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| L-R: Winston, Weilan, Rosie |
Dogs. They drive you nuts, they keep you sane.
Tuesday, November 20, 2018
Howling into the ether
Bluntly, it has been a tiring, difficult time. The ME/CFS has decided to go co-morbid with fibromyalgia. Strains in marriage from poor coping mechanisms learned in childhood (on both sides. Couples counselling and concerted efforts and we're back on track - but still...). Stresses from work. Dementia crumbling down my mother-in-law and the huge stress that has put on all her children. An unexpected trigger that pushed me into panic attacks, minor self-harm, obsessive thinking and a period of severe depression - probably as bad as I've ever had.
Depression has been sitting heavily on me and there has been medication, time off work and EMDR sessions with the psychologist. Nothing quite like sitting with your very worst emotional memories.
Exhausting and emotionally draining. Bibiliotherapy in the form of different texts (some extremely confronting, possible only in small doses with my head in the right place - else I spiral downwards yet again), and also much fiction. Because I keep coming back to the fact that all writing is about the human condition, and I'm driven by the need to understand, so I'm going through stories that deal with abandonment, with not feeling good enough despite all evidence to the contrary, with learning how to interact with others, with redemption, with change, with growth. So I am (painfully and) slowly teasing out past and present behaviours and patterns in the hope that next time depression bites (and it will), it will not be as savage, nor take as long to dislodge.
Depression has been sitting heavily on me and there has been medication, time off work and EMDR sessions with the psychologist. Nothing quite like sitting with your very worst emotional memories.
Fuseli's The Nightmare, via Wikipedia
Exhausting and emotionally draining. Bibiliotherapy in the form of different texts (some extremely confronting, possible only in small doses with my head in the right place - else I spiral downwards yet again), and also much fiction. Because I keep coming back to the fact that all writing is about the human condition, and I'm driven by the need to understand, so I'm going through stories that deal with abandonment, with not feeling good enough despite all evidence to the contrary, with learning how to interact with others, with redemption, with change, with growth. So I am (painfully and) slowly teasing out past and present behaviours and patterns in the hope that next time depression bites (and it will), it will not be as savage, nor take as long to dislodge.
Shifting (EMDR)
The transformation
takes time.
It’s not smooth,
or simple, or logical,
rather,
turbulence as
memories (forms) are consciously revisited
examined
felt.
Then awareness of
a slow settling
(changing sinews
and muscles)
as basic
structures re-form.
No shape shifts
without structural change.
Friday, June 1, 2018
Depression
Self evident statement - depression is bleak and horrible and painful.
Possibly not so self-evident - the worst of this particular bout has passed, as I'm able to start writing again. And the voice that tells me that being dead is preferable is once again quiet in the background rather than yelling constantly in the forefront of my mind.
The last couple of years have been hard. There's been a lot of self-examination, under the guidance of my psychologist. There has been EMDR therapy, which was devastating at the time, but ultimately helpful (do you really want to sit with your worst emotional memories? Yeah, thought not). Untold amounts of self-loathing and pain (actualising it provides temporary relief). Rather a lot of crying. Far too much pulling back from everyone because it was too much effort, unable to articulate the pain, unable to think I was worth caring about. Which means, yes, there was relationship counselling as well. It was oddly easier to talk about problems with a mediator to keep us on track.
Side comment - good therapists (of all sorts) are worth their weight in musgravites. Huge thank you to my people. As are friends who check in on you. You've help keep me going. As is someone who is willing to work on a relationship, and help their partner manage severe depression, fibromyalgia and ME/CFS, whilst also doing a stressful job and being responsible for a mother with dementia. Love you, babe.
A bit more family history found. It was surprisingly helpful to be able to consider my family tree and find some of the depressives, those who attempted suicide and those who were successful at it. It's not just me. There is generational trauma, and C-PTSD, and an increasingly crazy and intolerant world (lots of advances, but still a lot of pressure to meet societal norms).
Getting the dosage of my meds right (and getting the right meds). Much better options than there were 35 years ago when I should have first been prescribed them.
Drawing a line on this, most recent, bout of depression has meant an emergency plan for next time it descends (saved to our home NAS, shared data drive, my folder). It's also meant the first tattoo in over 20 years - simple line work depicting moon phases - an elemental image to remind me "this too shall pass", grounding me.
Possibly not so self-evident - the worst of this particular bout has passed, as I'm able to start writing again. And the voice that tells me that being dead is preferable is once again quiet in the background rather than yelling constantly in the forefront of my mind.
The last couple of years have been hard. There's been a lot of self-examination, under the guidance of my psychologist. There has been EMDR therapy, which was devastating at the time, but ultimately helpful (do you really want to sit with your worst emotional memories? Yeah, thought not). Untold amounts of self-loathing and pain (actualising it provides temporary relief). Rather a lot of crying. Far too much pulling back from everyone because it was too much effort, unable to articulate the pain, unable to think I was worth caring about. Which means, yes, there was relationship counselling as well. It was oddly easier to talk about problems with a mediator to keep us on track.
Side comment - good therapists (of all sorts) are worth their weight in musgravites. Huge thank you to my people. As are friends who check in on you. You've help keep me going. As is someone who is willing to work on a relationship, and help their partner manage severe depression, fibromyalgia and ME/CFS, whilst also doing a stressful job and being responsible for a mother with dementia. Love you, babe.
A bit more family history found. It was surprisingly helpful to be able to consider my family tree and find some of the depressives, those who attempted suicide and those who were successful at it. It's not just me. There is generational trauma, and C-PTSD, and an increasingly crazy and intolerant world (lots of advances, but still a lot of pressure to meet societal norms).
Getting the dosage of my meds right (and getting the right meds). Much better options than there were 35 years ago when I should have first been prescribed them.
Drawing a line on this, most recent, bout of depression has meant an emergency plan for next time it descends (saved to our home NAS, shared data drive, my folder). It's also meant the first tattoo in over 20 years - simple line work depicting moon phases - an elemental image to remind me "this too shall pass", grounding me.
Thursday, January 4, 2018
e.e cummings
silently if, out of not knowable
night’s utmost nothing, wanders a little guess
(only which is this world) more of my life does
not leap than with the mystery your smile
sings or if (spiraling as luminous
they climb oblivion) voices who are dreams,
less into heaven certainly earth swims
than each my deeper death becomes your kiss
losing through you what seemed myself;i find
selves unimaginably mine;beyond
sorrow’s own joys and hoping’s very fears
yours is the light by which my spirit’s born:
yours is the darkness of my soul’s return
–you are my sun,my moon,and all my stars
night’s utmost nothing, wanders a little guess
(only which is this world) more of my life does
not leap than with the mystery your smile
sings or if (spiraling as luminous
they climb oblivion) voices who are dreams,
less into heaven certainly earth swims
than each my deeper death becomes your kiss
losing through you what seemed myself;i find
selves unimaginably mine;beyond
sorrow’s own joys and hoping’s very fears
yours is the light by which my spirit’s born:
yours is the darkness of my soul’s return
–you are my sun,my moon,and all my stars
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