Sunday 29 September 2013

Confession Time

I have a confession to make. I decided I should make it now, whilst I don't have many (any) readers and it's less terrifying.

Acer

I suffer from depression. That's not a bad mood, or a sad mood, or any kind of mood. It's a mental health condition. It's an illness. It's chronic, and it doesn't go away. Sometimes it's "in remission" and sometimes it's crippling.

I went to my doctor a few years ago whilst I was working at an office in London, concerned about my lack of sleep, my poor appetite, my unruly digestive system, my fatigue and my general sense of dread about life. I'd actually gone to see her about something else entirely, and added on a nervous question about stress as an afterthought.

"I wanted to ask you about managing stress," I said as she scribbled me a prescription for something else. "I mean... I'm not..."

I burst into tears. She offered me a box of the finest in NHS-funded flimsy tissues.

I was lucky that my GP was so kind and attentive and listened to my garbled sob story (literally) as I tried to explain that I couldn't get up in the mornings, that I felt like an observer in life, that my guts were churning over every single worry and fear I could think of, and that I was thinking of a lot of them lately.

She smiled sympathetically and said, "I don't think it's stress that we need to address here. I think it's your very obviously low mood."

Low mood. That's how the medical profession label it to start with. It sounds innocuous enough, as if it's just a little deflated and needs some air. My GP offered me antidepressants, although even she admitted they were little more than a chemical scratch for an itching sore, which I declined for exactly that reason. If my mood was low, I needed to find out why, and I needed to fix that.

She gave me a leaflet for a counselling service which had a sliding scale of fees depending on your income, and suggested they would be better than NHS therapy which would only be a few sessions, and likely wouldn't be of much use in managing a long-term condition like mine.

I went to weekly therapy for six months back in 2012. If anything, it gave me a morning off work once a week, and a place to go and say things that I thought were too idiotic to say to my friends and family. For the first few weeks I would sit and cry and talk about how I couldn't stop crying even though I didn't know why I was doing it. After that I began to struggle a little with what I wanted to say.

That's the problem with depression. It isn't about anything. I wasn't sad. I wasn't angry. I wasn't frustrated or tired or embarrassed. I wasn't anything. I felt like a big void was inside me, and I was drifting through each day just hoping to make it to bed so I could at least be unconscious for a few hours and not have to think about how empty and useless I felt.

Then I met Cowboy and my life changed direction entirely, and my demons took a pretty decent break. I no longer had the office drudgery, I lived somewhere new and quiet and pretty, and I met a whole new bunch of people. Gosh, I even had some fun.

In January and February this year, I had some low days. I had days when I couldn't get out of bed - I just couldn't do it. I hid away from people, convinced they didn't want to see me anyway, and certain that if I saw them, I'd only make the emptiness worse.

I still get those days sometimes, and I've noticed them sneaking back in more and more since I've come home from America. I need to take a stand, and writing this post is part of it.

A young man on my course took his own life over the summer, having battled his demons for some time. His counsellor came to speak to us to explain how good he had been at recognising his low moods and suicidal thoughts, and how diligent he had been at seeking help. It made me realise that I am no good at seeking help when I need it.

It feels like a failure to admit that I am in a place where I can't help myself, where I can't just snap out of it and get on with it. Even though I am one of the millions of people enduring the long battle with depression, I am all too quick to pass judgement about it, and deny myself the help I need.

Not any more. This week, I'll be going back to therapy.

Friday 27 September 2013

Adjusting

I have scurried back to the Oxfordshire countryside for the weekend, trying to stay away from the bright lights of London and get my body clock back on Greenwich Mean Time. I've experienced a double-dip jet lag coming home, where I thought I had it conquered by Tuesday, but overslept until noon on Wednesday, and still struggling to go to sleep at night time and wake up at day time.

Cowboy is doing his best to help. At 7.30am this morning, he spammed my phone with messages:

You awake yet?
Wake up woman ;)
It's morning
Rise and shine
Wake up!!!!!!
Quit sleeping!!!!
Do I need to come pull the covers off you?

It took seven messages to rouse me from my dream, in which I was receiving messages from him telling me to search for something on Youtube but I didn't understand what it was I should be searching for. I was a little confused when I eventually came to.

I'm currently enjoying the wonders of... compression! That is tubigrip from my left ankle all the way up to above my knee. Swelling from my torn knee ligaments (long story) was apparently pooling in my calf and behind my knee, and needs to be encouraged to get out of there. I tend to view it as a nice excuse to put my feet up for a few more days.

I started to sort through my photos from Washington and Montana, and immediately began pining for my trip.
Stillwater Creek

Doesn't seem like that long ago that I was sitting with my feet up, a cup of tea and a good book, with this glorious sight spread before me.

So it's only natural that, upon returning to London and to university, stricken with jet lag and PMT, my first impulse is to hide in my dad's man cave and research preserving jars. The adjustment phase is an interesting journey.

Tuesday 24 September 2013

Returned

I've been returned to London. Cowboy drove me from the US, over the Canadian border (much, much easier than driving into the US from Canada) and to the airport where I picked up the long flight home.

After a day in the Oxfordshire countryside, I drove back to my home in London. London had a distinctly autumnal smell to it in the dark and chilly night air. Before too long I'll be wearing a scarf and my sheepskin boots again, watching fireworks and drinking vast amounts of tea just to keep warm.

But not yet. First, I spent a jet lagged afternoon in my parents' garden, which couldn't be more shamelessly English if it tried.
Untitled

English country garden

Then this morning, I returned to university. With jet lag so severe that I thought I was going to vomit, faint, and die, I sat through several pointless lectures introducing us to year 2, and slept through one actually useful lecture about something I will need to know in the future (lumbar spine dysfunction).

Whilst away in America, I had various adventures and learning experiences which I will share in due course, but the most foolish thing I did out there was to buy something that literally eats money... But she's so very pretty...

I just love to watch him ride. #sunshine #horse #cowboy #summer

This is Sunshine, she's a 4 year old quarter horse mare with no breeding or papers to speak of. She's not worth much money, and she came to us with a little too much jiggle in her jig, having been living the easy life for a while. Cowboy loves her. He's turning her into a dream horse.

I get to deal with the sleeplessness and the jet lag for the next few days. Funny thing about the insomnia - it's not because I'm not tired. It's because it's too quiet. I imagined I'd be glad to have the whole bed to myself and not have to endure Cowboy snoring down my ear, but the reality is I miss the sound of him being there. I miss his warm, solid presence. At night I feel exposed and alone without him.

"I ain't sleepin' for sh*t right now," he said over the phone yesterday, which is Cowboy code for: he feels the same way.

He's coming over to England for Christmas, just as soon as he gets his dates worked out with his bosses and I can book his tickets. It's exciting beyond measure.

Thursday 5 September 2013

Powerless

Sometimes in life, we are powerless. The media and marketing moguls would have us believe that we can have anything, do anything, be anything, any time that we want (provided we can pay for it, of course), but the reality is that some things are just the way they are and there isn't much to be done.

As I lay awake last night until around 6am, fretting that I wasn't sleeping at the correct time and agonising over how this would ruin the rest of my entire life, I eventually shrugged and said to myself, "So, you're wide awake. You'll catch up eventually. Just be awake, then." Of course, the moment I let go of the angst I had pinned to my insomnia, I fell asleep.

I have an exam scheduled for tomorrow morning, which I'd very much like to have done already so that I can get on with my life without having to think about it, but there is nothing I can buy that will make the exam move, or make time go quicker. I could sit and fret, or I could sit and wait. Either will work, but one is more stressful than the other.

This morning, I heard from Cowboy that one of his employers doesn't think he's pulling his weight - opinions are like arseholes: everybody has one - and I get very defensive about him when people put him down. He doesn't deserve it, he works harder than anybody I've ever met, often for difficult people, and I am the only lucky soul who gets the brunt of his frustrations. There is nothing I can do about this, though. I can't snap my fingers and make people change their minds, nor can I magically whisk up the money and wherewithal to get him out of this job and in to a well-equipped ranch of his own so he can work for himself. Right now, I can't even give him a kiss and rub his aching back.

Powerlessness is an uncomfortable feeling, and many people would demand to try everything possible to avoid it. Some might say "There's always something you can do about your situation." They'd be right, but in cases like these, the only thing you can do is accept the situation. Be patient. Be forgiving. Be resilient.

There is a curious strength in giving up the fight against something you cannot overcome. 

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