at the start, and kept asking, and actually, I just need to watch my son. There is no school place for him right now (guess why) and there is no one about to get him about for free, or a fee we are prepared to pay. I can't face being pushed about any more, I need all the skin I have to get Jaan a life.
Christ.
Night time, 8:30 or so, night 3 (feb 14)
Feel pretty rough. Flatline miserable rough.
Could hear husband getting offspring to bed. Was hard. I'm surely no competent judge ... I mean its my parenting that's under fire these days, right? Me with my crazy head and mood swings ... but offspring was crying out for structure, for winding down... it's already so late. Not sure what's been going on. Well, husband got him off to bed eventually, after counting 1 2 3 a number of times with seemingly no consequences when offspring just pissed about. To my credit, I didn't jump up (lumber out pf bed) and meddlle with whatever dynamic they have going on, didn't try and make husband feel like a shit by saying cross things about his parenting. However, I did get more and more wound up, more and more upset and filled with self loathing as the minutes ticked by.
I really don't want to spread the misery about, to make husband feel bad, he must be under a lot of strain. Whether he has got himself enough support or not is neither here nor there. Bottom line is, we're a team, right? And I'm the one who broke the deal by losing it, I won't bring him down too - not when I don't know if the things I think are being done badly are even actually being done badly. What do I really know, anyway, I'm the one with the thoughts that have labels from a textbook.
with I could turn myself off, like one of Jaan's toys. Sleep mode. standby mode. red light on, LED.
Feb 14 - Day 3 of the new drug regime
So I pretty much slept through Day 1, and Day 2 I was way more alert - Iain didn't give me any Zopiclone the night before so I slept badly BUT was alert and awake. Reminded him weaning of the Zoppycloppy s l o w l y does not mean cold turkey so he left it up to me last night and YESSS I slept properly. No nightmares. The dodgy dreams from the first 2 nights were not pleasant, but I would not call them traumatic either.
So far, result! The Quetiapine appears to have put a lid on the bad thoughts, I can't access them easily (part of my mind must be shut off I suppose) - to be honest, I don't care, all I care about is feeling better, which I do. Long may it continue.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
How to tip a Borderline over the edge - stare and point for your own selfish reasons
How to tip a Borderline over the edge - stare and point for your own selfish reasons: Curiosity, amusement, to see if such a state of being actually exists ... that someone can actually have borderline personality disorder, or some other kind of mental health issue, and if it can really make it very very hard for them to function socially. After all, the times I have been in your company, for example, I've been fine, right? Or maybe I have not been fine, have been a real wierdo, or a total freak, or nutty as a fruitcake ---- so now perhaps it makes sense, oh yeah, she's like that because she has a personality disorder.
Another great way to tip a borderline over the edge would be to completely invalidate the person's feelings, fears and disbilities, ignoring what is happening to them, ignoring them.
The thing that triggers my borderline crises are lack of acknowledgement - being ignored or blanked basically, and stress. Pressure. Some people can ignore what happens to me when the pressure builds up, but that does not mean that I can ignore it.
I don't really expect anyone except Iain to work with me to build up self confidence and acknowledgement and stuff. No longer expect anything from anyone other than Iain. My expectations have been criticised and brought under scrutiny enough. If I have this borderline personality disorder, then it seems best I cut out expectations. I'm clearly not skilled in that area. Why go there?
Speaking of going there, for those interested, here are some links:
The MIND guide to BPD
IMO the best forum about
Info about BPD and other PD
A sort of ad hoc guide to the kinds of therapy, practical therapy, that seems to help people with BPD. Ordinary CBT tends to make us feel a bit attacked, certainly I feel attacked when someone tried to CBT me .... this DBT business might help a bit more, I'm unsure as have not tried it formally.
Drugs to look up if you really want to - Venlafaxine, Quetiapine, and Zopiclone.
So far, what I'd say is that the drugs don't make it all go away. I don't even have the best balance of drugs yet - we have only just started trying a new bunch of drugs. Experience tells me it can be months or more before we have cracked it. My coping skills - enhanced though they are by the wonderful Mark Westacott, were not developed enough, robust enough, good enough, habitual enough - whatever, they weren't enough to protect me over the last few months. So I have a lot of work to do if they will ever work.
Did I mention all I can really face is sleep and meals? Am proud to be writing, it's a big deal, but it's probably a mistake too .... baaaah.
Not sure how I will ever face the people in my life again, or venture out into the world again. What a hash I have made of things.
Another great way to tip a borderline over the edge would be to completely invalidate the person's feelings, fears and disbilities, ignoring what is happening to them, ignoring them.
The thing that triggers my borderline crises are lack of acknowledgement - being ignored or blanked basically, and stress. Pressure. Some people can ignore what happens to me when the pressure builds up, but that does not mean that I can ignore it.
I don't really expect anyone except Iain to work with me to build up self confidence and acknowledgement and stuff. No longer expect anything from anyone other than Iain. My expectations have been criticised and brought under scrutiny enough. If I have this borderline personality disorder, then it seems best I cut out expectations. I'm clearly not skilled in that area. Why go there?
Speaking of going there, for those interested, here are some links:
The MIND guide to BPD
IMO the best forum about
Info about BPD and other PD
A sort of ad hoc guide to the kinds of therapy, practical therapy, that seems to help people with BPD. Ordinary CBT tends to make us feel a bit attacked, certainly I feel attacked when someone tried to CBT me .... this DBT business might help a bit more, I'm unsure as have not tried it formally.
Drugs to look up if you really want to - Venlafaxine, Quetiapine, and Zopiclone.
So far, what I'd say is that the drugs don't make it all go away. I don't even have the best balance of drugs yet - we have only just started trying a new bunch of drugs. Experience tells me it can be months or more before we have cracked it. My coping skills - enhanced though they are by the wonderful Mark Westacott, were not developed enough, robust enough, good enough, habitual enough - whatever, they weren't enough to protect me over the last few months. So I have a lot of work to do if they will ever work.
Did I mention all I can really face is sleep and meals? Am proud to be writing, it's a big deal, but it's probably a mistake too .... baaaah.
Not sure how I will ever face the people in my life again, or venture out into the world again. What a hash I have made of things.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Overachiever - Version 2.1
No pleasing some people ... er ... me? ?
I have finally done it - have sent off my forms for childminder registration to Ofsted. Yaay me. Oh it has been an arduous, really quite emotionally challenging task. From ringing up to organise the initial session I had to attend many, many moons ago, to attending the course, doing the tests, asking for the forms, working on them, getting the health form done, organising references .... none of these tasks are particularly hard by the way, all involve knowing how to write, read or speak only ..... and yet it has been months since I completed the first lot of questions - May to be exact. It is now November, a full year since I started the classes. Boggles the mind.
Nevertheless, I am pleased as punch and ever so proud of my great achievement - completing the forms and sending them off. They are winging their way on to Ofsted. Who knows what mistakes and lack of clarity is hidden within .... things to deal with another day. The point is, this leg of the journey to recovery, to solvency, to becoming once more a taxpayer, a contributing member of society - it all begins to be possible once more, now that I have sent off the forms. I am a brave, motivated woman.
And so now I can't sleep due to pure achievement. I have a huge albatross missing from around my neck. The absence of something choking my breaths during every restful moment is keeping me awake. Am reduced to watching Dave. Again. It has been HOURS.
Having reorganised my Crochet magazines, and realising once more that crochet is beyond me ... I am left with just the company of my own mind. Last night flashbacks of Jaan's birth kept me up and quaking in bed. Tonight I am ok. No flashbacks. Good plans for the week. I am awkward, rather than depressed out of my mind ......
Iain and Jaan are asleep.
I have finally done it - have sent off my forms for childminder registration to Ofsted. Yaay me. Oh it has been an arduous, really quite emotionally challenging task. From ringing up to organise the initial session I had to attend many, many moons ago, to attending the course, doing the tests, asking for the forms, working on them, getting the health form done, organising references .... none of these tasks are particularly hard by the way, all involve knowing how to write, read or speak only ..... and yet it has been months since I completed the first lot of questions - May to be exact. It is now November, a full year since I started the classes. Boggles the mind.
Nevertheless, I am pleased as punch and ever so proud of my great achievement - completing the forms and sending them off. They are winging their way on to Ofsted. Who knows what mistakes and lack of clarity is hidden within .... things to deal with another day. The point is, this leg of the journey to recovery, to solvency, to becoming once more a taxpayer, a contributing member of society - it all begins to be possible once more, now that I have sent off the forms. I am a brave, motivated woman.
And so now I can't sleep due to pure achievement. I have a huge albatross missing from around my neck. The absence of something choking my breaths during every restful moment is keeping me awake. Am reduced to watching Dave. Again. It has been HOURS.
Having reorganised my Crochet magazines, and realising once more that crochet is beyond me ... I am left with just the company of my own mind. Last night flashbacks of Jaan's birth kept me up and quaking in bed. Tonight I am ok. No flashbacks. Good plans for the week. I am awkward, rather than depressed out of my mind ......
Iain and Jaan are asleep.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
New Post, 'New' blog, New phase?
It's been a long time, and a long journey since my last post. I have been as depressed and helpless as I could be, and still survive. Been trapped in awful darkness, bleak neverending painful cold .... very lonely.
I've had plenty of professional help. Nobody should knock professional help ... it took a LOT to use the help, to get over the fact that the things other women had to help me do were simple things I should always be able to do. Get over the humiliation factor and keep reminding myself I want to re-learn how to cope, how to live.
So where are we now? The major successes - my son is now 2, and he is a lovely boy. Very open, friendly, caring, funny, happy, adventurous, peaceful, sensitive. He is often calm, exploring the world around him systematically and at his own pace. He is also often frustrated or angry, he has tantrums which he is slowly ( v e r y slowly!) learning to manage with me and by himself. Like any 2 year old he's working on it. Have to say, I am working on my own issues with anger, frustration and misery too so I can empathise with his predicament. Lucky for me I can talk, write, read and reason well. I have my husband, and I have my friends, and we are all able to communicate better than baby Jaan. I have more outlets, he has his voice and his limbs and us. It's looking good ..... I expect he'll keep learning new ways to reach out, mainly positive ways.
His words are coming along at any rate. The main negative effects of my depression on him appear to be his relationship with food - he is touchy about it, and picky, and avoids food a lot of the time. He has a very limited diet. I have been battling with food and weight all his life and have been unable to deal with food and cooking in the way I'd ideally do, so it's no wonder really. The other effect is his activity levels and DVD viewing. We don't go out as much as some people do. We watch TV or DVDs more than some people do.
I feel the burden of criticism, of failing my son, of rotting his brain. On the one hand - why don't I just turn off the machines, make us go out every day, stay out a lot? But really, oh my God, sometimes I can barely breathe. I don't know how I find the strength to smile and cuddle and sing with him, change his clothes, help him brush his teeth and feed him. Answer his questions about toys, books, food and 'where's Daddy' ( 'Ee Ee gone?? Oh no!!'). Keep his bum clean, stay faux-cheerful when no DVD pleases him, when no food, game or clothes are right in his opinion .... Stress levels can run high and my mind is all I have and I use it to force myself to be as nice as I can be, as pleasantly behaved as possible, and provide him with food, clean stuff and drinks with his entertainment - toys and tv. The house, mess, other people who are not him, answering the phone, going out - it all has to fall by the wayside when I have nothing left to give. I just have to wait till I can go out, cook, shop for groceries, do more than tread water.
Now, thank goodness, and due to a lot of hard work I don't suffer too long with the really bad times. Not like before. It is disruptive, this slow long drawn out process of recovery, I need to keep trying. Some battles are lifelong. Things will never be as I had hoped with a lot of people in my life. We've decided to keep with them and I have to kill a part of myself to stick to that decision, but hey, we are, overall moving forward.
I'm doing right by Jaan, that much is certain.
I've had plenty of professional help. Nobody should knock professional help ... it took a LOT to use the help, to get over the fact that the things other women had to help me do were simple things I should always be able to do. Get over the humiliation factor and keep reminding myself I want to re-learn how to cope, how to live.
So where are we now? The major successes - my son is now 2, and he is a lovely boy. Very open, friendly, caring, funny, happy, adventurous, peaceful, sensitive. He is often calm, exploring the world around him systematically and at his own pace. He is also often frustrated or angry, he has tantrums which he is slowly ( v e r y slowly!) learning to manage with me and by himself. Like any 2 year old he's working on it. Have to say, I am working on my own issues with anger, frustration and misery too so I can empathise with his predicament. Lucky for me I can talk, write, read and reason well. I have my husband, and I have my friends, and we are all able to communicate better than baby Jaan. I have more outlets, he has his voice and his limbs and us. It's looking good ..... I expect he'll keep learning new ways to reach out, mainly positive ways.
His words are coming along at any rate. The main negative effects of my depression on him appear to be his relationship with food - he is touchy about it, and picky, and avoids food a lot of the time. He has a very limited diet. I have been battling with food and weight all his life and have been unable to deal with food and cooking in the way I'd ideally do, so it's no wonder really. The other effect is his activity levels and DVD viewing. We don't go out as much as some people do. We watch TV or DVDs more than some people do.
I feel the burden of criticism, of failing my son, of rotting his brain. On the one hand - why don't I just turn off the machines, make us go out every day, stay out a lot? But really, oh my God, sometimes I can barely breathe. I don't know how I find the strength to smile and cuddle and sing with him, change his clothes, help him brush his teeth and feed him. Answer his questions about toys, books, food and 'where's Daddy' ( 'Ee Ee gone?? Oh no!!'). Keep his bum clean, stay faux-cheerful when no DVD pleases him, when no food, game or clothes are right in his opinion .... Stress levels can run high and my mind is all I have and I use it to force myself to be as nice as I can be, as pleasantly behaved as possible, and provide him with food, clean stuff and drinks with his entertainment - toys and tv. The house, mess, other people who are not him, answering the phone, going out - it all has to fall by the wayside when I have nothing left to give. I just have to wait till I can go out, cook, shop for groceries, do more than tread water.
Now, thank goodness, and due to a lot of hard work I don't suffer too long with the really bad times. Not like before. It is disruptive, this slow long drawn out process of recovery, I need to keep trying. Some battles are lifelong. Things will never be as I had hoped with a lot of people in my life. We've decided to keep with them and I have to kill a part of myself to stick to that decision, but hey, we are, overall moving forward.
I'm doing right by Jaan, that much is certain.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Can't even tell if its better now or worse
Won't say I'm on the cusp of something better ... because I am just about nowhere. I have slept every night for a couple of weeks now. Good old me. Can't tonight. Am by myself in the lounge. Played old arcade games on the internet. Am not sure if I am exercising my mind by doing that or if I am dulling it further. Feels a bit like practice for the drivers theory test.
Birds are making noises. Perhaps the Mac is correct and it is almost 4:30. Perhaps the clock on the wall is correct and it is not yet 2:30 .... and the birds in Royston therefore are barmy.
My money is on 4:30. Not long now then. Most of the night has passed.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Mothering Sunday
This morning there was a lovely card waiting for me, from Jaan. After I fed him, when I turned I saw there were some lovely daffodils by the bed. Everywhere I looked there was something lovely - the flowers, the card, Jaan snuggling next to me, settling into his morning nap, Iain trying to lounge somehow on the bed despite the mountain of duvet, baby, card and me - he's been up a long while and is dressed, the lounging is for my benefit I believe, and because he wants to be part of my mothers day moment. He is a big part of it, of course.
I've waited a long time to be a mother on mothering sunday.
I never imagined what a mothers day would be like .... never did that, but I did often imagine my child, wonder how he or she would be. I would imagine doing things with my son, with my daughter, thinking through the different ideas that would come to mind. When I would imagine a son - his face was not Jaan's, he did not look so much like me, he looked more like Iain with a bit of me ... but Jaan behaves and is like the baby in my dreams. It's as if I have already spent years getting to know him .... Sounds silly, doesn't it. Bet most people think its silly, I know some of you will understand though :)
So, Jaan, I know that you love me, think I'm funny, and pretty and lovely, and fun. I know you trust me and rely on me and want me to enjoy my day - you try and entertain me, I see you! What can I say, the moments in the day when my heart is not heavy (like a soaking wet duvet for example) are the moments I am playing with you, and you are laughing and laughing. I laugh too - the exaggerated playtime-with-Jaan laugh and I am so sorry babe that I can't summon up actual mirth at that sort of amplitude. If I could do it, I would, but I can't. That's the deal with this post natal depression trauma wotsit thing. I want you to know that the laughter I make up to entertain you and to communicate to you my participation in the Mummy-Baby fun-time, is possible because deep inside I am feeling happy to share that moment with you, happy to know I have shown you something you like, fed you food you like - taken care of you such that you are free to laugh like that. I am happy inside, deep inside - it's just that there is so much sadness and anger and anxiety crowded all over that happiness, and the happiness is diminished.
Sometimes of course, we can't even have that, and I'm sorry you can't have that on tap. The reality of our lives, Jaan, is that I can't give you all the love and attention I'd like to. What I do is the thing I believe is the most important thing I can do for you - I had to compromise and use what strength I have for a limited, revised set of mothering acts, after your birth. I remember who you are, and what you need most, and I treat you with respect. It's very hard, as I am fighting against so many conflicting influences. My own memories, my learnt knowledge of how mothers behave in the two societies I have lived in, the pressure from the official sources of advice, seeing things that happen to other mothers and babies around me, your medical tests and such, the burden of misery - the desire to run away, walk away, hide, die, somehow escape and disintegrate is so strong such a lot of the time, and the hardest thing in the world is to not do that, to ask for help instead, and find some way to get some rest, eat some food, drink something and so then succeed in producing milk for you, succeed in being able to hold you, change your nappy, feed you, play with you, help you 'stand', take you out. I don't want to do these things just for you, I want to do them with you.
If I could only stretch myself a bit more I'd have a lovely evening routine for you with a game, food, Night Garden, a bath and cuddle with your Daddy, a story and nice music as you go to bed, and I would comfort you till you fell asleep. Then I would go and sterilise your bottles and dummies, and get your breakfast out of the freezer, and settle down for the evening, enjoying some time with Iain before we all go to bed. All this would be after we had done stuff in the day, you and me, with the other mums and babies maybe, or with one of your grandmothers. It's not that complicated is it, what I want for us? I would read to you, show you things all day because I would be doing things all day - just ordinary things, laundry and cooking and chores. Does it seem strange to you that I could not even do this much right now? Yes Jaan-in-the-future, it is sad that I was such a mess when you were little, just know that I had hope for the future, even when things were bad. Just know that I never stopped trying, I was still the person you know and love in the future .... It is just taking me a long time to get to where I'd like to be. x
Monday, March 2, 2009
Long time no update ....
We've been chugging along, I've been getting things done and with a lot of help and working on coming back from the dark places as quickly as I can. Depression has a life of its own though, I come to some sort of an understanding with one lot of distress and then it re-manifests.
It's like a really chronic chest infection!
Jaan is lovely, he's enjoying life, rolling over, eating a lot and starting to teeth in earnest.
Iain is doing ok, he's getting plenty of work done now that he doesn't have to be at home with me all the time.
My parents have been hanging out with me & Jaan, which is so lovely, and I've had messages from my brother, conversations with him, and Skype sessions with my sister and nephew & niece. I know now I need us to be the 5 of us in the background, so that Iain Jaan and I can be the 3 of us, the main story ..... Dunno if its a transition thing or if having my old family as well as my own one is something I will always need. Not just in the abstract ... for real, so I can feel and smell and hear it. KWIM?
I've had some really good times with my gorgeous cousin Areeba (& Nick who is the sweetest - reminds me of Iain), and our friends Mostyn & Jules (Jaan's Godparents) and our other friends Paula & Stu (Jaan's Fairyparents!). I like visiting them a lot. Jaan is so comfortable with them, and so am I. Iain has a lovely time, the food is always awesome. They love Jaan, and I love that. Jaan is so amazing, and I love being with him and being his Mummy. Am glad I have people to share him with. Dunno where I would be otherwise.
Sometimes I just want to walk off and keep walking, but I could never let Iain go through the realisation that I have gone, let alone cause Jaan to ever realise that I could leave him. I can't do that to them. I have to find a way out of this pit.
It's not that I haven't bonded with Jaan, most of the time we are totally bonded. It's so many other things, and I am so stuck still in the horror that was his birth. That night and that day, and all the nights and days that followed. It's hard to do anything with the weight of all that pain crushing me.
Jaan's not the problem, far from it.
We've had some really fun times recently - on Saturday we were at Jaan's cousin Aarian's 6th birthday party. It was great fun, and Jaan had a good time watching all the kids. He had a little hat too! Anika makes a real effort and her parties are really lovely with the great food and the decorations and stuff. The kids there were so sweet too. Had nice chats with a few little ones. I like stuff like that. Nice friends they've got too.
My mother in law is here now too, visiting. It's good. Like having her around.
So I keep making plans - with family, with the Ladies here in Royston (the other new mums). They are coming over on Thursday and we're having a Body Shop party. Coolio. I've got us a monday morning slot exercising on the Heath with Elle Hale (she's so great). I felt so good after today's session. Sonia, one of the other mums has 2 Wednesday activities planned for us too for the next 2 weeks so we're really gonna have fun and build ourselves a nice little network.
Life's for living and I really want to live mine, it looks so good on paper.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
How to claw our way back out then .....?
I haven't been writing about my post-natal depression. Not here, not really anywhere. Have not been strong enough. Am not sure I am now, but here goes.Mostly, and above all, it really sucks, really REALLY sucks.
Knowing I have my lovely baby, my gorgeous husband, my lovely home ..... that doesn't change the depths I sink to.
I've been running on smarts since the last stages of my pregnancy. I think my way through the day, each day and still don't know how I have managed to make it through for so long.
I can't express how dark and miserable, ugly and hateful the feelings are. And yet I know women get it, women get through it, and I am strong and have got through other things in the past that have also been deeply unpleasant and hard. I don't know how I will get through it all, of course I don't - I am still IN IT, am not out yet. But my brain tells me it can be done, and I will do it.
I still want afternoons in the sunshine with Jaan.
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