So broken right now it’s almost impossible to say. The people I love are so far away from me. And they are hurting too and I am powerless to do anything about it.
I know there’s a war going on in her head, I know the war because I have fought it myself.
It’s a war where there are defectors, little skirmishes and almost everyone is a spy and saboteur. Where even the happiest of thoughts can turn traitor at a seconds notice and every battle feels like your last.
I have fought this war and I have seen this war fought countless times. And I know that it is possible to lose. I have seen people lose. I don’t want her to lose. There seems to be so much I can do and yet so little when you are not allowed in. And that is part of the war too. Feeling backed into a corner.
People you love get dragged into the war and are then told that there is nothing they can do.
By the time there is something you can do, it’s over, and it’s either been won or lost.
“And tell me would it kill you, would it really spoil everything? If you didn’t blame yourself? Do you know what I mean?” Aimee Mann- Red Vines
And so it goes on. The people who wage the war unaware or forgetting that it would be better done in the light of day, outside their treacherous brains.
You, who has an understandable impulse to help, a need to hold and love that is only stronger when the person you love in in pain, gets pushed away till it seems that all you can do is go.
But you can’t.
I bought a fit-bit.
Since exercise can have a marked effect on depression and Lucie had one and it seemed to be doing her good I decided to go for it.
http://www.health.harvard.edu/newsweek/Exercise-and-Depression-report-excerpt.htm
So far it’s been great!
I’ve been walking 10,000 steps each day. And doing weight training (which I only just started, I’m trying high rep and low weight for the first time in my life….so I’ll report how that goes) . I can’t say that there’s been a marked improvement in my mood overall yet but I would say that all signs are pointing towards that being the case.
My paranoia got a good test this week and instead of curling up in a sock draw or biting a certain persons head off or just going nuts. I talked it out, was still worried but didn’t fold. That’s a marked improvement.
Had a setback on Thursday of last week. I’m still mulling it over so I’m not going to write about it here yet but it involved my Ex. But despite being upset initially I bounced rather than broke so that’s a positive too. I think the fit-bit helped. I genuinely do.
So I’m being forced to walk, by a small yellow line that turns orange and then eventually green. Music is good, raucous music that gets you to pump along but the best is if you have someone to talk to. Lucie and I did our walk together on the weekend. That was great. I completely forgot that I needed to make steps (till my wrist buzzed) and enjoyed a semi-intellectual conversation.
In-fact the only negative of the fit-bit is the fact that it lacks a clock or any of the other things that might make it more useful to pair with my smart-phone. Ok so it’s not a smart-watch it’s not designed to be a smart-watch but seriously did ANYONE think that people would be upset if you included a clock? I keep looking at my wrist for no reason whatsoever.
At the moment I’m ignoring the competition side of things, I haven’t had it for very long and it’s a rolling cycle so anyone on my fit-bit friends list will be ahead of me no matter what. But I think I can take them. I’m already getting markedly faster at walking. And with my stride I can do distance much better than many of the people I know.
MWHAHAHHA
Soon they will all be behind me!
So the Valdroxan has been doing it’s work, but my mental health deteriorated anyway. I tried to do nothing. I tried to spend some time working on my own stuff. I don’t know maybe it was valuable but it was bloody hard. It certainly made sense of why I spend so much time doing other things. Why my calender is so full, because time to think hurts. I suppose at some point I will have to spend the time working through what I have lost. My friends, my ex, my daughter. But for now I guess I have to just keep going. The point of all this was to keep me alive. I want to do more than that. I want to be more than that but right now I’m back to that. Day by day. It is both shocking how easy and how difficult it has all been. In one way I’m surprised that after the demise of an 11 year relationship I just didn’t crumble to dust. And yet not having done so I’m surprised how hard it is to move forward. I have so much to morn. So much to work out. And yet I want to do more. Some minutes I feel capable of such, others I am not so sure. One thing is for sure. I need a good hug.
The last two days?
Not good.
Not good at all.
Things are moving again. It’s been 10 months but they are now moving.
Part of me is wondering if they are now not moving too fast.
I have thrown myself into my work that was to be expected. But I also have a band in the works (actually a very promising project if the music that’s being produced is to be believed) a show for the MICF coming up in the next year. And possibly a podcast.
This I am apparently going to be able to juggle along with social commitments and perhaps seeing a special someone.
When I was 6 or 7 I got a cold for the first time I can remember. It’s the first time I can remember actually being really sick. I was floored. I honestly didn’t know what was happening to me. I wanted to go outside and run and play but I couldn’t. I was told that I needed to rest. Cups of Ribena were dutifully provided for me and I was instructed for the first and last time I can remember to “Just watch some TV”.
A few hours later I felt better, the Ribena had done its work I thought. I still felt a bit gunky but for the most part I had energy again. I celebrated by zooming up and down the halls yelling “I’m better!!” My parents looked at me credulously. No-one recovers from a cold in an hour and a half, did they have a super child on their hands? No. After about 20 minutes of zooming I crashed again.
Right now I am revelling in creating. I am feeling better but am I feeling good enough to warrant all this activity? Am I feeling good enough to let someone in my life? Even if I think that’s what I want?
Will I crash again?
Almost certainly. But I’m not sure I know how to go slow. And I think the next crash won’t be so bad.
A three legged dog can still run it just needs to learn how.
I haven’t been here for a while, this is partly due to being busy, this is partly due to feeling better and this is partly due to not feeling like anyone was listening here. Not really a surprise, this is a self-indulgent exercise that I have told basically no-one about.
Contrary to your experiences I imagine I am not much one for complaining or at least I try not to be. If I complain I want it to be funny, interesting, not complaining for the sake of complaining but a conversation starter or a way to see beauty or what things could be like.
Valdroxan has been 1000 times better than Effexor. I’m able to function. In the 100 little ways that Effexor robbed me of. But there’s no getting away from the fact that it’s a drug that I’m putting into my system that may have consequences. OR it may not right now, it’s very hard to tell and unfortunately the people who know me best aren’t around to tell me if or how I’m different.
Or if the ways that I am starting to perceive that Valdroxan might be having an effect might be caused by something else entirely.
This is the way I’m going to express it.
You walk into a cupboard and start to go through the shelves. Now Chris no medication would just have everything laid out in front of him no problem getting to anything except in rare circumstances. Chris on effexor, all the shelves where there but they were all blurry, you’d pick something up but it wouldn’t be what you wanted so you’d have to put it back and try again, sometimes it would take four or five goes to get what you wanted and then often you had forgotten why you had come into the cupboard in the first place.
On Valdroxan the cupboard is there, the shelves are there everything is clear but sometimes you go to reach for something and the shelf that you are reaching for is just gone. So you quickly grab something else to cover or you flub your lines totally.
At yum-cha on Saturday Louise said “That’s the trouble everything is going fine and then I get distracted by the tentacles”
My immediate response was to say “It’s surprising how often I’m saying that these days”.
I knew that’s what I wanted to say, but then 15 versions started to converge at once. “I often say that myself”, “It’s amazing how often tentacles are the answer”.
“If manga is anything to go by this is an even bigger problem in Japan”, “Good thing your not a squid really”.
Now normally I would have already thought of these and filtered the what I considered to be the best one and would be saying that but having them come along when I was talking was confusing and I completely ruined the line. “I erm….um….squid….thing…yes…I end up saying that a lot……..japan!”
Now everyone was nice and polite and no-one called me out and told me to do it again but it was distressing.
The problem is that I don’t know if it’s the Valdroxan at all. It may well not be. It could be that I’m overworked. I’m constantly demanding that I be creative and on the ball particularly at work I’m still recovering from Trauma that knocked me for 6 and I could really use a holiday or something that I haven’t yet taken. This is also a symptom of just being tired. I might just be exhausted. Because it’s not just work I also work and push myself to write other things. Letters, a book, little ideas, push, push, push and these have to be brilliant as well or else what’s the fucking point?
Now this is a single example and it’s not really that bad as far as things go. Lots of people say things that don’t quite make sense. But normally I also have the fortitde to cover with something like “ugh….I screwed that up” or “You’ll have to excuse me there’s a tongue in my mouth”, or “oh dear…out of words…time to eat another dictionary”.
But the thing that’s worrying me is that I am finding it hard to reach for ad absurdam metaphors or ridiculous little vignettes for situations that I found funny.
This is distressing as these are my bread and butter. It sound silly but these keep me sane.
Perhaps I need exercise and to listen to classical music and to eat better. All three in concert have been proven to be as effective as anti-depressants.
And of course your going well this is all Petite beer. So what? Evidence of arrogance. Chris complaining because he has to slum it with the rest of us.
Maybe your right. But I don’t have a lot right now. Losing the things that I have would be a deal-breaker.
IT is strange, I remember clearly days when I was a hairs breadth from ending it all and getting out.
Days of boredom, days of sadness, dog days when I felt angry and frustrated that it was still going on and I wanted it to finish. “If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well. It were done quickly” would think and then something would always stop me. I always gave one more chance.
And yet now I can think of little but wish that I were back there.
It’s not unsurprising. No-one likes rejection and lets face it she has created a confusing environment. She likes me, she wants me she wants to keep seeing me. But then no. Then she is worried about me. Then she tells people off, supposedly protecting me. Then I find that in the last 2 years of our relationship she posted ads on kink and fetish websites. And of course I’m the bad guy. Somehow. And yes she would explain….except now she won’t and the only messages that she will entertain will be about our daughter.
Why am I surrounded by people who are both confused and confusing? Why can’t we just admit that it hurts, it’s strange, it’s probably unnatural and that there were faults on both sides that neither of us were perfect and that we are sorry and take things from there. I’m not suggesting a relationship or resumption but perhaps a friendship something to show to our daughter and say “look! This is how adults behave” instead of this confusing miasma of mess that we course through each week. And I think I’m a patient, nice guy but I just want to hurt her for this week. You know what? I don’t really care what you get up to or got up to but frankly your hypocrisy is reaching explosive levels and I’m over it. And yeah I’d love a freaking explanation for what the hell went on whilst we were together when supposedly we were exclusive. And why you never told me about it. And if you say you’re going to do something fucking do it.
And then lets remember that you were the one that gave up on me. That you walked away when it all got too hard. So why make everything harder? More confusing?
Fuck off. I can’t deal with it anymore. I shall just ignore any more changes in the weather that I experience. If things thaw I shall go on as if they were frozen. If things freeze again then I shall at least be dressed appropriately. I can’t say that love you but I miss my friend. I wish she were here.
Perhaps if I were aware of longer time scales. Perhaps if my life weren’t so short I would be more forgiving and more patient. But it’s not. I’m 37 and it seems like the last 37 years has just evaporated into my fallible memories and recollections that may or may not have happened just as I remember them.
Memory is a terrible and wonderful thing; each recollection is an act of creation not retrieval. Perhaps that’s why people get swept up in nostalgia, the desire for a shared memory, reinforcing their own.
In soviet Russia nostalgia was considered a mental illness, the pining for times that no longer or may never have existed. It interfered with the living in the now and perhaps it does. But a little nostalgia now and then does nothing but spice the present and put it in perspective so long as your nostalgia doesn’t degenerate into pessimism.
Something hard to control I agree.
It’s easy to think that things in the past were better.
Natural.
Things were better for me when I was a child. I had no responsibilities. My whims were catered for to a certain extent and the periods of suffering I had to endure where not only short but with the benefit of perspective I can see that they were trivialities compared to the burdens of being a grown up with the weight of years on my shoulders. Those shoulders carry guilt, worry, regret, sorrow and the pain of unfulfilled expectation both from myself and others. The pain of knowing just how far short of perfection I have fallen. I was not free as a child do to as I wished but whilst I have been set free from other’s whims I am now a prisoner of myself and the societal expectations that I strive to live up to everyday.
It is strange what we forget and what we remember.
I remember without the attached emotion the anxiety of homesickness attached to the school camps that I went on and yet those memoires are cherished as some of the best of my school days. Whereas some drab days that had little terror or fear attached to them are reviled in my memory.
I remember learning the guitar to be something of a chore but now the feeling of accomplishment I have now outweighs that and has turned the memory into one of joy.
Effexor robbed me of my memory and my motivation, but was an effective mood stabiliser. I didn’t want to commit suicide because I couldn’t concentrate long enough to think about why I might want to nor could I feel much of anything. I’m not suggesting that this is how it was supposed to work or how it works for everyone. My ex was on Effexor for 4 years and somehow managed to remember every single thing I did wrong in the course of our relationship. So clearly memory doesn’t have to be effected.
So how is 12.5 milligrams of Valdoxan per day treating me?
Pretty well actually. My initially light-headedness which I incorrectly and rather fuzzily identified as dizziness which was pretty bad has faded and is no longer a constant thing. I occasionally get periods where I need to sit down and I can feel the blood coursing through my body which is an unpleasant sensation but they are less frequent all the time.
Is it perfect? No it’s not. Am I all better? Um…no.
I feel maudlin, which is a step up from suicidal and a step away from sitting in a café wearing a turtle neck and writing about existentialism. It’s a fuck load better than struggling to string a sentence together and not being able to cum though.
Part of me wants to go “Well it’s not perfect….maybe I should try something else”
Another part of me says “Are you fucking mad?”
The problem for the depressed is that there’s often wash out time from one medication to another so there’s time when you are coming down from one and then uptake time to another.
If you are lucky and I mean REALLY lucky that time will be a month. Most likely two months.
These aren’t shoes that you are trying on, this is your brain chemistry that you are altering. I never before appreciated that.
My thought was “ok, medication is needed, go try it, sure it might not work but you get to try more afterwards”
This blunt assessment might still be logically sound. After all medication is in any case a better alternative than suicide. I won’t argue that. Suicide somewhat ends the conversation and allows for nothing to change afterwards. There is at least the hope that at some point you will get off the medication. However the sense of not being in control, the frustration at not being 100%, being unable to carry out the simplest tasks without REALLY thinking about them……the knowledge that I had done this to myself…..
It’s not just that this wasn’t pleasant. It was inescapable. It was like being stoned 24/7 and unable to detox.
The only thing to be said for it is that I believe it saved my life and that ain’t nothing.
But it wasn’t a pleasant experience. But who was to know? I don’t blame the doctor. When you are prescribing you might prescribe what you think will work, you might prescribe what you have a bias for, for whatever reason. But with anti-depressants it really is a crap shot.
But here we get to an idea whose time has come again. I know that if I were to go back to clinical psych now knowing what I know or get my psychiatry degree or become an MD and were actually able to prescribe these drugs my attitude would be irrevocably changed having now gone through this rollercoaster. Marcel Proust advocated that it would be not merely impractical but a bad idea to go to a surgeon who himself had not experienced surgery. That the sympathy of going through the experience changes your reaction when others go through it. It produces a visceral reaction rather than a theoretical one.
But my life is now more or less back on, if not an even keel a keel that I can live with. So the question is, now that I have chosen to live. HOW do I live? How do I best get by on scraps of love and affection provided by Lucie, the coldness and strangeness of my ex, with whom I am forced unnaturally into a relationship with since we have a daughter.
Life is here. How to live it?
This is part of a question that I want to explore in the next few posts.
Ok so weekend with Lucie went fine.
At first it was a little difficulty as I was light headed and trying not to show it. And she was cagey, this was a side effect of her feeling like crap for the last couple of weeks. But we went and had dinner in the second finest restaurant in Bendigo (the first was all booked up) and it was pretty nice actually. But although I had scrupulously planned my weekend (because I knew that I wasn’t completely out of the clutches of Effexor and I needed too) and everything went smoothly. IE: I remembered her valentine’s day/birthday present (Ms Fisher Murder Mysteries on DVD, a mixed tape and a car with a picture of a Goat on it…don’t ask..). I remembered to make a booking at a restaurant, I remembered to get fuel and I embarrassingly forgot my wallet. Oh great.
However this was nothing in the grand scheme of things. Poor Lucie was struggling to keep it together and I didn’t know what to do. Must learn that when she is upset she does not like to be hugged or touched…except when she does….not the easiest person to comfort if I’m honest…..
Saturday morning and lucie had a “doctors” appointment which she was reluctant to tell me about. It turned out later that the reason she was reluctant to tell me about it was because it was for a Natropath and she was embarrassed. Her mother had cajoled her into going because it had apparently worked for her…although what had and how and when were not forthcoming. I thought she didn’t think I would approve. She was right but I wasn’t about to get upset at her or be mad at her…….like she was at me for taking Effexor….hummmm beginning to see a pattern.
In any case she came back, declared it all bullshit but said she would try it anyway. I’m not really there enough to judge properly but I truly think that what she perceives as not coping would be classified as coping for other people but she is just so freaking hard on herself. That it looks like not coping to her. Therein lies the true problem, somewhere in Lucie is a part of her that hates herself. Truly. That thinks she does not deserve anything but hell on earth for whatever imagined crimes she persists in believe she has committed.
I’m not like that. My depression comes from a different place.
In any case I busied myself whilst she was away helping her dad renovate a barn. I didn’t think I’d be able to do it but turns out it went just fine.
Then lucie and I had a nap and revelled in the benefits of medication that has no effect on my libido.
Then we went to a board games night. And that was fine. And yet when I returned home I felt lightheaded and overwhelmed again. *sigh*
All Significant battles 