We apologise for the radio silence

At least it hasn't been the static that was in On The Beach (Nevil Shute - very good, very depressing.  Try his Round The Bend instead for something less bleak).

It has indeed been a time of limitations.  A slide back into chronic fatigue and all the fun stuff that goes with it.  Debilitating lassitude.  Sleeping inordinate amounts.  Thinking (irrationally) that I should not have wished for being sick enough to not work, but well enough to vege out and watch some of the DVD collection.  As it turns out, no DVDs have been watched - it just hit the too hard basket - after all, it does require a certain amount of concentration and that just wasn't on the menu!  Being grateful that Best Beloved was feeding the animals and preparing our meals as well, because even trying to think about what to cook was beyond my abilities.

Socialising has been pretty much off the cards, as have phone calls, so email is a boon.  Getting over the guilt of saying "no, I can't".  Slowly improving but constantly aghast at just how little I could do.  Then my brain finally starting to work again and OH the bliss of being able to read properly again!  It transpires that I am seriously lacking in light and fluffy reading, particularly of the short variety.  Even short stories by PG Wodehouse were not viable for quite some time.

Consequently, the reading list to the right is missing rather a lot of entries - I've mislaid the paper list, will add them as they come to mind.  Must say, it is fascinating to consider what reading reflects about someone and their context (awkward phrasing, will edit if I can come up with the right words).

Cancelled obedience training with Miss Molly - who turned one yesterday.  She really is such a sweet dog and extraordinarily companionable.  We've done lots of afternoon naps together over the last few months.

I still have my sense of humour and the lovely doctors at the clinic that I go to have commented on that.  They have been brilliantly understanding and accepting and that is such a huge thing. As with depression, it is such a relief to have it, this loathed part of my life, validated.  Still have to do the diagnostic rule outs, but at least for this I don't get ask if I'm suicidal.  So strange, the first major bouts of depression I was never asked that and I was suicidal.  The last few, I've not been and I've had that question.  I suppose it's indicative of progress in the broader community, so that is A Good Thing. I'm doing fortnightly appointments and constantly assessing how I'm feeling.  There have been a few bleak episodes when my brain is decidedly impatient with how badly my body is coping and I've felt mentally rumpled and adrift, unable to settle to anything. There's been the odd day where I've actually felt pretty good and wondered if I was malingering - overdid it and had to do a mental slap up the side of the head "NO, you are not!".  By and large though, I know that fretting is just a waste of energy - and since I've got limited amounts of that, I'm not wasting it :)

I'm sort of back at work - incredibly fortunate that most of what I do can be done via a remote connection, so getting some hours in and pacing myself.  Management have been supportive (well, they haven't complained so that definitely counts).  The pacing is difficult and part of the constant assessment - I want to do more, do what I usually can.  But when I've attempted that, it plain hasn't worked, so it's rest, back off, then start up again slowly.  I'm aiming for doing my (doctor) approved hours and then having energy to do a gentle walk with one of the dogs (up the reserve to just past the electricity substation and back - a whole kilometre), prepare dinner and be up for something resembling intelligent conversation with the spouse. And be able to continue doing it.  When I can do that for a fortnight, creep the time up at work a bit more.  The hope is to be back at work full-time in May.  While I'm loving the quiet house, I miss my colleagues, ratbags that they are!

Which for CFS is pretty damn good.  It needs to be said that my experience of CFS is very much at the better end of the spectrum.  For some people it can be completely disabling for years.  I am so lucky that each time I've been able to pull out of it within months.  I have to sleep enough.  I'm positive that eating predominantly fresh, organic food makes a difference - at least for me.  I know I'm vulnerable to these episodes, so I have to manage them (oh good, just like the depression).

I'm going to have to recall the warning signs, figure out how to mitigate those circumstances and come up with a tune that our household can play to...

Hello darkness my old friend

I've come to talk to you again...

Actually, this time, the title was easy.  Getting around to writing the post has been the hard bit.  I am already over this year.  Have been to the GP and will have a raft of blood tests to rule out anything exciting.  But - first steps.  And both she and Bruce are aware that a relapse of CFS is one of my worst nightmares.

I do know the tiredness feels different to when it's depression-related.  And I did one of the little "how do you feel" tests which my lovely GP said was almost normal.  Hear that, I'm almost normal!!!!  Wowsers, it's been a long time coming!

I am so BLOODY TIRED!  And tired of being tired.  Knackered from a few hours work.  Needing a nap most days.  I've been struggling through, getting through the work day, managing the basics of keeping the household running, some blog reading and it feels like that's it.

Then the excitement of last week.  Spouse has had a mix of blepharitis and conjunctivitis.  Yucky and painful.  Winston and Fearghus had a fight over the top of me (I was fetching an apple out from under the kitchen dresser) and I got bitten on a forearm.  Both dogs deeply mortified.  Despite being well flushed out, an infection, fever, cramping muscles, possible reaction to tetanus shot.  Heavy duty antibiotics and their delightful side-effects.  Combination of all these has not helped.

Still struggling not to re-order the plates that Best Beloved put back in the pantry this morning.  This is me staring down one of my obsessive tendencies.  I know it's a waste of time and energy, now to convince my head of this as well.

Anyone got some spare energy?

Absence

Best Beloved asked last night if I'd written anything on The Blog recently.  And got his nose snapped off, because I haven't and I feel guilty and I feel so so tired.  And it felt like a "why haven't you done your homework?" type of question...

I'm back to my principal conundrums - how do I make time for myself and how do I stop being so damned tired?

Last one first.  I am terrified of going down with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome again.  That was a long hard time and I don't ever want to feel so perpetually exhausted again.  So I must remember to listen to my body more, be aware of my mood and mind.  Rest when I need to, even if it means that I'm napping every afternoon of my holidays and weekends. And (big breath) minimise socialising.  Not that I do a lot of it (quite the reverse) but when I'm tired, anything is too much and becomes a cause of resentment rather than an enjoyable event.  It's a bit of a balancing act because friends and family are important to me and I don't like feeling I've let them down.  For the rest - eating and drinking sensibly, some exercise, the necessary supplements (kelp's a big one) - they're a given.

But making time for myself - well, start here.  Keep decluttering the house (which is basically disposing of what we don't use and/or love, emptying cupboards,boxes and trunks) because possessions, even when you love them, do weigh you down.  Think about how I can simplify the running of the household (which may mean letting go of some things - a real challenge for me, being someone who is very set in her ways).  And set aside weekend time that is chore and commitment-free, regardless of what remains undone.

Sound like a plan?

What is learning?

A recent read has been "The White Goddess" by Robert Graves.  Unusually, it took me a long time to read it.

I read quickly, devouring books, greedy and delighting in them.  But there are some that I have to really work on and not because they are badly written.  Far from it.  But because the books are dense with meaning and background and demand intellectual attention and stretching.  The White Goddess was one such.  Anything by Roberto Calasso has the same quality.  Two intelligent and thoughtful men, and I have to work hard to follow their thoughts as they work them out across the pages.  Deeply satisfying.

Neil Gaiman, Spider Robinson, Tanith Lee - equally referential, much lighter reading, equally satisfying, just not as demanding, possibly because it's fiction.  But then, all writing is ultimately about the human condition.

How much what is implicit as common knowledge changes over the years.
This got me thinking about how knowledge and learning are considered these days.  A Renaissance man (and they were generally men) might be rich with a library of a few hundred books, knowing each of them intimately.  These days, knowledge seems to be valued more when it is specialised, and there are fewer generalists, less recognition that an overview, a broad knowledge, has merit in itself.

And this totally ignores manual skills, which can be every bit as demanding as intellectual.

Not sure if there is a point to this post.... except I am constantly intrigued

Depression

When the Black Dog bites....

I am no longer aware when my reactions are extreme or way unbalanced.  "Normal" changes, and my normal becomes really very strange, very isolated, very bleak.  Self-feeding problem - I think I and my problems are worth nothing, so do not feel it right to trouble others, to seek help.  Because I am not worth it.  There is short term, emergency support if I am at risk of hurting myself or others.  Nothing for medium to long term.  There is no shame in having depression, but there is a lot of difficulty asking for help, getting help, particularly as I am a high functioning depressive and the mental health system is frighteningly stretched.

.....


I've started, re-started, deleted, started this post anew.  I'm posting it this time.  The words may never be right, there may be no coherent structure, but here goes.

I am 45.
I have a Bachelor's degree with Honours.
I am a good cook.
I have a dodgy back.
I have supported myself from the age of 21.
I have depression.
I have a comfortable house filled with things that have meaning for me.
I have three dogs, all different breeds, all quite wonderful.
I garden, teaching myself as I go.
I have a loving husband whom I adore.

I do not want to be defined by my illness - that is only one part of me.  But it does flavour my life.  It could be said to be under control, I am on Effexor XR, low dosage.  Coming off it is not an option.  I tried, did without for some months, but a difficult boss at work triggered another episode and when I realised that I was thinking about crashing a car a bit too frequently, when I caught myself scratching hard enough to draw blood, to make the internal pain external, well, that made going back on a no-brainer.

There is a predisposition to depression on both sides of my family.  My first conscious awareness of being depressed was when I was 17.  I tried to kill myself and failed (oh great, you are such a loser, you can't even do that..).  That lasted several years - through most of my time at university in fact.  I saw a psychiatrist for a year, that got me functional, and some very good friends kept me alive and gave me hope.  They looked after me - specifically Dylan, Margaret and Sammi - you were the main ones and I cannot thank you enough.

A couple of breakdowns from overwork (IT is fascinating, IT is demanding).  Several long-term boyfriends.  Then a series of poor bosses, culminating in a truly atrocious one (now inflicting damage elsewhere).  And I started going into deep depression and I couldn't stop.

I slept.  I couldn't laugh, could barely smile.  With a few exceptions, I couldn't talk to people face to face, over the phone.  I could barely manage email.  Things like driving became too hard if there was any one else on the road.  I got panic attacks amongst people, hyperventilating, crying, ready to scream, batter them out of my way as I ran out, trembling.  No, I can't go to the Farmers' Markets anymore.

It took far too long for me to get help. None came from the workplace until I sought it, but the therapist they referred me to and the rehab worker were brilliant.  They supported me and helped me work through the mess in my head, gave me tools to use, information to read.  They listened and kept talking until something made sense to me.  I worked from home for some months, slowly going full-time again.  My doctor was truly supportive, gave me the time needed in appointments, the time off from work needed so I could sleep, worked me through medications until that was settled.  A couple of close friends who also have depression - we checked up on each other most mornings, long phone calls that reassured us that we were still in our heads and that someone else truly understood.  Black humour, shared strategies, shared stories.

Wanting to die - I'm still not sure if it was about wanting to be dead, or wanting the pain and bleakness to be over.

The Bleaks.  When it was much as I coudl do to get up, shower, dress, feed the animals, feed myself, get through the motions of living.  I remain amazed that I was generally able to function at a high level (okay, not my social skills, they were spectactularly absent), able to keep going in public and fall apart mostly at home.  Grey, unending.

For a long time, I didn't articulate at work where my head was, but I also never hid it.  I might be managing. I might be sitting at my desk, working through a problem, tears streaming down my face.  I might have run out of the building and hid for a while in the trees until I could face things again.

Outcome - there are side-effects from the meds, but I can live with them more easily than not being medicated.  I get tired easily and need to sleep.  I prefer small groups of people and very little socialising.  My concentration is shot and my memory is more erratic than it used to be.  My tolerance of noise is very low.  This makes being amongst people tiring.  But I can smile, I can laugh, I can enjoy my life.  Those are not small things.

Indulge me...

...and forgive the blurring, this is my happy snaps camera (I still prefer film when I'm really playing with the camera).

.

Winston and Fearghus, wrestling.

Truly.  This is them at play.

I didn't get the next section, which involves them thundering across the deck, up the yard and back again.  In about 10 seconds flat.

All you can do is flatten up against a wall and enjoy!

Life in binary

...or maybe not.  Hello all you zeros and ones.  I have been somewhat bored and lacking in motivation - quite why, I'm not sure.  Actually, I suspect it is simply a reaction to being constantly "on" and trying to get things done in specific time frames.  I caught myself calculating when I can retire (9 years and 9 months, or thereabouts).  I am so tired of doing, I escape into reading about doing, which is just another way of procrastinating.

I could list all the things I've done, all the things I plan to do over the next few weeks (oh yes, another data centre shutdown, weeeeeeeeeee!) but that's just lists.  Busyness.  I will make an exception though, I've been doing an evening course called "Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life".  Guided group discussion that reflects on where we've been and where we're going.  Deceptively simple questions like "who are you", "what matters to you", "what are your spiritual beliefs, if you have any".

There is no right answer, there is no wrong answer, there is only what is and a chance to reflect on it, to discuss it, to challenge it - all heading towards a better understanding of what makes each one of us tick in our own ways and what we really want.  I have nothing Big on my bucket list.  No travel, no exciting experience.  If I had one year of life left, I would quit work and spend time with the people I love, my animals, my books and garden.  I would make sure that particular items went where I wanted them to (family heirlooms and all that).  This assumes I have reasonable health for that time.

Modest wants, and thoroughly selfish in a very good way.

By asking myself how I would live those 12 months, I have the chance to really focus on what is truly important to me.  Then I can start thinking about how I make those things more central in my life.

So there will be a discussion with Best Beloved on how we split the household chores, I've asked for formal permission to work one day a fortnight from home.  That's a start.